A Strange Interim

Subhransu Maitra

The inaugural first rain has struck.

It has struck a unique chord 

which cleaves open the encysting silence

produced by familiar noises night and day 

and emerges only in this city, 

only at this time of the year 

and comes alive—intense, moist, 

redolent, assuaging, a note of  

immense remoteness, yet so profoundly familiar. 

It comes alive in the plumes, curves  

and billows, in the fresh rain-bearing darkness

of the pilgrim clouds arriving at last.  

 

This brief strange interim seems  

to arrest time and its monstrous banalities. 

And though the interim will soon expire

and the same diabolical banalities 

such as Stan Swamy’s cruel death 

and Asuric stealthy violence of all kinds 

being perpetrated on children, women and men  

everywhere on earth—

will return to mangle again your space and time  

and drive you wild with bruising helplessness  

and impotent rage—   

 

As long as the interim lasts  

and carries you along like a stream,                               

the rain-bearing darkness seems 

to cleanse and renew your orbit  

and immerse you

through a fragrant leafy darkness.

 

Kolkata

(June 2022)