The Language of Sunlight
Time moves —
The play begins its rehearsal,
And walks steadily toward the national stage.
Ahir Bhairav resounds;
Applause bursts forth,
And in the eyes of the audience,
A vast distance glimmers.
Flowers keep falling,
Melting away through the slits of the curtain —
Don’t flowers bloom at night?
What will the producer say then?
The drums are beating,
The curtain is lifting from the stage,
Gagan Chand approaches the naked heroine —
Throws her a racket, or perhaps,
A fragment of comfort wrapped in truth.
The snake expert murmurs,
“That’s not a racket — that should be a jacket.”
“Come,” someone says again,
“Let’s go deep into the language of sunlight.”
The wild geese cease their flight,
Their wings folded midair.
A door shatters the silence —
The unbound sky shakes off
The Draupadi-marked stain,
And down the skin slides
The trance of the past.
