 |
 |
 |
|
 |
 |
|
|
Hill Station: A Romance
First:
a total bandh.
No conveyance to go up;
non-tribals certainly not welcome.
At last an enterprising operator
of a dilapidated cab without windows--
if stoned, we lose nothing but
our heads. The way up is a slide
into fecund tropical vegetation:
dense thickets, bristling
with gigantic bamboo stems,
luscious plantains, green and golden,
and massive gourds, gaping out of the bushes.
Suddenly, before it is seen or heard,
the rain opens its ravenous mouth
and swallows us. (For days
a fine mist lingers.)
We arrive in darkness
through streets deserted
and sodden.
Then:
sacred forests,
of ancient trees
bearded and sage
with tongues of blood
like the local inhabitants.
Remove nothing from here:
no firewood, fruit, leaf or twig,
nor one flaming orchid,
not a single blade of grass;
any unspoken words must
of course be left behind--
but all the way back,
it continuously rains poems.
Finally:
at the mountain top
the clouds come home
into the laughing eyes
of a girl from the plains
suddenly unveiled,
her cascading hair
so unconstrained,
dimples like cleft peanuts,
and delicate breasts,
small, peach-coloured,
yet resolute beneath
her flowery bodice...
Instead, just three students
with slender fingers
waving goodbye--
and another, blinding
shower of pain.
