Sampooran Singh Kalra

No sound of your arrival, no clue to your departure.
When do you come? When do you leave?
Sometimes in the courtyard . . .
when the tamarind tree
stirs in the wind,
a sprinkling of shadow
stipples the brick walls
and is absorbed,
like water drops hurled
by someone on parched earth.
In the courtyard the sunshine sobs unhurriedly.

In closed rooms . . .
when the flame of the lamp flickers,
a vast silhouette devours me, gulp by gulp.
Eyes stare at me fixedly
from a distance.
When do you come? When do you leave?
You are in my thoughts so many times in a day.
...

My apologies, Sona.
Journeying through the terrain of my verse
in these rains,
inconvenienced you
Unseasonal are the monsoons here.
The alleyways of my poetry are frequently damp.
Water gathers often in the ditches.
If you trip and fall here, you run the risk
of spraining a foot.

My apologies, however . . .
You were inconvenienced
because the light in my verse is somewhat dim.
The stones at my threshold
are imperceptible, as you pass.
I have often cracked a toenail against them
As for the streetlamp at the crossroads,
it has remained unlit for aeons
You were inconvenienced.
My apologies, my heartfelt apologies.
...

And suddenly
a fierce gust of wind surged into my room
unleashing a storm
The curtains flapped wildly, scattered
the glassware on the table
Its pages aflutter, a book hurriedly covered its face
The inkpot dived, festooned
blank sheets with colour
The pictures on the walls craned their necks in surprise
to cast a glance upon you

Come again
like this

and engulf
my room.
...

Come, let us build a night

On the marble edifice of silence
let us swathe ourselves in the sheets of darkness,
and ignite the twin candles of our bodies . . .
When dew arrives on tiptoe,
let it not discern even the whisper of our breaths

In the silken fragrance of mist,
entwined let us lie, like fragrance itself —
Draped in the earthy aroma of our bodies,
Let us, like spirits, rustle forever . . .
...