1. HOLY IN VARANASI,VERMILION IN HER HANDS
by Mainak Bag
THE SEASON OF COLOUR WAS COMING AGAIN
THE STREETS, THE WALLS, OUR HOUSES’ DOORS
AND WINDOWS, THE EARTH OF MY GARDEN
CLAD WITH COLOURS WOULD ALL BE.
RED, GREEN, YELLOW, THE LITTLE PARTICLES OF
COLOUR GOING UP, BEING THROWN UP,
FLYING FLYING FLYING; THEN SITS ON MY
FLOWERS’ PETALS.
THE SEASON OF COLOUR MADE MY FLOWER RED
RED IS BLOOD RED IS LOVE.
DID YOU PAINT MY FLOWER WITH LOVE?
WHY PAINT? WHY HIDE?
RED GREEN YELLOW FLYING FLYINNG; THEN SITS
ON HIS EYES TOO.
SEASON OF COLOUR MADE MY LOVE RED.
RED IS BLOOD. RED IS LIFE.
THE ALLEYS, THE STEPS,THE SILENT GANGA,
THE HOOKAH OF THE SAINT
GLAD WITH COLOURS WOULD ALL BE.
BUT COME O RAIN! COME LIKE OBLIVION.
OR NO, NOT LIKE OBLIVION
COME LIKE THE SPIRIT OF A PHOENIX,
COME YOU DOWN LIKE TEARS OF THAT LAZARUS.
BUT, SEASON OF COLOURS,
WHAT DID YOU HOPE TO HIDE IN HIS EYES?
THEY WERE ALREADY RED.
NOW RED ON RED BUT DEEPEN THE DISBELIEF.
I CALL THE RAIN NOT TO WASH.
NO.
NOT LIKE OBLIVION
BUT TO SPLATTER THE DRIED THE DRIED BLOOD;

2. TO FLOW IT AGAIN.
COME.
WE WILL PLAY WITH LOVE
AND DONE,
WE WILL WAIT
FOR THE SEASON OF COLOUR TO COME AGAIN.
I WILL AWAIT YOU ALWAYS
WITH MY HANDS RED.
( Composed after the 2005 bombblast in Benaras on the eve of HOLY. )