Translated from the Hindi by Moulinath Goswami.

Sleep

I speak from a place
where bullets
enter the wings of sparrows
Where bread dissolves in water

I can see some faces
Some faces I can never see

I come out of a nook
and walk into the city
I come out of the city
I see a huge forlorn lair before me

Someone was there who’s now gone away
leaving his claws and jaws behind
No one’s there anymore, the sharp scent of whose absence
lay spread-out everywhere

For the first time I feel I am not alone
I am not alone in this colony
Because I know potatoes are being roasted somewhere
Somewhere the children huddle together
round a flowing white beard
And from within the beard a black cheetah emerges

I speak from that place
where hunger
separates itself from shame
Where a black cheetah
turns into the aroma of roasted potatoes

I am in search of a better word for sleep.

___

Trees

These trees
like sleuths hidden in a crowd
will follow you wherever you go

Walking beneath a dense green bower
you will never realize
that green is one such colour
which strikes at the scruples of men

You will never come to know
that you spent your entire day
crossing the distance
between a house that has lost itself
and a tree that is now past

No one will tell you
that meanwhile
whatever you write on this piece of white
therein also lies the silent agony of trees.