Bombilius Major by Sonja Dimovska. Image Courtesy the Artist.
“Stella, think not that I by verse seek fame,
Who seek, who hope, who love, who live but thee;
Thine eyes my pride, thy lips my history;
If thou praise not, all other praise is shameâ€
~ Philip Sidney
“It is a beautiful poem,†some would say
And I’m sure you would read it too, very far away
Knowing the eucalyptus—knowing the pair of keys
You have lost in the home you used to talk about
Where I live now, the one on a terrace—
The wind has stolen the gossamer’s trace—
Watched over by the eucalyptus night and day
“It is a heart-rending poem,†some would say
Yet also question, “where’s the rain, he promised us rain?â€
Will you too ask the same again?
Knowing full well the only way I can show you rain
Anymore, is to show you the rusted lock
On the door; perhaps you come sometimes
And finding it there, you start to return
And turn
To check if I am looking at you, from behind,
Then reach for your eyes
And gorge the rain on the grooves
Of your fingers; you climb the stairs
Again, back to the terrace
And pluck a leaf of eucalyptus
Scratch the surface, then sniff the grease
And leave the leaves scattered
A hill-station toytrain shivers, from another time
Four dark sinewy Indians
Carrying on a sedan chair
A veiled Memsahib, to the vows of an aisle
She covers her face in ghoonghat
Going up the country, on her feet and palms
The aalta of Indian Ink
Emboldened by the oil of eucalyptus
I tear it, I rummage for the stem your hands
Stretched out to, and finally
The cloudburst in the valley!
They abandon building the railroad for a while
The Memsahib passes, exchanges vows
The aalta withers, the rust scratches
Her hands trying to undo my lock
After the shower my nose bleeds somewhat
Remains choked for days, I pour some oil of eucalyptus
On to a tissue, and sniff to retrieve my sense of smell
It is gone, gone with the fingerprints of rain,
From your hands on my freshly painted door
They smell of this poem, which they call beautiful
Without knowing the last leaf has fallen
~ Arup K. Chatterjee
Arup K Chatterjee is Asst. Prof. of English at the University of Delhi. He is the founder/editor of Coldnoon: Travel Poetics (International Journal of Travel Writing), and the recipient of the Charles Wallace fellowship, 2014-15, to the UK.
