War

I

In times of war

think of contagion.

Violence is contagious

it ruptures through

quite as heartbreak

but not of a kind

you’ve had before.

It empties words of meanings;

It empties conversation of words.

Sometimes a gaze is blank —

it could be cataract,

it could be memory hazed by present.

The clock falls, shatters time

because pain will be

the cyclical pattern of audio recorders

thrust on you, sound-bites of war;

aid for recovery. A bomb splinters,

the sun disappears. On blackout nights,

the siren sings as birds.

No, no longer war amputates you.

It infuses within, a slow drug

releases itself in your blood.

You think you are defiant,

but you reflect them.

See, I was warning you

about contagion.

II

In this war

and non-war

and the not knowing

if we are at war

or non-war

Is this the funeral

of a martyr

or a fugitive

or both?

Always both.

Is there

in this war

a Good Lord

eyeless above

Or is S/he there

only in us?

In this war

and non-war

and not knowing

if we are at war

or non-war

How do we know

if we are inhaling defeat

Or exuding victory

III

Tonight we are tendrils

and think of

each other a tree

I star gazed

into the constellation of moles

glittering dark in your skin

Tonight we are many things

Tonight we are many things

What dreams and divination

should we wait for?

The war is already

warm with blood

There is nothing beyond

the shrapnel for us

Tonight we are wounds and smoke

acquiescent with the making of fire.

Soibam Haripriya ’s poems appear in the anthology Centrepiece: New Writing and Art from Northeast India, published by Zubaan

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