Poetry: Nandini Sahu

Nandini Sahu

Fluency in Silence

You pronounce the poetic lines in absentia

I am just the amanuensis to write your poems.

You call me ‘word-wizard’, but you are the art of wizardry.

 

The moon may teach you, it’s fine to go through phases.

And the sun says, no matter how many times

you go downcast, keep rising in the sundry.

 

One has to consider the kind of silence one follows.

If you don’t understand my silence, how do you claim

to understand my words who are free birds that fly?

 

Silence is to the spirit what sleep is to the body.

Silence is healing. Right tongue comes out of silence

and right silence comes out of speech, you know why?

 

Silence is an ocean, speech is a river.

Meaningful silence is juxtaposed with hollow words.

Silence is the language to encounter divine.

 

Love, my silence is better than proving a point at this point.

The quieter I become, the better you can hear.

My fluency in silence can sort out our subsists.

 

In any case, you must win, I prefer to lose.

If you win, you are the conqueror; if you lose, you still are the captor.

In any case, my love, you win, silence wins.

***

 

Filling the Molecules

Loving him is inhaling a thousand roses in spring

knowing tomorrow the air will be unfeelingly untaken.

 

It’s like enjoying a poem

or like swaying with the harmony of a song.

While filling the molecules with blossoms. 

And marvelling at the symmetrical flocking

of birds of a feather

and the glory of a ladybird

caught on his camera at dawn.

 

Like an inconceivable sense of sorrow

wishing to weep quietly

are the countable-uncountable moments

of such a love.

 

Alternating between enticing and exasperating

alternating between euphony

and cacophony

the words turn into a

hollow boom.

Of such a love.

 

I just want

During the moments restless and restive

to fathom his secrets

and know

if there’s a ludicrous yearning,

a cyclone raged in his heart too,

A grief-soaked love

echoing mine

of such a love.

 

Or, it’s just an agenda

of love?

Or is it, alternatively, a

mind immersed in meditation,

likewise?

Carrying a volcano in the heart

of a mind roaming in some desert?

 

For me, love doesn’t mean alms or empathy.

It’s moderately an absolute surrender.

‘Take it all.’

Like an offering in a shrine.

On the altar.

‘The whole thing please!

Leaves, buds, flowers and all.’

 

There hasn’t been another

loner in the world

who looks for life, filling the molecules.

Who wants to fly and dissolve

in the lonely void of darkness

of such a love.

 

A module of easy-torment, this love.

A stubborn assessment, such a love!

Pain and contentment underscored, ah love!

Underscored with double thick lines, here and there, this love.

Aware of all upheavals of the world, such a love.

Touching the mysteries of life, ah love!

Believing that pain purifies all, this love.

Thinking, pain too is a gain, such a love.

Such incredible a love.

 

In fact it’s so incredible a vision! Unambiguously

no parallel between a life of love

and other lives.

Neither one can emulate it either

and nonchalantly move.

***

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