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| Ananda Sen |
On
My Triptych*
Some days I roll up
My fingers in a fist
And throw it towards the sky
As if to touch it
As if to break a part of it
and put in my pocket.
Some days I listen
And listen
And listen
To all you have to say
And hold your hand
Knowing fully well
Those hands have bloodied me
Time and again.
Some days I am happy
I play with words
flirt with tunes
Soak in the rain
And surrender to my desire
I create my own story.
And another day
I am a mound of clay
And let you make
Your favorite sculpture
Of me.
Some days I am manly
--whatever that means--
To the world
I can rule and dictate
Like men do
Have done so for thousands of years.
Some days I live
The life of a woman
As it is written in the scriptures
You Love it
As does the world
And I know what it feels like
To be the Second Sex.
Some days I clothe myself in
Fancy dresses
Put on jewelry
That shines and sparkles
And your hands rip open
My shame
You leave me naked
Often by authority vested upon you.
And yet some day
when I take my clothes off
On my own accord
You cannot stare at my nudity
You cry of sacrilege.
Some days I am in a dream
I see no color, no creed
And I play fearlessly
Like a child
With all that are fragile
Some days I wake up
I am the Methuselah
I see black and white
And I see shades of gray
And I tread watchfully
On a rope.
I am all of these
Some scattered left
And some to the right
And in the middle panel
Of the triptych in my attic
It is I
In search of the role
I am to play today!!
*Author’s Note:
Triptych is a three paneled mirror
***
Victory
The firecrackers light up the night sky
smiles move from a face to another
she is happy
in India it is Deepavali, the festival of lights
twelve thousand miles away that celebration
mixes with another
``We won’’
somebody shouted –`` let’s get 2024’’!
tireless efforts paid off,
the countless nights she did not tuck in her children
the concerts of her son she missed
the numerous rainbows she did not look at
the many episodes of her favorite show she skipped
the poems she did not read, or write
all vindicated, at this moment
the light, the sound, the action
all feel like a happy ending of a movie.
It was not an easy campaign, never meant to be
mud was slung, stones hurled
a daughter of immigrants
she had to prove her worth
to her family, to the world
and to herself.
Now she is drowned in congratulations
for a job well done
she passed the test
with flying colors.
Meanwhile many miles away in a bar
a different type of light spits out of the barrel of a
gun
a different type of sound fills the room
there is scream and stampede
bodies strewn all across the floor
bodies that now only have names
lips that will not feel the touch of its lover
eyes that will not witness 2020.
Now there is silence
deafening, vicious, choking silence
waiting to be shattered by the next round of
bullets.
The guests left the living room in a mess
she does not want to clean it now
she wants to rest, to cuddle with her family
she wants to be home tonight.
Tomorrow she will wake up early
to prepare herself
for the next battle
for the next journey ahead.
After all, victory is but a moment!!
***
A
Graduation Poem
The silence is deafening
The clock ticks menacingly
Walls of the hallway, the lockers, the floor,
The beautiful glass cabinet with trophies
All painted with anticipation
They are waiting
Oblivious to the outside world
Waiting for something to happen
And then the bell rings
Doors open
Gushes out bodies
Like water out of a floodgate
Like a tsunami hitting the shores
The silence breaks
One last time
He empties the locker into his backpack
His treasures, a pack of cigarette, an autographed
baseball,
A headphone
A two dollar bill
And a crumpled picture
Does her locker have one too?
Perhaps with a different boy
Behind the soccer field, there is a tree
that witnessed many first kisses
bore on its trunk signs of many unions
Sometimes the same name appears more than once
In different pairs…..
He sits at the foot of the tree
One last time
He watches his friends talking animatedly
Perhaps looking for him
Principal talking to some students
giving them some final advice
A few boys started playing touch soccer at one end of
the filed
He watches from a distance
like one watches a movie
He walks back into the building
Into the empty classrooms
Picks up the chalk
Draws a ship on the board
A ship sailing away
He walks to the crossing outside the school building
A waft of cool breeze caressing his face
A homebound school bus stops at the light
Dream and ambition exchange glances
For a few seconds
And then ambition crosses the street, walks away
as dream looks
on.
Loved them all. Excellent imageries created. And they are so heartfelt.
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