Photo by Valentin Muller
February
Mukut Borpujari
I’m crawling out of this season of hard cold winter,
That stayed long enough.
The bottom of my feet kicked up dirt on the hard asphalt.
When I planted a mango tree it smelled of green earth–
Pulsing sun, dirt, and water.
I do remember this. I pinned summer light upon my back
And made no apologies for the space I took up–
Barely clothed and sunburned.
Now, a ball of cotton in the grey sky.
The sun rolls low on the horizon, hangs,
Then dips behind a city block.
Wind howling us into the night.
Inside in the erratic rhythm of this flickering
Shadows and light,
I conjure up the potent sky of the longest day;
Seeds, with a whole galaxy inside them.
Cicadas vibrating outside
On the branches of a giant neem tree.
I never expected to find myself in such a cold place,
My hands dry out against the cold.
I let the memory out, let it linger on the horizon,
Some kind of flying like a kite–again and again.
I loosen the buckles of my mind to fly back in time,
To the days of dried out paddy fields, and herds of cattle–
I let stay it there.
Mukut Borpujari
I’m crawling out of this season of hard cold winter,
That stayed long enough.
The bottom of my feet kicked up dirt on the hard asphalt.
When I planted a mango tree it smelled of green earth–
Pulsing sun, dirt, and water.
I do remember this. I pinned summer light upon my back
And made no apologies for the space I took up–
Barely clothed and sunburned.
Now, a ball of cotton in the grey sky.
The sun rolls low on the horizon, hangs,
Then dips behind a city block.
Wind howling us into the night.
Inside in the erratic rhythm of this flickering
Shadows and light,
I conjure up the potent sky of the longest day;
Seeds, with a whole galaxy inside them.
Cicadas vibrating outside
On the branches of a giant neem tree.
I never expected to find myself in such a cold place,
My hands dry out against the cold.
I let the memory out, let it linger on the horizon,
Some kind of flying like a kite–again and again.
I loosen the buckles of my mind to fly back in time,
To the days of dried out paddy fields, and herds of cattle–
I let stay it there.