ONCE MORE

In the dead hours of the howling night,

Where has hidden my grandmother’s arms,

Covering me under her thick blanket.

And my grandfather’s sleepy growling

Anointing me with his guarding presence!

The snakes fled; on the powerful rosary

And the Nishagandhi flowers smiled,

With a lighted moon driving downwards.

The night was unending; mature and cool,

In the peaceful indoors of the wooden home.

Darkness spoke; the child read it;

And laughed and ate the shapeless darkness.

Forbidden are those joys; this quiescent night;

Pleasures recoiled in the withdrawn years.

The sweet grandfather and his odorous liniment;

His frame and sound still filling in me.

But leaving after sporadic moments,

Deserting me to unguarded years.

Days into nights and nights to days,

But deformed like endless circles, since;

The hooks have forgotten to catch fishes

And the fishes, forgotten to swim.

The barking dogs dissipating in a plaintive cry

And cats roaming like rascals.

The ducks and hens keeping delicate pride

Unmindful of alarming in bright mornings.

The ripe fruits reluctant to change colour;

And hailstones; not coming in rains.

Fairy tales stopped, fairies frightened

Of gush of machines and barren lands.

The fire-eating ghosts have run apart

To possess empty houses and pools.