ONLY ONE FACE

there is a famous statue
of Buddha in Kushinagar

seen from one angle it seems as if
Buddha is smiling
from a second angle he seems
lost in melancholy thought
from a third angle there is
the blessing of nirvana –
inviolable peace

do not think of this as the sum
of three expressions
Buddha could not just smile

his smile was melancholic
and in between
the radiance of desirelessness
or of the middle path

great the skill
that sculpted this stone
but greater still
the understanding of this art
which could discern
that in these three images there was
only one face of Buddha

THE FIRST WHITE HAIR

I saw the first white hair
in Bhopal

and remembered
according to one of Buddha’s jatakas
when Makhadev the king of Mithila
saw his first white hair he handed
the kingdom to his son
and renounced everything

similarly, once
while adjusting his crown
King Dashrath of Ayodhya
saw white hair in the mirror
and decided
to crown Rama

and that woman in Kundera’s story
who meets her lover
after fifteen years
her hair was going white
so she was loath to love or was she
embarrassed to undress

as if when the secret was revealed
the monument to her beauty
which that man had kept
secure in his soul for so long
would fall

but in the end she decided
to love
because “monuments are improper”
and life is more important
than monuments

and what do I do
I have nothing to renounce
nor can I crown anyone
but you are welcome
to a monument of beauty
my first white hair!

DUSK

in his 42nd spring
Nirala felt
loneliness
dusk closing in

on her 42nd birthday
I asked a woman
what do you think
was the great poet right?

she said
my solitariness increases
and it seems like night
has come, not dusk

between these times
whatever else may have happened
the lights have dimmed
the semidarkness of dusk
has deepened, Poet
since you’ve gone

I DO NOT HAVE

I do not have
a crown of peacock feathers
nor the strength to break a bow
my neck is just a neck
no venom could turn it blue

no peaceful bed laid out
on a sea of milk
no friendship with riches

no ascesis that could make
the gods jealous so that
your pretence of love
would be called upon
to break it

not Yayati’s youth
fervently returning
nor the prowess
to pierce an eye
from its trembling reflection

no flute
to mesmerize you
nor the artfulness
that is a veil of water merely
upon your body that is
a lotus drenched
in your dreams

STILL BEAUTIFUL

some things
are still beautiful

not the journey, not the train

but your voice announcing
the train numbers and their times
of arrival and departure

is still beautiful

(Translated from Hindi by Rahul Soni.)