Untouchable Poetry

Sudhir Mallik
My poetry,
Stops every evening at
This platform of a half-town.
No, not for a local train
Nor for a mail train
My poetry will never go to any distant country.
Seeing her sun hides it face in the cave of a mountain
Broken clouds too cover the moon.

The dreamy mountains of Shimla in the horizon

Or the Surama Hotel of Gangtok
Is not for her.
She has to be here
In this dusty bare corner of the platform.

Corner of her saree is tied

With a handful of stone mixed thick rice
And an insect bitten potato
A stampede surviving chilly and some salt
Also got some dry straws and leaves.

She has no rhythm but a smell

That nauseate the babus
She has hair but no oil, has teeth but no smile,
Yet this abundant breeze of the spring
Is keeping alive my untouchable poetry.




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