By Ananya S Guha
Now the summer
whimpers with rains
and the pines sway on hillocks
nature is demystified into being
of sullenness, the sun peeps
into bare hills, somewhere the green
I cup palms, fold hands
into a prayer of hope,
that these hills do not turn bestial
or run away with my trifling, opaque
dreams of a town which my eyes
search every day, for change
Have I seen these hills changing?
they lie comatose in my supine dreams
they change only when my wayfaring
dreams change, suddenly
or the catastrophe of rain, or
a blistering winter
which never ends
Animals are tied to these hills
so are steadfast rocks
monoliths wither in faraway village
as I untie knots of love
spilling into my bosom
like photos swathed with colors
This summer there was trouble
as police teargassed
and thuds could be heard every night
what must have happened to them,
these icons of sorrow
the hills of my destitute dreams?
the hills which pan hops
and take refuge under solitariness
of splashes of blue.
Ananya S Guha is Regional Director, Indira Gandhi National Open University (IGNOU), Shillong.
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