Jayanta Mahapatra Poems
|4.||The Indian Way||12/27/2013|
|5.||Main Temple Street||12/27/2013|
|6.||Taste For Tomorrow||12/27/2013|
|8.||The Moon Moments||12/27/2013|
|9.||A Rain Of Rites||12/27/2013|
|11.||Dawn At Puri||12/27/2013|
|12.||A Summer Poem||12/27/2013|
|14.||The Captive Air Of Chandipur-On-Sea||12/27/2013|
It was hard to believe the flesh was heavy on my back.
The fisherman said: Will you have her, carelessly,
trailing his nets and his nerves, as though his words
sanctified the purpose with which he faced himself.
I saw his white bone thrash his eyes.
I followed him across the sprawling sands,
my mind thumping in the flesh's sling.
Hope lay perhaps in burning the house I lived in.
Silence gripped my sleeves; his body clawed at the froth
his old nets had only dragged up from the seas.
In the flickering dark his lean-to opened like a wound.
The wind ...
A Rain Of Rites
Sometims a rain comes
slowly across the sky, that turns
upon its grey cloud, breaking away into light
before it reaches its objective.
The rain I have known and traded all this life
is thrown like kelp on the beach.
Like some shape of conscience I cannot look at,
a malignant purpose is a nun's eye.