Stanley Kunitz one of the greatest American poets died few weeks back at the ripe age of 100. Poets unlike writers have their best contribution before midlife but Kunitz was of different breed he became poet laureate of US at the age of 95. His highly acclaimed “Collected Poems” was published in the same year. There is an interesting incident that is almost prophetic. A student in the 1960s once asked W.H. Auden why Stanley Kunitz did not have the following he deserved. Auden replied in jest, “It’s strange, but give him time. A hundred years or so. He’s a patient man”. These lines of Kunitz I came across recently and thought was exquisite.

Who whispered, souls have shapes?

So has the wind, I say.

But I don’t know,

I only feel things blow.

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The other day I wrote these lines (actually its been worked on something I wrote many years back when I was staying on a beach during monsoon). My small dedication to kids who kill themselves trapped in the brutal and atrocious examination system. Few days back a girl killed herself in the lake very near to where I stay. I love rains but monsoon is also the season that brings more accidents and deaths. Many people and college mates whom I know (and also liked) have died during rainy season and in accidents. Fishermen are gulped by the sea so are others who go out for good time in the beach. Rain makes ocean very angry it seems. It thrashes the shore with such viciousness.

Shadows

Silhouettes of whimpering shadows
whorl under my window
bereft of the bodies, they dearly search.
Telling me of deaths,
of dying and tumultuous times
of love lost.
Freighted in the grief untold
drenching in darkness
they sink further and further….
till I see a small dot rising in the sky
exploding into brightness never knew.

An intact thought
comes feasting in the monsoon rain.