For Borges

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borges-forestsSilence is a Forest. Rootless

words Perch on filtered sunlight,

shadows dance with rhythm of swaying

distance, dead wind caresses.

 

You are welcome to trek inside,

to bring unknown sounds with your

alluring footsteps on the fallen leaves.

A message will whisper into the

thick embracing branches. Forest has

a bewildered heart, no ears. Eons

will preserve your coming in cloying

music of unehanced proximity. You

have to leave, trees will die, saplings

will green with enchanted survival, mutinous

rings will note your departure

in non committal dignity.

 

Losing intimate words is like small

unwoven paths there. Life hustles, love

dies, it always becomes too late for

the birds to reach the Sky and lose

their way to a sunset, a hungry palate

of silence colouring the existence, the Sky.

 

Silence is the wired torsos, unseen

roots, the shivering leaves, the spreading

branches and finally the whole cartography

of a crowded green canopy. You have to leave

before it is dark, before you miss the chosen

direction. In the surreal presence of

eternal loss, the forest will note life stories,

emoting unbearable heartbeats, from afar.

(khatuaAmarendra Khatua is India’s ambassador to Argentina. Known in diplomatic circles for his negotiating skills, Dr Khatua is a prolific poet who writes with the same finesse in Oriya and English).

 

 

 


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