Oblivion Poem by Prabhakar Subramaniam

I like to think they are glad to see me

Even if I know they cannot be

To see someone who reminds them

Of the stranger they'll all become...

This is where my past is

If at all past can have a place

Five hundred miles from where I live

Hidden on the river ghats

In the water's unseemly haste

To meet its fate

On the mango boughs

Dark as my skin

By the temple tank

Where a poet's cries of agony

Are still heard

In the camphor flame

Lighting up my goddess

In the dusty streets

My feet have worn thin

This is where I have to come

To gather my past

In my trembling hands

And watch it seep through

This is where I have to come

To want to hold on to

What cannot be held

The young hazy faces around me

Blood relatives all

On maternal and paternal sides

Marvel at my longevity

But have grown distant now

Among themselves, smile and laugh and talk

I cannot hear what they say

I wrongly thought

Home is where we live

Didn't know home was this home

Where the breath blows

Like the wind in the conch shell

Washed up by the waves

This roar in the ears

Could it be from the strange sea

That comes for you and me