`Letter to God & Other Poems’ by Tara Narayan, published by Goan Observer Publications, softcover, Rs250

WITH the overwhelming takeover of life and living by social media there is the very real fear that literature will take a back seat and suffer a loss of its old distinguished identity in moulding humankind’s mind and body, heart and soul! To the contrary today more younger folk after their tryst with social media is put in perspective good, bad or ugly – are making a conscience choice to buy and read books for more rewarding satisfaction — novels, thrillers, soap opera narratives and of course, poetry.
I do believe that those grow up reading literature of all genre and are exposed to the finer arts of the old world and new world will develop more sensitivity inwardly and outwardly – be more in tune with people around them and amidst whom they live and grow up…in a spirit of togetherness and give and take. The human condition is best mirrored in poetry if I may say so arguably!
Tara Narayan’s first book of poetry titled Single Woman’ (published by Rupa & Co in 1989) in her maiden name Tara Patel had received considerable reviews when it came out. Alas, her second collection published after a long break of over 20 years, titledLetter to God & Other Poems’ published by Goan Observer Publications and printed by Rama Harmalkar, recently, still awaits a formal release.
The collection offers 29 poems, most of which define the life of ordinary women growing up in semi-patriarchal Indian society…we present a selection of poems from `Letter to God & Other Poems’ here in the hope that more people will be tempted to make the reading of poetry a way of life!

Selected from `Letter to God & Other Poems’ by Tara Narayan…

To a man who says he loves me

Ten years down the road of life
And we’re no closer to feeling loved!
Love is always suspect.
Even if there’s never enough of it around.
You are not sure of your feelings for me,
Nor am I of mine for you.
Let’s say we’re still seeking
Perfect definitions.
It’s hard to say who is taking cues from whom.
You keep postponing the present
For the future.
Let’s get married, I say,
But you’ve been through it once,
And once is enough..
Two people need not get married
To prove they love one another,
You say.
In fact,
They marry to be unfaithful later!
So shall I come an shack up with you?
But you’re too honourable for that,
No, thank-you.
May be sometime later,
in the future,
Not yet.
Your uncertainty inspires mine.
There are nights when I want to reach
Out for you,
But you’re far away.
The next morning it’s too late.
It’s nights like these which make
A clean sweep of love.
My tears keep making a mess in
Square one
All the time.
I no longer understand what you mean
When you say you love me.
Love keeps me dangling,
To see how long I can bleed for you.
We’ve become a part of
each other’s problem
but not solution.
You feel safer in the warm, dark
Cocoon of the future,
While I pine to be a butterfly
Of the present.
To think that after all these years,
There’s nothing between us –
But wishful thinking!
One of these days,
I’ll stop struggling to fit into the
Time-table of your life.
Or offer myself for target practice.
I no longer wish to be reflected
In your eyes.
Our love has become passé, darling.
Suddenly, I find it easy,
Easy to say goodbye
And God bless.

Magician

Tired of catching up with life
All the time,
Lagging behind all the time,
I took to looking at the sun.
For the sun is a great teacher,
Teaching with a sunrise
And a sunset.
All day long the sun plays a
Musical instrument
In the blue garden of the sky.
At noon time, it is an
Incomparable,
Venerable lover,
With its hot serenades.
Better not look at it then!
Only listen to its golden melodies
In seclusion.
One day, a last surviving thought
Flickered out.
I was a temple in darkness.
Till I started to
Look at the sun
Wake up to look at the sun.
The sun rises with a bhajan
And sets with a ghazal.
Musical words like priyatama
And hashinger
Come to mind…
A saffron scent burns at the heart
Of the sun..
Unemployed and out of luck
in the killing fields of life
I couldn’t take my eyes of the sun.
Hot white incandescent ball
Of the universe,
Mighty life-giver!
The sun touches me everywhere
In the darkness of my soul.
These days I can say a diya
Burns in me,
Fuelled by the sun.
An inexhaustible supply of sun!

Look at the sun with the eyes
Of Vincent Van Gogh –
If you can.
And the sun will rise
Like a magician for you!

Black
Do we turn to stone?
As a rainbow of feelings
Dry and fade,
And stocktaking
Throws up cameo memories
Of how life’s tough vine
Can bear sour, bitter fruit,
For want of the sweet
Pollination
Of love?
Why do we no longer feel
Like talking,
To those we have given freely
And who have taken away freely
Without a thought
Of past, present and future,
And gone out of our life?
Are there no relationships
Of the kind
We took for granted
When we were young?
Fifty something years later
When the curtains fall all around
On killer lies,
We believe
In love’s paradise
There are more questions
Than answers!
Do you know how relationships
Break up?
Like cheap glass
A few – the ones we lived on,
Shattering into mindboggling shards,
To stay embedded
In consciousness forever —
To draw blood.
When is it too late?
Is it too late
When black has seeped
Into a rainbow of feelings,
And we stop seeking ways
To make a clean sweep
Of life’s broken glass,
Hoping to begin anew?

Mystery Man

When I spoke of the sea
And its role in his life
He would say, “Don’t look at the sea.
Look at me, the sea is in my eyes…”
Then when I sought his eyes
He looked away, turned away,
Brushed aside my insistence rudely.
I floundered in the shallows of his life.
He denied me entry in deeper waters,
Put up a notice, “Trespassers will suffer.”
I wondered what he was scared of.
That I would learn enough, too much,
Perhaps as much as him,
And demand that he be happy
And let me be happy too.
Did he fear that I might take up
Permanent residence
In an impermanent world?
He left in a hurry and an unending sea
Bloated me up.
Now I am torn between looking at the sea
And not looking at it.
The sea reminds me too much of a terrible exhaustion
And being wrecked on rocks.
A friend says, “My dear, after 35, life is
A salvage operation.”

Monsoon
The rain comes showering sharp
wet kisses everywhere.
It’s a gift to me,
and the city.
In the silvery green monsoon light
I see you’ve arrived in style, Mahadev.
Lord of the Rains.
I see you everywhere, redeeming
the summer’s losses.
The season’s first saffron-hearted harshingar
flutters at my feet,
telling me you’re here.
June, July, August — September,
Most beautiful of months.
The harshingar falls in thickets,
Its fragrance spreading through
The night like nectar.
Look at me, Mahadev.
I’m high on the vintage wine
Of your rain
Of compassion
My eyes fill up in competition
To welcome you!
I keep waking up to the luxury
of falling rain.
Percolating down steadily.
Through the trees.
Comforting me.
In September, a bejeweled, confetti
rain of farewell falls….
A whispering, healing rain
Of reassurance.
I would give anything to keep
you around
My life-giving Lord of the Rains.
Weaving your illusory sunsets
Of brocaded light
Here, not here, here again….
I know you are here for me,
mahadeo!

Bottomline

Tears inspire.
God alone knows from where
They come.
Rushing to your rescue,
Without notice or ceremony.
No matter how much you think
You can do without them,
Or resent them,
They keep welling up
from some secret netherland.
See, how they keep you
Company through the night,
Lurching about the shores of the eyes,
Brimming up and spilling over and over,
Washing away a wilderness of pain.
Where have you seen
such persistent generosity?
Tears can wrap you up in a warm,
Wet embrace,
Reminiscent of kisses,
Whose kisses, you half-wonder.
They can spin a cocoon of love
in which you can lick wounds
and hibernate.
A salty numbness protects you,
Nurses, nourishes, guides you back to life.
Human again – to write a poem!
Tears inspire.
Blank cheque of love,