Karnatak State Ghat

Your name brings forth

the images – your images

and those of the ones you harboured:

the people, days, water

(not contained, it passed by)

feelings, lives, memories

(not contain-able, they passed by)

or minutes, hours, days, seasons

I spent on your steps, ,my life weaved

around you in its circadian rhythm.

They flow through the tip of my pen

taking shape as the blue of the ink

shapes strange things – words –

that were in the mind-womb

before being thrown out, words

that dirty the pristine, blank space –

and create something of worth?

They are true, aren’t they?

Digression’s good, isn’t it?

A poem too, is true

although made vomitingly sick

”by the pale cast of thought” before

the retching begins that finally

transfers words to their surface graves.

But what can I do?

When a polyphony I detect

It’s not just one man within

that hates to follow my conscious agenda;

there’s a full battalion

and each member –

uncivilized, unsubjugated

unprincipled, unchristened

trying to speak in a simultaneous cacophony

with an array of meanings and voices

arrayed variously – for or against –

one another.

Enough of this meta- stuff!

Return to the days and the level of material

materially verifiable facts.

That’s what i’d planned initially

but I’ve reached the end of my tether