Poetry in the city

[By Mayank Austen Soofi]

The moon feels older than time. Yet once, there was no moon—only the collision that made it. Lodhi Garden might not appear as timeless as its crescent moon (see the park’s night photo), but it does look very, very old, owing to its centuries-old monuments and its huge unwieldy trees with wrinkled trunks. The park, actually, is young, landscaped by colonial-era hands. This year, it turns ninety. Last week, this space traced the garden through the lives of a few Delhiwallas. This week, poet-artist Tikuli Dogra (insta handle @tikulli), who lives in south Delhi’s Vasant Kunj, offers her poem drawn from the park paths.

Lodhi Lines

The fringes of the day lingered
on the ramparts of Lodhi’s tomb,
flowed onto the octagonal walls
and their tall arches and columns
that stood like trees of life
recalling that glorious past.
Sunlight played hide and seek
on the buildings as it sought its path
among silhouettes frozen in time.

I took a path shaded by arching trees,
the earlier crowds had thinned,
and love was all around—on the rocks,
behind trees, on the eight-pier bridge,
on the steps of ancient mausoleums,
in quiet corners screened by bamboos,
it even sprawled on the sloppy lawns
unconcerned by the scattered graves,
or the cacophonous roosting birds.

Love doesn’t care about the mundane,
nor does dust from the ancient bones
of the dynasties that shaped Delhi.
I passed happy, laughing children
as they teased ducks by the pond,
in the shade of a flowering Kachnar
and then sat, eyes squinting in the light,
a blade of grass between my teeth,
watching the never quite empty sky.

The shadows of leaves stirred
as a breeze blew through the trees,
a pair of cooing doves paused to listen
to the rustling whispers around them,
from the parapets, dark birds flew
like fragments of charred paper
rising from a flourishing fire.
A kite watched from a lonely turret,
hoping for prey in the afternoon sun.

Leaving the comfort of shadow play
I took the familiar path back to reality
harsh headlights, noise, groping hands,
streets filled with catcalls and swearing,
dust and fumes choking the city’s lungs,
green grass merging into concrete,
and night, now creeping across the sky
hiding the many sins of a crowded city
more ruinous than the ruins I left behind.