atiguhya padma
03-09-2007, 09:17 AM
An island in the traffic
Enhanced voices violent
"I believe this" and "I believe that"
As if belief is the bridge
Between what is and what is not.
The rain descends in rhythmic
Cadences.
It is enough to make you
Want to hear the language
Of precipitation
"I believe in life" says the voice
That stands there rooted to the concrete
Echoing like the wind.
One of them
An acquaintance,
Had said: "Sorry about your father
I understand you do not believe,
So where do you think he has gone?"
Finality is too real for us.
We follow wisps of hope
That lead us deeper into
A camouflaged despair.
Without a voice, you ask me to believe,
In polarised places,
Only one of which
Would hold him.
You use words like humane,
Merciful, love.
Where do you wish me to see him?
I saw him in his bed
Grasping my hand
Feeling the pulse
Of life.
I felt his strength
Instinctively rising against
Inevitability.
He believed this world was everything
He believed in himself
He believed in pleasure.
I believe in death
He is gone
Enhanced voices violent
"I believe this" and "I believe that"
As if belief is the bridge
Between what is and what is not.
The rain descends in rhythmic
Cadences.
It is enough to make you
Want to hear the language
Of precipitation
"I believe in life" says the voice
That stands there rooted to the concrete
Echoing like the wind.
One of them
An acquaintance,
Had said: "Sorry about your father
I understand you do not believe,
So where do you think he has gone?"
Finality is too real for us.
We follow wisps of hope
That lead us deeper into
A camouflaged despair.
Without a voice, you ask me to believe,
In polarised places,
Only one of which
Would hold him.
You use words like humane,
Merciful, love.
Where do you wish me to see him?
I saw him in his bed
Grasping my hand
Feeling the pulse
Of life.
I felt his strength
Instinctively rising against
Inevitability.
He believed this world was everything
He believed in himself
He believed in pleasure.
I believe in death
He is gone