One day, after an early morning walk by the river, I came back home with this photograph, and the unexpected urge to write a poem. I did write the poem, and today, it was published by Strands Publishers, making my grey and wet Sunday feel all bright and sunny. It's incidentally my first publication in India, which makes it even more special.
The poem is called 'Wildling', and it's there below the two feisty swans, and online at http://strandspublishers.weebly.com/lit-sphere/wildling
I hope you enjoy it, this piece of my river.
Wildling
Morning has broken
open, bleeding into the river.
The streetlamps are still on.
Two swans float up in unhurried hunger
for bread I do not have.
Twenty-two huddle farther up the river
asleep, their necks wrung
into their wings. A lull
of white feathers on which water does not stick.
Their river is always dry.
It is land.
My river runs by me
reflecting runners, dreams and detritus.
A life of moorings and unmoorings,
a mirror of semi-truths -
where the light of a dog-pissed streetlamp
looks like flecks of real gold.
I stand still, very still. Watching
my body ripple and quiver like a wildling.
A swan passes by and I shatter into pixels.
But I can wait, I have nowhere I need to be.
The waters will calm, I will patch together again.
open, bleeding into the river.
The streetlamps are still on.
Two swans float up in unhurried hunger
for bread I do not have.
Twenty-two huddle farther up the river
asleep, their necks wrung
into their wings. A lull
of white feathers on which water does not stick.
Their river is always dry.
It is land.
My river runs by me
reflecting runners, dreams and detritus.
A life of moorings and unmoorings,
a mirror of semi-truths -
where the light of a dog-pissed streetlamp
looks like flecks of real gold.
I stand still, very still. Watching
my body ripple and quiver like a wildling.
A swan passes by and I shatter into pixels.
But I can wait, I have nowhere I need to be.
The waters will calm, I will patch together again.
...
(Please
feel free to share the link on social media, or just with the person sitting
next to you - Strands is a wonderful independent publisher, and really deserves the support.)
The photo, the swans, the poems...I felt as if I was standing beside you, partaking both of the scene that you present as well as what was running through your mind. Thoroughly enjoyed reading, Pia and congratulations on the poem's publication!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Priyanka, for standing by the river with me.
DeleteThat means a lot.
Hugs.
Love the imagery in this. I'm not a poetry person (typing that out felt weird and slightly sad for everything I have missed out on) but I enjoyed reading this, Pia.
ReplyDeleteThanks so much, Lakshmi! Poetry was a friend when I was in my teens, and now I find myself coming back to. I think they find their way to you when the time is right :)
Delete