A poem by Kaiser Haq
The azan goes
round the city
in a rousing relay.
In the eastern sky
the grey of an old man’s bottom
gives way to baby pink
How about a conservatory
for muezzins?
Badshah Akbar had instructed
that the dawn azan
should be delivered
in Raga Ahir Bhairo—
it still is in Old Delhi,
a glorious aubade.
It’s cool, it’s warm, it’s hot:
it’s summertime.
The clock seems awry:
it’s summer time
for the first time
here.
Everything’s late.
All the frogs in Rajasthan
married off—
and still no rain.
The cattle all scrawny,
Krishna missing from Vrindavana.
Radha’s prayer song’s
a bit hit—
and still no rain.
Down in our sultry delta,
under a leaden sky,
I toss and turn and slip
into a sleep of hopelessness.
But the waking up’s
miraculous—
the monsoon’s upon us—
a month late—
and desperate
to make up
for lost time,
wind and water
playing furioso—
azan soaring
over rain clouds—
and Krishna’s flute calling
Radha, Radha, Radha ...
[Reprinted with permission from 'Published in the Streets of Dhaka,' published by University Press Limited (Enlarged, 2017)]
Kaiser Haq is a renowned poet, essayist and translator. Enlarged editions of his last two books of poetry, Pariah and Other Poems and Published in the Streets of Dhaka were released at DLF 2017.
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