Weathers . . .
Posted on Apr 28, 2012
A storm : Outside
Dust trampled all day—
Rises
Dust: thrown and shifted
Aside
Below
Underneath—
Shoes
Heels
Peels
And pebbles
Now rises
Furiously
With vengeance accuracy
Dust: now covers
Tree-tops
Antennas
Atop the tallest skyscrapers
The crows
Now teary-eyed
look down dazed.
Dust: now punctures through eyes
All eyes-seeing and unseeing
Dust: bleeds dust
Dust: clings
Onto well-gelled hair
Onto confident beautiful faces.
Everyone who walks under the sun
Must now walk
Under a sun, screened with dust.
The dust: now rises
And there’s a storm outside
And her window
Is smothered with dust
Pale. Cold. Burning brown
And grey . . .
With a slight thread of red somewhere.
Her window shakes
And throbs and sings
And shivers and shudders.
There’s a storm outside.
He comes in soaked
Orders tea
She refuses.
The dust now rises
There’s a storm outside.
p.s. This poem was written after an 'interaction' with Urvashi Butalia. And then, there was a storm that evening. And then this happened. Also, feminism, still doesn't make any sense to me.
SHAHWAR KIBRIA
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