Ancestors’ Grail

“After a long pain, a touch alone stays(.)“--- Bibhu Padhi

I crossed many oceans, seen monuments of truth
smiling at me, I noticed their mute communications
I carry them all to this land in which my roots lie
This forest temple, where lies my beginning and end.

My love’s floral grail floats on a paper boat
In the blue bosom of the Krishna
Memories are sweeter than all things present
Absences are epic poems we can’t read overnight.

I’ve seen the brimming face of Vistula
I walked gently on the banks of my darling Thames
Murray is hungry for my poems, my links to its soul
I ran up to the Beas for peace, peace and peace.

I remember my grandfather calling me many times
To meet his grandfather by our ancestral pond
The last time he spoke of ice, snows in the mountains
I was sitting near him listening to stories to travel.

Many stories travelled so far, many promises
Achieved. Stories never end.
All stay in my pores, my ancestors hold me tight.
fearing, I may lose myself tonight, unruly.

Love for the grail chased me to places, rivers
I prayed for all who made my soul
I see their reflections in still water of the Jordon
My forest temple at Chilkigarh is Varanasi of holiness

I love you all; rivers and makers
I return to your inhabiting, all fifty two poems
are dearer than my life, my father’s dreams
to see me taller than may trees in his garden.

My forefathers walked though this muddy path
All their rise and fall are metaphors
of desires hiding nothing, panting for more
Alexandria to Rome, Ayodha to Ghatshila.

So true! Believe me or not! Wheels are charged.
My little world revolves around the sunshine poet
shining forever. Her feet I touch, I learn always.
empty hearted now, not having enough to hold.

Forgive me or not, I live for you, my past
for this throat, this heart, this modest thirst
I read wonders in your bright eyes, time’s beloved
the questions you are about to ask yourself.

Some I guess, address all your doubts
Give me chance to listen, you chose the place
I will listen to you whole day, I will watch your face
dark to pink, as an obedient student of poetry.

Can’t we visit the river, eat a South Indian dish together
Why is this distance, borders and silences
when the heart is looking for no fresh friendships,
a turn of the will from within, speaking.

I lead you to the river, a season and place
all its own, elsewhere. No change here.
I carry my ancestors’ wishes and walk slowly
at your pace, even today, raining
A wish rises to my lips--
just one good morning with, a cup of chilled coffee.