Poetry
River and maiden
If
the
river
can roll on and on till it meets the sea,
then
when
will you, o wild maiden, be mine? Silchar
That Cloud-nymph had leant forward
so near my lips, saying
"The weather is stifling
here in the town now
Stay back for a day or two
and we shall wade together
in sea-less saline waters." I gazed out at the endless horizon
through that fathomless window.
Not far from here
loom the shadows of those blue mountains
at whose feet nestles that town of poets. The skiff of the moon
The skiff of the moon floated
on the waters of the lake,
while with me there was none
but Labonyo. Labonyo, on top of your nose
have gathered droplets of perspiration
and before the last poetry sounds
there is only but separation The suburb
The City wed the Village next door.
And the Village -- a spidery mother --
died in childbirth.
The newborn babe was named the Suburb.
The child began to grow gradually…..
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