Papia Ghoshal
POETRY2
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Papia Ghoshal POETRY2 |
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LET ME LIVE I don’t
understand what it means to ponder, I don’t
understand the meaning of life, I don’t
even know the meaning of living; I don’t
understand the meaning of death I don’t
understand what it means to grieve I don’t
understand what is love, faith, wisdom, piety – O
mankind, let me live. POISON All the abasements she packed tight in her trunk And she tied up the trunk with eye-water. Then she journeys her road alone; Then she bears her one bright corpse; Then, unwished for, there’s almost an error; Then the wish to err. On a sea brimful of errors she floated the trunk. THE ANKLE-BELL bells. COLOURS Our neighbourhood girls will show their
nests Made from the white ties of petticoats; Orange orgasms and the menopause Bleed into foot-bands of yellow and
black. Clothes rails shed scarlet bras Onto the neighbourhood’s blue
alleys and out into its streets. Colours drain down every last body. Little by little the girls in the alleys Shade off into black..
Hunger Birds peck and
peck at their feathers; Then comes a time
when, swallowed by hunger, They peck to devour
each other. All the while
two magpies are mating; All the while
the local girls press Two fingers to
their lips, saying “Two fer joy, two fer joy.”
WAR Man of rust With rusted sword
in hand, With whom are
you at war? Day and night
you’re at the mirror, Suited in false
armour – Who is your rival? Inside these four
walls One darkness follows
you; Still
you are en garde For another opponent |
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PAST He’ll be back one day, The way the past comes back To its floozie. He’s forgotten that his floozie’s
long since Been lost in other men.
THE ANKLE-BELL One bell quits
the ankle bells. It rings alone
in the streets. There is no other
music Aside from the
noise of traffic. You’ve all
been deaf a long time; Aren’t you
still deaf?
BLIND GEOMETRY The spent blue
hue drips down the canvas The brush is falling
asleep One dark arithmetic
paves the way The blind geometry
rules Awake only, the
planet that’s next to grammar; And the text books
are silent Transition Michael looks
through the camera sights
towards twilight; One or two stars
emerge from his flesh As he spreads
out, like a girl, his long hair: He is trying to
hide his male flesh. The language of
twilight seeps from his flesh
to my flesh: There’s
mutation of birth, person, name. From his male
flesh, Michael mines for the hidden breasts, vagina,
all female desires. In the black coffee
dark he touches me and says, “From
now on I’m I gaze through
the camera at the soft flesh; I
observe fear circling over Assailed by the
cheap jokes of men, their fun, their gags. Michael returns
with the light of day; In
his eyewater, there floats COLOURS Our neighbourhood
girls will show their nests Made from
the white ties of petticoats; Orange orgasms
and the menopause Bleed into
foot-bands of yellow and black. Onto the
neighbourhood’s blue alleys and out into its streets. Colours
drain down every last body. Little by
little the girls in the alleys Shade off
into black.
The cracked
mirror The cracked mirror
talks only about striving. Your face striving Your breasts striving Your stomach striving Your vagina striving Your eyes striving Your eye-water
striving Your heart striving By standing in
front of the mirror, your days of menstruation slip away.
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LoveOVE As if we are hacking a path through the darkness, As if we’re engrossed afterall this while by the moon’s refulgence, So long have I borne on my back my corpse As if I will listen once more To
the ear-market struggle between grave and allegro, As if after all this while one comes and says Unknot your hem and run to me. |
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