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Arun Sagar

Arun Sagar was born in India and currently lives in France, where he is working on a PhD at Rouen University. His work has appeared in journals including nthposition, Free Verse, Pratilipi and The Journal.

Mansion

Everywhere I am ahead

of myself in the mansion

of myself. Look how hard

it is to avoid the metaphor:

long corridors where all I find

will be familiar, the doors

behind which I already hide

and hope to hear my footsteps,

the rooms of unplayable music,

synthesizers, grand pianos,

the dusty air above the keys

pregnant with waiting.  

Now somewhere winter  

Now somewhere winter is

                             already leaving

impressions on the skin,

                    sketches for what

is to come, but here October

         waits at the

 ramparts of the city, the tall

               apartment blocks and un-

built metro stations. Fly-overs

       criss-cross and curve in-

                       to themselves. Neon

floats beside Orion:

                       Amravali Royal Group.

Gaur Green Avenue.

                        Imagine Living Here.

Somewhere the maple

                  tosses leaves like

worthless cards. And

                      here I am searching for

                images. Red flowers

                               sprout like tumours

on the cold paved

                          flesh. By the

   river the railway tracks

                              run past the brick-

red buildings, rusty

                          barges and white

        jetties, and finally

to ground. Cesare

            Sieppi sings

                 Some Enchanted Evening

in the towering darkness, in the

     thick black air. And

               here I am searching for

                                 winter images, water-

                birds, late-

                       night restaurants,

warm windows,

                          boissons chaudes

            by the cold and

                                 windy river; and

                    now winter trucks commence

their voyages on

                             roads of ice still some-

                                             where water, a-

               cross the win-

                        try continents, while

                                  here I am searching for

           winter, jagged

                           rock under snow, snow

       heaped upon slatted

                                         roofs, cold

                                                            steel, hot

             wine, white streaked

                                 with branches, snow

                    melting in my

                                                    fingers, mist, the

                        ghost of winter past, here, present, un-

                                   graspable.                          

copyright © Arun Sagar