Windows

After Rilke's “Les Fenêtres”

i

how much     loss
gains suddenly in emphasis
and     brilliant sadness



  ii

far from that which lives and turns



  iii

languages
of our vain comings and goings wilt and gnaw



  iv

beat them,                                punish
them for having said and always said



  v

tear out, finally,      our spells



  vi

one life pours and grows impatient
for another life



  vii

and the lovers, look on them there,
immobile and frail
pinned like the butterflies
for the beauty of their wings



  viii

too great in the outdoors



  ix

like the lyre, you should be
rendered a constellation



  x

like the scales or the lyre
an almost-name of the ages’ absences



  xi

should I defend myself
am I not intact



  xii

one who loves is never             beautiful



  xiii

tender–strained



  xiv

all hazards are abolished
at the middle of love
with a little bit of space around it
where we are the masters



  xv

changeable like the sea



  xvi

ice, sudden, where our face is mirrored
traversed



  xvii

taste of freedom compromised
by the presence of fate



  xviii

for whom would I wait



  xix

with this heart all full which loss completes



  xx

will I be found when the night abounds
given over to you, inexhaustible



  xxi

climb! turn far and away



  xxii

doubt
that you can give the                         excess which arrests me



  xxiii

the sky, immense example
of depth and height

  xxiv

make of the air a round arena



  xxv

effort circumscribes
our life enormous



  xxvi

stretched toward the night

what

escaped



  xxvii

set            out in type on the page

a little

image

vague



  xxviii

like the greyhounds
arranging their legs



  xxix

the sense of our rites




waits



  xxx

intent



  xxxi

who rushes, who tilts, who remains
after the abandonment of the night



  xxxii

starry                  avaricious

  xxxiii

all the grand unbroken numbers
that the night will multiply



  xxxiv

new celestial youth




the matutinal sky



  xxxv

buckles                 close



  xxxvi

under the guise of tenderness



  xxxvii

time         uses his jacket



  xxxviii

inconsolable space



  xxxix

turned me into wind,

placed me in the river



  xl

leaves             fled    ...    



  xli

I had drunk


all of my abyss



  xlii

one must not tire
and eat with one’s eyes



  xliii

vision watered
profusely a           garden of images



  xliv

each bird whose flight crosses
my expanse



  xlv

nothing but looking seems like life to me



  xlvi

nothing but looking seems like life



  xlvii


while the prunes ripen
o my eyes, eaters of roses
you will drink the moon



  xlviii

I consent
and I consent                                                   force



  xlvix

o                                                     force
does not frighten me anymore, because it cradles me



  l

in the morning, small wild
become almost a mouth
all         worn and bloodless



  li

Be, stars, the rhymes
found at the ends of end



  lii

say      enough
More Poems by Sumita Chakraborty