Joy Goswami

(10 November 1954 - / Kolkata / India)

This One Noon - Poem by Joy Goswami

This noon I do not sleep, I do not wake, I do not die, I do not live
Time enters the room through the window, until this noon I did not know my hand, my own thin hand is a lyre
You grab the hand like a musician grabs his instrument from elbow to index finger and you look at it as if
'what a wonderful thing it is'
Your lips fall from the peak of the finger on flashed the major and minor notes, on and on
In my palm you discover a red vein, what a surprise, it trembles, which until this noon I did not know

I knew nothing about water, land, and sky before this noon
I do not sleep, I do not wake, I do not die, I do not live only a bird
comes and lands on my face
A village falls like a stone into the river and the river changes its direction
Since that time, there is a stream of hill water in place of my home, I do not drown, I do not float, I do not fly

I am not more than this stream, if you cup me in your hands, you can refresh yourself
I can do no work except splash your face
The time for your swim has come…

You sink your head under the water and search out my eyes by holding your breath
You press your lips against my closed eyes and I remember my wolf's life, my scorpion's life, my python's life
my killer's life and the life of hiding in the forest
Once I promised to have you in my lips and after so many ages I have come to keep that promise
Now nobody will come here, only your head will come down to my lap

Again we'll search out one another, the pressure of your lips caught the life of this noon
This noon is a stream that is still, under this stream we will lie together we will not sleep we will not wake
we will not die and we were never born

because in this stream the time has stopped--- because

now we are making love

[Translated from 'Ei Ekta Dupur' (Bengali) by Skye Lavin and Joy Goswami]

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Poem Submitted: Monday, March 19, 2012

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