Pro Creation Poem by Monica Kumar

I was an amorphous me
I vowed to be water
And you asserted to erupt like fire
And look…how fire danced upon waters! !
But it was a story before history was born.

It was dying thirst of the drying soil of me
That swallowed the river of you
It was the jade green dream of me
That searched the mossy emerald forest of you.
It was the cologne of my soil
And the love of the sky of you
That the azure lavender dream of you
Slept at the shrine of me.

It was the aroma of the flesh of you and me
And it was the procreation of the truth
The world was created thereafter.

Pro painting

I was and you too haply
I was an eddying shadow among a cluster of shadows
You were a rock hued silhouette
Bits of darkness in the “in” of dark
But it was a story before history was born.

It was the dark of the nocturnal trees
Whom we garmented
A ray of sun pierced our bodies
And got carved on a stone

It was only the roundness of bodies and the pointed illumination
It was the pro painting of the world
The leaf lent its green, sky its gray
And petals their crimson blonde and sapphire.
The art of painting was created thereafter.

Pro music

I was and you too haply
And a silence till infinity
That powdered like a dry autumn leaf
Or dissipated itself at the riverside like silica
But it was a story before history was born.

I called you at some unknown turn
And you echoed me
Something churned in the throat of simooms
And the twigs of wheat whispered a rapture
The bark of the trees got awfully fastened
Something rustled in the leaves
The bud blinked or squinted?
And the feathers of the lark slided a bit
It was the first song that ears heard
The seven notes of music were created thereafter

Pro literature

I was and you too haply
Stood at the miss of a breath
Sat at the dark of the maiden sight
Walked at the milestone of epiphanies
But it was a story before history was born

It was the extreme of you and I
That became the language of the world
Letters were born of I
Letters were carved of you
And this pro language scribbled pro literature

It was the mystique of you and me
We made love at the stones
And eyes lips fingers and toes
Of you and me were the letters of our bodies
And they translated the pro literature
The holy epics were written thereafter.

Pro religion

When I wore you
Both the bodies were wrapped in a trance
The bodies got pleated like flowers
And renounced their selves at the altar of souls

It was the fire of the heat of you and me
And the fragrance of its coal
That we uttered each other’s names
That became holy enchantings
It was the eternal boiling cauldron of you and me
The fables of religion were created thereafter.

Pro tribe

When the season of I rotated
The twig of me had grown several pollens in the flesh of I
The smell got mortgaged to winds
And the letter of you danced in airs

In the shadow of you and me
“he” came unannounced unaware
It was the love of he
That we shared the only grain of wheat
He was easy obvious and possible, the satiety of you and me
The story of tribes was penned thereafter.

Pro memoir

I was
From the truth of skin till the blush of skin
You were
From the beauty of skin till the love of skin

It was the knowledge of the letter of me
That conferred morale to I
It was the celebration of the letter of you
Who sited the “he”
It was the daring being of I, the resolute being of you and the fearless being of he

The memoirs of Manu were written thereafter.

I have rendered this poem in English.The original is written by Amrita Pritam, one of the classic Indian poets in Punjabi.