Journey

I journeyed today.

From the monotonous gloom of this room,

From the deepened boredom of  the weekend,

Into the city, colourful,

Into its  joy and  into its ecstasies.

Into a restaurant, large and cosy.

Relishing a taste, fuming and  hot.

Into the fatigue of a boiling afternoon sun.

Comforted by the chill of a lavish mall.
Diving to the icy depths of a cold ice cream.

Into the thrill of a new film,
Forgetting my self in a loud applause.

Into the warm pleasure of an evening beach.

Into the anonymity of the crowd, therein.

In the long wait for a setting sun,

Who hid his blushing face,

In a white towel of fresh clouds,

Shying away from the sight,

Of young pairs, in numbers countless,

Entwined in love, on the moist sands.

From there, floating in a street ghazal,

Into a bookshop, pretty and neat.

Into the lines of my dearest Kamala*.

Into an ancient courtyard through her lines,

That had the scent of a grandmother,
So placid and so loving.

But to return,

Into the beckoning voice of my friend,

Before I could absorb it in full.

Hearing his words, “Let us go back”.

Into the lit up streets of the dark city,

Into its subtle beauties.

Into the reality of a night, too late,

And the thought of an impossible return.
Into the tension, pleadings, arguments.

Into a long traffic block,

Caused by a religion, and back,

Into the safety of this room,

Holding tight, the hand of an unseen God.

Into these pages of mine.

Into the words that I spill here.

Into my Self trapped in them.

Into myself  and into its bliss.
_______________________


* 'My Grandmother's House' by Kamala Das