Reflection

Scattered in the air,

... like dust


the evening streets watched from the balcony

with lukewarm tea and loneliness


'Tis the milieu', someone said


and those grasshoppers seen in the dream


the blue white and magenta


to you I return

to you alone


- Siddhartha (June 4, 2009)

Painting: Figure at a window by Salvador Dali, 1925

Stranger

The lane that leads to the sea

the picturesque lane lined with tropical trees,

tourists,

souvenir shops,

and a dozen evening bars playing jazz


I've traveled along the road

traveled towards the evening sky

hanging perplexed beyond the beach

where children played


beyond the sea

beyond reach

in a distant land


I've traveled

I've traveled

the sound of jazz and swinging doors

and nightfall

reminded me of many things


but I was no Lazarus

nor wanted to be


the beach now abandoned

except for the tireless rhythm of the waves

the hungry waves rising up


in the loneliness of the night


and I was no Lazarus

nor wanted to be

Once again

What is monsoon

if not memories


of narrow streets

watched through the window


the grey sky

the freedom

to go out

and wash away


- Siddhartha (April 14, 2009)

Here. Now.

The pale blue sky and the drifting birds!

perceived

through the grey haze of urban smog


the rickety bylanes

of memory and wanderlust

washed away

in the monsoon rain

like smoke-filled teardrops

yet refusing to fade away


coming

back every winter

like the passion in our ageing soul

or the bespectacled man

on the street

refusing to die


Yes…

we will



- Siddhartha Banerjee