In The Train, Somewhere Near Gwalior
Summer, and here the mind and body
are enclosed by a dim winter.
It isn’t as cold as I am given to feel.
Even the sounds of noon are excluded.
What you hear is something you
never wanted. Talk of loud profit and loss,
a woman’s voice protesting against
time’s necessities, the wheels
lazily turning on the rails. And now,
I am imprisoned in summer’s silence,
my feeling of being nowhere.
The nearest thing appears too, too far.
Only the slight sound of
an infant’s nestling against its mother
is all there is, and of course a whole
old world of unachievable sleep.
Bibhu Padhi has published eleven books of poetry. His poems have appeared in distinguished magazines anthologies throughout India, Switzerland, UK, USA and Canada.