After Seeing A Jia Zhangke Film
It’s all happening again, the convergence
Of moments surfacing through a sense of disquiet and fear,
Long harbored thoughts of dead emotions,
In the beginning of monsoon.
A jolt from an artist giving contour and depth
In whatever gritty landscape as reason for being;
My manuscript of poems long gathering
Cold and musings of death in a metal box.
I lift the papers as I hold my breath,
Skim through the waves of words now coming alive again
And throwing me back to days of stirrings.
Moving into the veranda, I step into the cool gray light
Of the Wednesday afternoon, ran loose the thread
Of thoughts into the dense forest.
In my view, a few yards away,
One of the staff is burning papers and leavings
From a big brown box, his last rite
Before moving to a new job in Kratie.
Another human at the crossroad
Making passage through my transience
Like the Irrawady dolphins
I had ventured to see in that part of the Mekong.
I clean up and sit down on the bamboo table,
Carefully lay down the sheaf of memories and history.
I make instant coffee, put on my glasses,
Touch my temple as though poised to break
Into a silent prayer, and brace myself for further transitions.
Koh Kong, Cambodia
14 May 2008