Skull

THE fruit had on it the colour of
Yellow, when I stung it with a syringe,
Appeared a clot of blood,
I saw it; a strange sympathy flourished
The fruit said ' Why cant you see.. still..?'
Peeling, I found ten thousand and seven hundred
Cells in its flesh, its soul..

NOT a fruit. A skull was there on the field
Today it has the colour of white, pale
There was soft green grass. A mouse,
Thinks of a shelter, enters through
One eye-hole, only to be cheated by the other.
A paddy field is nearby.
Two kits were playing.
One of them picked up one of my bones,
But werent there a few more?
Werent there two hundred and...?
The skull mocked-
'Cant you see the wretched village!
Some are for the wolves, some deserve the foxes
The ants found a better
Stay inside your flesh and you were
Silent. And now
So fake your tears..'

I was afraid, cant open my eyes,
The moon, at the space, today its too white.
Far away- the dead huts, the bushes, the tilted fences
The torn clothes can be seen, the black
Umbrella; cockroaches piling up in that black nest;
Leaves fall on it.
I can see much more- a pair of shoes
My mother gave me a sacred thread
Where is that?
I cant see anything now, no more can I
Grabbing the mad breezes, I swim through
The space, over the greens and on the field
Still conquers, still lives under the moon, My own white, pale skull..


An effort to translate a poem ''khuli'' by Joy Goswamy.