Poetry: In Silent Rebirth

                     In Silent Rebirth

( In 2003, while living in the Central Government Quarters at Nizam Palace, Kolkata, my mornings were a whirlwind of activity. Between dressing the children for school, preparing meals for my elderly parents-in-law, and managing the house while my husband was away on six-month field assignments, the kitchen became my command center. It was a vast room, anchored by a massive window that let in the early light. Amidst that frantic rush, a quiet ritual took root: I began feeding grains to a lone sparrow that visited my windowsill. It became our daily appointment. Every morning at 9:00 AM, I would leave for the office, stepping out of the domestic chaos and into my professional life. As I walked away, I often found myself wondering if that little bird ever sat by the large window during the quiet afternoon, wondering where the lady who fed her had vanished for the rest of the day.)

If I were born again, a little sparrow I’d be,

To dance by the glass where a young lady feeds me.

She’d hurry through meals in the kitchen’s warm light,

With kernels of corn for my morning’s delight.

But when shadows stretch long and the stove fire is low,

I’d tilt my small head—where does my lady go?

 

If I were born again, a stranger I’d be,

Beneath the green canopy, walking alone.

With no one to answer and nothing to keep,

But the will of the wind and the forest so deep.

To laze in the woods as the dawn starts to glow,

And cherish the silence that only winters know.

 

If I were born once more, a flower of the wild I’d be,

On mountain-side ranges, wild nature's own child.

To blush in the silver of moonlight’s soft mist for breath,

I’d live a thousand tiny lives before a gentle death.

And if a weary traveler should pass my rocky height,

I’d bloom for him, and him alone, a star within the night.

                                                          -Pankaj Mala Bhattacharya