Poems by Pankhuri Sinha

Poems by Pankhuri Sinha
 
 
The office tours
 
The office tours
The ones where he showed
All of these safety signals
The safe exit signs
The enthusiasm with which
We climbed the stairs
His zeal
In showing me the new ones
In taking me up the steps
When all the while
He knew
He had trapped me
Someplace else
Each time
I wanted to come back to him
He very gently pushed away
I could not get to that math
He wanted me to get to
To the point of view
He wanted me to see
To how he wanted me to think and feel
He wanted me to feel that panic
And come back to him
Like ultimate refuge
Or he simply wanted me
To pick up that language of security
And this is precisely
Where the glitch was
It was about speaking that language of romance and adventure
Of madly chasing someone
Yet a love story not over
Of very strange contradictions
Extreme emotionalism
Yet deceit all the time
Deceptiveness
Being pushed into actions
That was just winning enemies
Living in a permanent haze
The industrial signs of safe exits glittered with blinding light
Left her dazed, confused, groping.
 
 
 
The office hours
 
Had he not followed me
So closely
Had he not followed me
In a way that revealed
That not only were strangers
Keeping an eye on me
On all my activities
Including my restaurant trips
But my own people
With an account of the bills
That were generated
And my husband
To whom they were sent
All were keenly observing me
And had authorized him
To appear at random
To appear before me
In these places
As though formally
And vocally keeping an eye
And
Had he not exercised
His powers exceedingly
Excessively
I would not have asked him
The exact mechanics
Of how he accomplished it
Given the town was all with him
And against me
All distances were within his reach
But had he not taken advantage
Of all of their espionage
The students would not have pounced on me
The way they did
And I would not have insisted
For the exact mechanics
Behind his patrol
And it just might have prevented
A lot of war.
 
 
 
Capitalism’s crisis
 
About them cars
That followed her that day
At almost every single turn
That came on way
Cars of that same color
The color of the car
That was first in question
The car that had created the problem
The car that had the encounter
The driver that just refused to see
Right infront
The driver that reminded her
Of the force
Of the power
Of the car’s engine
The driver that reminded her
Of what it meant to hit the gas pedal
Very softly, very slowly
Just coming close in one very small
But gigantic way
Just coming so close
As to rattle the ground underneath your feet
To send a signal to your knees
A devastating signal
For that’s about how tall
The car came
It was a woman actually
Sitting behind the wheels
Yes, sitting
For its not possible to stand
And drive
Unless you are water skiing
Which is a sport
44 Pankhuri Sinha
And driving is not
Driving is transport
Of course
It is much more
There is definitely such a thing called aggressive driving
Aggressive to the extent of killing people
And there are minor hits and runs
And then there is the car show
With the woman
Behind the steering wheel
And behind the glass
Saying with the sign of read my lips
Sorry, I didn’t see you
Saying with a big wave of her arms
Reminding you of some power talks
Where the gap between the two parties is enormous
Is created and made enormous
Reminding you of what it had meant to be behind that glass
Reminding you of how cold this last winter was
Without that glass
And on your own two feet
Reminding you of how you had loved driving
But what a coordinated statement it was
Cars of every single make
And of that colour
Had followed her
It was hard to decide
If it was a friendly gesture
Or one of consolation
It had snowed again
Was cold again
And this was the second incident
Of this nature
The first had been in bright daylight
In sunshine very springlike
And the woman had simply been looking away
At the road
And not at the footpath at all
She had actually hit the gas pedal harder
And while refusing to go to court
Was another offer of friendship
Everything reminded her of that table talk
That had completely slipped past
The table
Fallen off of it
Had spilled off of the table
Like so many diplomatic
And international talks do
This particularly had been a talk about international recruitment
Gone very bad.

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