Three Poems by Akhil Katyal

Three Poems by Akhil Katyal

For the First Few Days

since I know you'll be coming down the road;

since I've put away dinner 'til that time;

since there is grass under ground, waiting to grow.

—Kyla Pasha

For the first few days, everything

here had a thin film over it, as if I

saw them from the eyes of years

before, that film is almost shed now

and there is no distance any more

between me and this gamble that

is now laid down, between me and

the places here where I am now

hesitantly putting this hope – let me

cope, after all, how tough can it be,

there was love and now the next thing

will be that which comes after it,

a kind of (I find) modesty, an aftertaste,

a willingness but without the haste

and a new sort of ability to know

before it comes, that trough and

that crest, to know when it is time

to go, and to know the time to rest.

Khusro and Nizam

The real causes of the loss of the Mughal Empire were some mistakes committed by the elders of that king [Bahadur Shah], and the biggest of them all was that they had separated lover and beloved from each other, by burying Muhammad Shah between the graves of Hazrat Mahboob Elahi and Hazrat Amir Khusro.

—Ahmed Ali, Twilight in Delhi

They parted them in their graves,

for a Mughal to be buried in between.

Khusro and Nizam count the days,

how long before this city's razed?

Part not the lovers, the curse had been,

they parted them in their graves.

Now look from the ridge, all Delhi's ablaze,

'They exiled the king, what do you mean?'

Khusro and Nizam count the days,

till Bahadur Shah looks for a little place

to be buried in, far from home, unseen,

they parted them in their graves.

Setting up the marquee, a worker says,

'They're white as milk, the new king an' queen,'

Khusro and Nizam count the days,

till the time another Delhi pays

its ransom to the lovers that had been,

they parted them in their graves.

Khusro and Nizam count the days.

You

You push the bag under your seat,

sidle back, make space for more,

'This is the Piccadilly line service

to Heathrow terminal 4,' you see

attics pass by and vacant lots of

the city you are leaving make their

graffiti as if to say - a year later,

it is only yesterday, a year later,

it is only yesterday. And you think,

if you were given one more question

for her, you would ask, how long does

this year of separation last, how long

does it take for a shadow to fall

between what we love an' what we

fear; you are near, the tube halts, you

take a long step out so as not to miss

the ground beneath your feet, how bad

a joke departure is, to leave everyone

you meet. You board your plane, take

your seat again, an' by way of love, the

city tilts when you see it last, it begins to

melt as the plane turns around, you sigh,

for love, a bit like the seat-belt you tie,

guards you but always holds you down.

Author’s Bio: Akhil Katyal is a writer based in Delhi. He teaches literature at Delhi University and his poetry has been published in several international journals and anthologies.