By Siddhartha Sankar Sarmah
I knew what kicked off the dust storm
at the far end of the road at nine.
The bus to Gauripur was slowly on its way.
And I moved closer to my brown suitcase.
The surrounding did not look tragic as I thought.
No one around looked familiar though.
Strange, for I lived here so long.
I climbed into the bus
with years neatly packed
in my brown suitcase
and pushed it underneath my seat.
Adjusted my back like a strained hypotenuse,
forced a smile at the curious boy sitting close,
and tried to inhale the sounds and the smells once more.
Did I expect someone
to bid goodbye,
perhaps to reason why?
Actually, leaving is not difficult,
if you can delete your years and months from the calendar
and choose the right luggage for company.
If it is Gauripur you are destined,
the bus leaves at half past nine.
It’s neither a leap into the future nor a bagful of emotion, but a quaint nostalgia for days gone by—tinged with anticipation for a new station of hope.
Poetry … in motion …
was a nice rewind. A Man of many a metro … going retro !
If … in his right luggage …
Will have to investigate … “Gauripur” !
Very vivid images with words bringing out a combination of nostalgia and hope and enthusiasm for a journey into the future. Looking forward to many more Sid
Superb Sid. You are super with your choice of words. It reminds us of our own journeys of leaving a place to a new destination with lots of sweet memories. Excellent. Next try your hand in Story telling……may be short ones initially.
Sid, it is beautiful. For some reason it tugged the emotional strings within and there was a deja vu of many childhood memories of departing and parting ( my father being in the Army, we travelled every few years to a new destination). Thanks again for the moment.
what lovely imagery! the beautiful choice of words have rendered a simple moment, of taking off on a journey, into something that echoes long after the poem has ended… simply wonderul!
Attention to the current moment as it passes is an ability which get activated as consequence of deep Empathy… You have it… It is gift… The words embodied the feelings of Nostalgia, memories fondly retained… It’s a poem as well as a vivid depiction of inner reality through images… Enjoyed it very thank you for rekindling my own association of teenage connections with that town…
You have a way with words Sir.. Deep, profound, impactful impression they leave behind. Every time I read a piece from you, I can’t help wondering as to what has prevented you from writing full time.
Poetry is beyond my comprehension but enjoyed reading it. If I understood correctly, it is not difficult to leave behind the unwanted past memories if you keep the right ones close to you and are on a journey to your destined place or positively look forward to the future. Films, music, theatre, literary talent and Sports/games Keep it up Siddhartha.
The drama in the poem will catch the readears. The philosophy of the poem will inspire the travellers.
It’s a journey for all of us.
Hmm…beautiful thoughts written beautifully.The very idea of all the years packed in the suitcase…how transient time is…so wonderfully expressed.A wonderful metaphor for Life’s journey itself ..with all its longings and leavings !!!! Superb poetry..would look forward for more.
Incredible tuku da! The way you have used the idea of journey- both in physical and metaphorical terms without clashing or overlapping each other is striking. I particularly liked the way you have carefully crafted the poem capturing the sights and sounds alongside to complement the journey.
Nicely done! The last stanza is complete in itself- very good poem. But I like the curious boy and the inching towards the brown suitcase most of all; it is the cinema in you waiting to come out.
Dost, it is difficult for this dumb soul to comprehend the meaning with all the metaphors and all ..may be something to do with Gauripuria gabhoru, long lost in the past troubling your soul now and then.
Beautiful. What makes me happy is that the poetry in you survived the drudgery of a para military force. Sensitivity is in born and does not wither away. Ye dil mange more.
Nostalgic!!
Pleasantly surprised to see this side of you. Lovely poem. I chose a right friend at this phase of life. Keep going, my friend!!!!