Three wistful poems about remembrance, forgetting and memory by Amitava Nag.
The insides of the head
Jammed with sin
Dripping from the shower rod, like elephants crossing
A jungle road.
Those who have been to jungles, know
There are no roads
Only the eyesight travels a path,
Even in the city, waiting and honking,
Opening my body to the sea,
Delicate caress of a forgiving mind
Whenever I take your name
My lips swell like waves wearing your face
And I feel like dying under the weight of sorrows,
Yet, I dress up again
My empty yogic kundali,
Pretends to call every loss a home,
Till my fingernails weep
Cause it is a sin to remember
Songs whispering to winds,
Sweetness of your contours,
Embraces that became stale,
Everything — that I ever knew,
As my own.
Two fingers slide up and down
A torso waits for the touch,
Hesitant, as if it has lost its memory,
Even the photograph of touch is lost,
Do the fingers ever remember the scars on the body?
The ones that are visibly hidden,
Or, the ones with an eventless mind?
Beyond these memories and forgetting,
Beyond the sharp claws of purposefulness
The fingers find a way,
Not of conquest, or a cobweb,
Nor of unpleasant strangers.
Yet, there is a feeling,
Remnants of a noose round the neck, not reckless but
Adorable, as long as the fingers
And the torso belong to the same soul.
when the lines of your palm
start forgetting me,
naked by the wings of wind
secretly passing through an arcade,
Then, quiet questions droop to pick up
‘forgetting is a virtue’, I would tell you often
without the knowledge of numbness.
A flutter of thirst flies away
setting the sun, a bird,
my fingers melt at the thought, and I.
The wood of your jewellery box is scared,
an eagle losing its sight,
Is there a memory after you forget?
(Pictures courtesy: Mobile captures by Amitava)
More Poems by Amitava Nag
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