Ode to sterility*

Once again I find myself at the theatre,

once again the theatricals,

and in this dramatic world

of scripts and players,

dialogues and soliloquies,

tragedies, comedies and

all that fall in between,

I know I should not complain.

I know of the back and forth,

the false starts, the prompting

I can pick the sterling performances

from the pedestrian,

I know the passengers, the props,

the backstage team,

for I have played this game when I've had to,

sat and watched when I chose or could

turned and left at times.

but this,

this drama in several acts,

these players prompted to read

from a well-crafted script,

this well-rehearsed unfolding

of plot, intent and climax,

the make-up and the practiced expressions -

does not provoke disgust,

as would a poor performance.

Instead a fire is kindled in my heart,

and taking that Promethean instrument,

I steal away,

visit endless nights of discontent

lanced with the light of a firefly,

sad histories interrupted by the heroics

of simple men and women,

a railway station, a bar,

an empty courtroom,

I burn cobwebs and rehabilitate rebellion

in the faint light of this tender candle

I peer into faces aged with reason and resolve,

I mine from the unchanging gaze

the sparks of romance,

gather continents of desire

resurrect utopia,

and bathed in this moonlight of solidarity,

I reconsider the forgotten maps of freedom,

their pathways, the road blocks

and escape routes.

I visit a temple,

breathe the fragrance of Araliya,

Sal and sweet Jasmine,

untouched yet by the acrid smell

of gunpowder,

for the bombs are yet to erupt on the altar.

I take a young girl's dream and

dance along a stream,

through a paddy field

into the bluest sky

and along the curve of a rainbow.

And again and again,

as I wander,

that flame takes me home,

to a girl and a story book.

And so, inquisitor,

let me to my reading.

* Written during an ‘inquiry’ into certain allegations made by the Divaina editorial staff at Upali Newspapers Ltd., sometime in late 2003.

[from the collection 'Threads,' shortlisted for the Gratiaen Award 2007]