“Fabric from Kashmir” and Other Poems
By Sayan Aich Bhowmik
Summer Had Arrived
They say the night went by
On the back of the last train,
Its whistle punching a hole
In the sky.
The dinner was still warm on the table
As you went for a walk
Along the fault lines on my palm.
You hardly kept time
Without the milestones
Someone had stolen from the highway.
When you finally managed to rest,
Your feet had reached the last
Village on earth
Where not a single fire was lit
To signal your arrival.
The wind rustled the leaves
And there was a knock on my neighbour's,
Which I mistook for mine.
The doors were kept ajar
And both of us were up all night
With the hope
That summer had arrived at last
Inside either of our rooms.
Curtains
Some men from the government
Came to our apartment yesterday,
Looking for my grandmother.
They plonked themselves on
The uncomfortable sofa,
Took tea and crunched on cookies,
Both past their expiry dates,
While reading the 12-year-old
Death certificate of hers.
They apologized profusely
And went out like responsible
Government officials.
Everyone went back to sleep
With the yellowish paper
Very close to a circular tea stain
On the centre table.
This visit has been an aberration.
And from a distance,
It is indeed a stunning visual
A curtain fluttering in the wind
Of a house of two hundred windows
All closed.
Fabric From Kashmir
You have come to me
And with a sweep of your shroud
Cleared the front porch
Of sickly leaves and twigs.
You have come with a familiar sound
Of the evening descending all of a sudden
Into the tea cups of an entire city.
The fog in reality
Is a shawl from Kashmir
My grandmother once sold off
To buy a month's ration.
Those days, she used to say,
Winter came slouching inside the courtyard
And stayed long after the welcome faded.
Sayan Aich Bhowmik is currently Assistant Professor in the Department of English, Shirakole College. His debut collection of poems I Will Come With A Lighthouse was published in 2022.
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Have you ever been late to an appointment, or haunted by someone’s late arrival? Sayan Aich Bhowmik’s poems present us with seasons and people who have taken their time.