Stonehenge Poems by Mitali Chakravarty

Mitali Chakravarty

I will dance with the druids
at Stonehenge, walk with 
ghosts of the past 
from British Raj in the
cemetery at Park Street.

I will talk to the wind
on Himalayan peaks,
rustle with pines and 
deodars, rush with 
tumultuous waves 
on Ganga’s banks,
swish across the Cape,
where Vasco and Dias 
measured their steps. 

Each land has lived a 
different story, tied by 
words that Lucy’s progeny
mouthed into languages. 

Chameleon-like, her lineage
blended into hues of their 
new homes. Then grew walls,
walls that splice life, living. 

 Is that why missiles fly,
despite a connecting sky? 
Is that why incarnadined
rocks weep dead feathers? 

Did the druids know? Could 
they foretell? Will the stones
answer my soul as mesmerised 
by strange murmurs, I wait…

Whispers at Stonehenge

Monoliths that stand tall 
amidst the green, stretch
to the skies invoking a past 
when tides of time had not 
sealed borders; when threat
of arms did not bleed
mushrooms clouds. 
They weathered the wind, 
the rain, the storms —
but never bombs. 

Did druids then dance in the 
wilderness that still flows 
unbidden in the long grass,
waving to tourists with
ocean-like undulations? Now
visitors sprout among ravens
and sheep dotting the green.

The ravens fly connecting the
the Earth to the sky, calling out
to the spirits of yore that
rise on solstice with camper
crowds. Do they all harmonise 
at sunrise with ancient souls 
to find distant peace?
Or are these just graves, as 
the learned say, eons old? 

Was history as bloody then, 
before acid fields or purple-gold 
skies rained destruction? 
How are we to know — except 
from the voices of these stones? 

A draft whispers…
“What is the power of a few facts
to the magic that wafts from 
these stones? The magic that
seals, heals all humanity…”

The monoliths were, are, 
will be. Life ebbs and flows. 
The rocks remain, a witness 
of all times and tides. 

Eons later, will they still remain
to recount more tales, adding 
wars, weapons and then, 
perhaps, an evolved, peaceful race? 

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