1
Absence
Monsoon clouds gather
on this patch of earth
with a heavy heart.
Beside your window
the flame tree figures
the flaws of gravity.
In the Anthropocene
I try to predict
creation’s mood swings.
The forecaster thinks
the probability
of its forecast is bleak.
A flare of the flame
approaches the sun
piercing the clouds.
The vaporous noon
settles on the skin
reminding of absence.
In this poem too
the last line is absent.
2
Cloud Lovers
The day we turn into forests –
you of the Meghalayas,
hilly and prancing,
and I of the Sundarbans,
wet and salty –
I send bay-born nimbus
loaded with vapours of words
to you as messengers.
On the first day of Asadh
they strike your dense mountains
in comprehension of rain.
The trees get wet
but remain silent
in an act of defiance,
although the roots drink deep
and whispers transpire in leaves.
Years later when we have turned
to driftwoods on a frozen earth
or float in a burning ocean,
we find a waterlogged valley
where we hug each other
like two cloud lovers united
in memories of lost forests
and dreams of drops of rain.
3
Grove
What if two trees
love each other,
how would they express it
since they can’t speak,
except when the storm
rattles their leaves?
What if two trees
want to elope,
how would they escape
into the grove,
except by making their own
by the dispersal of seeds?
What if we want
to become the trees,
how would we wait
for the storm to speak,
except when we hide
in the grove we create!
4
Nimbus
A nimbus afternoon
drags the day towards
a quick evening.
The lightning conductor
sways in the storm
of rain and memories.
Behind the grey houses
the trees run amok
hidden from view.
Some nimbus eyes too
full with insights
roar for an encore.
The brewing clouds deep
in the cornea dim
the pupil of the day.
The tenderness of
overexcitement flows
like water through a spout.
5
Pyramid
Winter chirpings in the ear of the day
remind us it is time to bloom.
You roll out the old Pyramid
and scoop out some mummified memories.
A song decides to tune a chord
in organs preserved in canopic jars.
We open a sarcophagus
and hide inside embalming time.
Sleep shapes dreams in the Pharaoh’s heart
of dying for a resurrection.
Susurrations of an afterlife
fog like hieroglyphs on the hills.
Winter chirpings in the ear of the day
remind us it is time to bloom.
Amit Shankar Saha is the author of three collections of poems titled Balconies of Time, Fugitive Words and Illicit Poems and has co-edited a collection of short stories titled Dynami Zois. He also has published a collection of non-fiction titled A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Essayist and an academic book titled Transitions: Indian Diaspora and Four Women Writers. His poems have appeared in many journals and anthologies including The Best Indian Poetry, The Yearbook of Indian Poetry in English and Converse: Contemporary English Poetry by Indians. He has won numerous awards and has also been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, the Griffin Poetry Prize, and the Best of Net anthology. He is the Editor-in-Chief of EKL Review and the Assistant Secretary of the Intercultural Poetry and Performance Library (IPPL). He has a PhD in English from Calcutta University and teaches in the English Department at Seacom Skills University. His website is www.amitshankarsaha.com
Aloka 