By Sunil Gangopadhyay
This golden figurine--- oh dear, will she ceaselessly crumble away,
In the night , in the sun, in the rain in the arms of another man?
Her nipples two bared switches,--- switches? Hands tremble at their touch.
This hand has touched worms, pillows bound to chest, blood,
In a greedless drowning to death in the blood's mucus, T
his hand has touched the shriek of tearless eyes
This hand has touched
A tunnel-like alley--- running through it lightning-fast,
small change clutched....sounds of boots behind, a cigarette
in the sleeping mirror's mouth, this hand!
No steam builds in my heart. Yet,
we meet in the darkness of a mist, eyes flash
like a gold coin hid in an ancient chest.
The nipples two bared switches, hands tremble at their touch,
Even this hand!
There are some billion doctors on this earth.
Like Parashuram I shall kill them all
and wake to life in a pool of their blood.
Moonlight, like shadows of trees.
Within it none alive. Anymore.
Trees under the sky. Darkness, leaves bunch.
A stream within the leaves.
Within the stream's every vein cruelty;
For the present, cruelty gathers her aachal away and says,
There are the lights, my cousin waiting at the gate, I have to go now....
Go, but never again alone in the dark
turn your neck to me, go, I shall for long
stand in watch here and hold the dogs at bay,
go today without fear, but never again.
Today, go without fear. I shall stand in watch.
San Nakji for President!