Nemesis

art work by ariyana

My lamps in the lighthouse never blaze at nightfall
I don't know who keeps them snuffed out,
Who creeps up stealthily to snatch away my lamps!
Your male forefathers would rub their favorite tobacco on the palm of their hands
My female progenitors would know they must leap into the flames
Nowadays, however, they are complacent in their tribal skin,
And sing melodiously in the mountains of Khagrachari and Bandarban.
Since then the lamps have remained cold,
People bear parcels of cinder in their pouch or pocket, but
The fingers that set them on fire have long been unconscious they stir no more.
There is a post office very close to the lighthouse where I
Forever forsake ten envelopes suffused with darkness. I suffer
Because every time I stopover the post office I misplace your address
Neither in the Yellow Pages nor in the Directory has survived any spark of bittersweet longing
When darkness descends on the valley the space between You and I is only
Sensed in light years.
Supreeta Sing lives in Kolkata.