There are
Empty spaces in
In a remembering heart
That resemble strongly
The ruins of the Mandu city
Of pleasant Malwa,
Hankering after the past;
The light streaming down
From broken columns and
Windows and open roof,
Tracing patterns of light and dark
On the dusty floors where
Centuries lie curled up like
A sleepy alley-cat,
Rolled up as a snowy ball
In a high crevice,
And
That hates to be woken up
Rudely by the inquisitive hands
In her cozy spot;
These sacred spaces
In the veins of a
Battered and bitter heart,
Amplify footfalls from the hoary past,
And desperately—
Try to catch your tentative tread
On the steps of the trellised tryst
In the scented garden,
On moon-lit nights,
When Arial deigns to sing songs
Of love and longing;
There are
Only silences now
Stretched out long,
Between two massive
Stone columns of a fort,
Standing tall and defiant
In the city of ruins;
The winter wind howls down these
Majestic ruins of the human
Settlements that once echoed with the
Passions red and hot;
Only memories linger on,
Like the old man
Eternally optimistic
And daily waiting
At the ferry station for
A dead soldier- son,
From an unjust war.
Like a spectacular meteorite shower , this poem arcs across the reader’s consciousness.I particularly appreciated the line , ” centuries lie curled up like a sleepy alley-cat “. But that is a relatively feeble observation trying to convey something of the sheer breadth of learning,wisdom and insight of Sunil’s work.
Thanks a lot Louis for your wonderful comments.