To Tell You

for Kakoli and Devadatta

I would tell you of a journey, if I can,
up to creation. Night and day were out,
the air itself was home, I heard a speech
lighter than our loud breath, deeper than darkness,
softer than shade, insistent as a new sun,
wiser than words. It was a speech of the world
and what it said I saw too as I listened.
The argument of the past had disappeared.
People were talking, the time itself was vociferous,
the land was loud, the Earth’s core seemed to shine,
and I saw Peace loud Peace far Peace sheer Peace.
And then I was nearby, in an open room
of simple items, each with its own aura,
and everything was tranquil in the lay-out.
I wished I had seen more of it in life,
I knew that bitterness could have no meaning,
and all that is unpleasant and piles up
like sediment to stain the sides of day,
I felt it need not be, the glass was clean,
I knew a way to be, to stand and breathe,
my mind was clear, my body seemed to touch
the freshness of the dew of a new world.
A voice was calling, “I will tell it all
to you, my husband, you will understand!”

My parents (who had passed away) were there
at ease in the light room – and all my past
was somewhere present. I observed our wedding,
and saw a simple fitness of the moment
for the first time. Still my eyes moved on.
A thousand candles now were lit again,
and last of all, the lightning of the late storm,
when we must move our home, a baby near.
The argument of the past came back, and yet
it was as if such squalls had not to be.
I woke: and all I knew for a long second
was that it need not be, the bitterness,
the craze of the cross-wind, the blast of storm.
I thought, why does it rise, to dim the day?
Then I remembered all: the hospital,
the anaesthetic, and they saw me wake,
and brought my baby to me, and I took him.
What dream was that, what dream is this I hold?
You came. I did not tell you of the vision
for then I had forgotten it, we were
within our own loud moment. A young peace
is with us. Still where night and day are out,
a voice is calling, ‘I will tell it all
to you, my husband, you will understand!”

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