INDRAN’s POEMS

The Solitude of the Island

Yellow butterflies circling white acacia flowers.

I sit

Searching for my real self

In the island’s solitude.

My Indian soul

Getting wings from the sea breeze

Flutter

On the blanched wooden bench drenched in rain and burnt in sunlight.

The wind swishes on my ear repeating

The names of ships lost by sea pirates

In the confluence of

The Caribean and the Atlantic.

I sit

Searching my real self

In the island’s solitude.

On the blanched bench drenched in rain and burnt in sunlight.

Some illusion appears in me tellling

That I have already known

The names of distant islands

Rising above the horizon.

I wait

In my solitude

My lips murmuring the imaginary names

I have given them

Expecting them to move towards  me to shake my hands.

A black couple

Comes towards me

Sitting alone.

Inquiring about my forefathers

They tell me they are also of Indian origin.

I don’t know why

A nameless bird sitting on the rock near the sea

Should wag its black tail at me.

 I sit

Searching for my real self

In the island’s solitude.