To John Again

 

 

The seasons are all come and gone

 

In Indian file, one behind another.

 

 

 

 

Clouds flashed their teeth,

 

Leaves un-greened,

 

Both died.

 

 

 

Winds bite now, lash at the nape,

 

At open collars,

 

And am I glad to be a poet!

 

To be young! To have loved and been forsaken

 

In the mellow streets of Delhi ,

 

Among Ghalib's words

 

And in his silence.

 

 

 

You, who have often enjoyed my company,

 

Remember to come when I am dead,

 

And though the ashes, some kith or kin,

 

Should have washed in the milk waters of Ganges ,

 

Forget not my songs and my tales,

 

Which gathered in some old bag (you could do without),

 

Take to the dark banks of Yamuna,

 

And, weighed by a heavy stone,

 

From the walls of the Old Fort,

 

Poem by Arvvind Joshi

 

 

Let sink where the waters are deepest.

 

The seasons are all come and gone

 

In Indian file, one behind another.

 

 

 

Clouds flashed their teeth,

 

Leaves un-greened,

 

Both died.

 

 

 

Winds bite now, lash at the nape,

 

At open collars,

 

And am I glad to be a poet!

 

To be young! To have loved and been forsaken

 

In the mellow streets of Delhi ,

 

Among Ghalib's words

 

And in his silence.

 

 

 

You, who have often enjoyed my company,

 

Remember to come when I am dead,

 

And though the ashes, some kith or kin,

 

Should have washed in the milk waters of Ganges ,

 

Forget not my songs and my tales,

 

Which gathered in some old bag (you could do without),

 

Take to the dark banks of Yamuna,

 

And, weighed by a heavy stone,

 

From the walls of the Old Fort,

 

Let sink where the waters are deepest.

 

Poetry by Arvind Joshi

newaesthetic.in

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Done