In The Sanctuary Of A Poem

By Salil Chaturvedi

Fifty-two poems by Salil Chaturvedi, an award-winning poet, collected over almost a decade of wandering and wondering among the Western Ghats, along rivers and within forests of Goa. Amitav Ghosh, the renowned Indian writer, calls it a 'delightful book,' singling the title poem as his old favourite. This book is for those who, from time to time, enjoy the sanctuaries offered by words. This sanctuary slows the heartbeat to a new rhythm and opens the eyes inward. It's a sanctuary where anything is allowed, and everything is possible.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Salil Chaturvedi
• Release date: Jan 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370362547

Salil Chaturvedi

Salil Chaturvedi writes poery and short fiction. His stories and poetry have been published in online and print journals such as Himal, Indian Quarterly, Wasafiri, Out of Print, Antiserious, Guftugu, Indian Cultural Forum, Indian Literature (Sahitya Akademi), The Sunflower Collective, Joao Roque Literary Journal, etc. He is an avid reader and writer of haiku. His haiku and haibun have been published in international journals including Modern Haiku, Frogpond, The Heron’s Nest, Failed Haiku, Chrysanthemum, Wild Plum, Acorn, Hedgerow and Haibun Today. He was the Asia region winner of the Commonwealth Short Story Competition 2008, and the winner of the Unisun/British Council Short Story Competition 2007. He won the Wordweavers Poetry Contest in 2015. He currently lives in Chorao, an island in Goa, India, and can be contacted at [e-mail].

Book preview

the ants on my floor

if only we could live

like the ants on my floor

toiling as they do

without an audible cry

kissing each other

as we pass by.

Making the mistake

of stopping before a rendezvous

Stars spread evenly

on still dark waters

Fireflies mimic them

in cavernous cassia trees

The breeze soft-gentle

is coated with pine

A thirsty deer

stoops down to the lake

The thirsty lake

takes a long sip of deer

Ripples of pleasure

send shivers down constellations

I won’t be able

to meet you tonight.

ever is before this silent tree

in its growth messy

at the alone north corner

of a two-storey building

advertising the slight breeze

and reap-eating its mantras:

‘don’t get caught up in that god thing’

offering processed sunlight

in tiny cream cups

to forty about fat bumblebees

the birds watch this clever ploy

this naked sacred ritual

they sit on the pregnant tree’s branches

singing songs of birthing

calling forth the fruit

while the tree advertises the breeze

and reap-eats

but, this time the mantra is different:

‘whatever you will study you will destroy’

and as the bumblebees tip the tiny cups

hanging upside down

the birds call out

the tree reap-eats

and still

ever is before this silent tree.

I cannot take a poem and collect it in my palm

Smelling its damp humic odour

I cannot hold its tender flowers

and shake them gently to pollinate them

Or wet it and leave it to rot

and turn into rich dark compost

I cannot bite into it and close my eyes

feeling its tanginess on my tongue

Or pick a worm off it wondering which poem to put it into

I cannot watch it hold another poem in its claws

and tear out feathers and intestines

I cannot catch it accidentally

jumping off a nasturtium vine to give chase to another

poem

I cannot see it absorbed back into the earth

leaving behind