Thursday, July 15, 2010

Radiance - I

Candle flickers in a dingy room.
As he strains his eyes, his wrinkles deepen.
He takes another close look of the idol:
damp clay fragrance fills his lungs.
The lotus eyes of Durga are to be painted
by tonight. He trembles while mixing colours.
The fever hasn’t subsided. It's been three days
since he was last able to work. As he clears
his throat, another bout of obstinate cough
burns his chest. He has noticed blood
in his phlegm. And this is not the first time.
Year after year, he’s grown a habit of living
with fever, with blood stained sputum, with his
handicapped child, with stranded rain waters
and mosquitoes, under one corrugated roof speckled
with holes, allowing moon beams and sun rays to enter
at will. He knows he must complete his work
by tonight. He knows his brush never betrays.
With bold strokes he’d usher in brightness.

2 comments:

  1. This is such an important poem Arun. The first hand knowledge of your culture is a treasure box for a poet. If he wished to influence future generations he must study and write about whatever is not right in the world and poverty is never right anywhere on this planet. Not during times of peace and certainly never during times of war. This poem is impeccable my brother!

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  2. I've tried my best, Sergio. Possibly there'd be a series coming up. Thanks for being here and encouraging me. Smiles.

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