Deepak K. Choudhary is a Delhi-based writer, editor and translator. A multilingual writer,
he has penned poems and prose pieces in English, Hindi and his mother tongue
Maithili. His poems have featured in some widely known journals and magazines
such as The South Asian Ensemble, Chrysanthemum Chronicles, Vigil
Pub Magazine, Indian Literature, Samakaleen Bharatiya
Sahitya, Indian Africanist, etc. His two poetry books (solo
collections) published so far are titled BIRDS LIKE US and THE CITY NEVER
SLEEPS. His translation of a collection of Hindi poems titled LIKHA NAHI EK
SHABD (originally penned by Amit Kumar Malla) was published as NOT A WORD WAS
WRITTEN by Zorba Books in 2017. For his blogs and social media posts, he
occasionally uses the pen-name Deepak Darshak.
No One Knew The
Address Of The Monsoon
Before
the clouds came
Smiling
at a thousand and one
Starving
holes in earth’s belly,
They
had got riddles growing
Inside
their bodies and hearts,
Outweighing
their ossified yearnings,
Turning
them steadily into wilds of
Their
own existence
They
were questions that
Crept
and crawled and shuffled
Inside
their premises like apparitions,
Tied
to an endless wait for
The
magical key to reach from the hills
And
free them
In
the dead of the night,
Someone
in some corner of
The
world would cry and
Everyone
everywhere
Would
start feeling emptiness
In
their bellies and
Thorns
in their minds,
No
one knew the address of
Monsoon
and they knew
They
could only hope for careless,
Imprecise
knocks on the door
To
keep them moving and
Running
rather indifferently into
One
another
On
that night,
When
the earth was still burning
And
the barns were sleeping
Like
deserted isles,
When
silos had gone
Grainless
to the bottom,
The
sky mellowed its wings to
Placate
the terrestrials caged in
Their
dry persistence that had them forget
Their
faces and names
After
nine scores and five,
I
may be too old perhaps to recall
Much
of what I have lived through,
But
believe me,
I
still remember the little urchin
And
his ailing mother in a straw hut
Who
had outlived the ordeal
When
the earth saw the rains
Living By A
River
Living
by a river is
Like
reading a book of poems
Penned
by a bunch of
Anonymous
hands frozen deep
Under
multiple layers of
Time
It’s
a like a journey through
Countless
cantos
Etched
on the terrains of
Undulating
topographies---
Deep
and shallow,
Straight
and curved,
Quiet
and vocal,
Dry
and watery,
Clean
and mossy,
Still
and moving,
White,
blue, green, black,
With
their own beginnings
And
ends, albeit none
Bearing
the stamp of the first
Or
the last one
Being
with a river is
Quite
like fantasizing
A
page in a book
Designed
with a secret door
Showcasing
little gnomes,
Goblins,
imps and nymphs,
Who
change their shades
In
turns, throwing surprises
With
an efflorescent bricolage
It’s
about going through
A
bottomless fantasy,
Speaking
to the chest of
An
unbreakable, asymmetrical calm,
And
wondering why
We
never thought of
Walking
down the lonely road
That
passes through its
Inconstant
belly?
Living
by a river
Is
quite like living
A
mystery,
With
multiple latent depths,
Tempting
prospects,
Sleek
longings to discover
Narratives
of belonging
In
the everlasting flow of
A
sequestered history
Doves In My
Dream
Doves
are missing
From
the map of the day
I
keep looking for them
Here
and there, in parks and bushes,
In
streets and boulevards,
On
my house’s roof,
In
farms
Invisible,
light-footed,
They
visit me sometimes
In
the undisturbed locations of
My
dreams,
When
the world sleeps
And
silence reigns our thoughts
They
come
To
tell me that
Their
songs have been stolen
And
their nests have been sold
To
fill in the bellies of
Wanton
greed
They
promise that
They
will come back again
With
longer beaks,
Bigger
talons,
Stronger
wings
To
protect their nests
Against
the army of demons
FEAR
“Everything
sinks here--
Livestock, crops, children,
Men and women, houses,
Trees and barns,
Hopes, prayers, smiles...”
Mother informs
Calling
from my village,
“Son!
There will be no festival
This
time,
The
temple of the Goddess
Will
remain submerged
In
dark waters,
Waiting
in hapless silence
For
the dying of
The
inclement downpour
And
for the angry waves of
The
malevolent Kosi to recede...
“But don’t worry,
We
will survive again
As
we have done before
The
countless assaults of nature
So
far...”
A tremble in her voice
Towards
the end
Leaves
me scared, tongue-tied,
As
I fear the collapse of
The
oldest pillars of
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