The moon feels older than time. But as soon as, there was no moon—solely the collision that made it. Lodhi Backyard may not seem as timeless as its crescent moon (see the park’s night time photograph), nevertheless it does look very, very previous, owing to its centuries-old monuments and its big unwieldy timber with wrinkled trunks. The park, really, is younger, landscaped by colonial-era palms. This 12 months, it turns ninety. Final week, this house traced the backyard by way of the lives of some Delhiwallas. This week, poet-artist Tikuli Dogra (insta deal with @tikulli), who lives in south Delhi’s Vasant Kunj, gives her poem drawn from the park paths.
Lodhi Traces
The fringes of the day lingered
on the ramparts of Lodhi’s tomb,
flowed onto the octagonal partitions
and their tall arches and columns
that stood like timber of life
recalling that wonderful previous.
Daylight performed disguise and search
on the buildings because it sought its path
amongst silhouettes frozen in time.
I took a path shaded by arching timber,
the sooner crowds had thinned,
and love was throughout—on the rocks,
behind timber, on the eight-pier bridge,
on the steps of historic 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 concerning the mundane,
nor does mud from the traditional bones
of the dynasties that formed Delhi.
I handed completely satisfied, laughing youngsters
as they teased geese by the pond,
within the shade of a flowering Kachnar
after which sat, eyes squinting within the mild,
a blade of grass between my tooth,
watching the by no means fairly empty sky.
The shadows of leaves stirred
as a breeze blew by way of the timber,
a pair of cooing doves paused to pay attention
to the rustling whispers round them,
from the parapets, darkish birds flew
like fragments of charred paper
rising from a flourishing hearth.
A kite watched from a lonely turret,
hoping for prey within the afternoon solar.
Leaving the consolation of shadow play
I took the acquainted path again to actuality
harsh headlights, noise, groping palms,
streets crammed with catcalls and swearing,
mud and fumes choking town’s lungs,
inexperienced grass merging into concrete,
and night time, now creeping throughout the sky
hiding the numerous sins of a crowded metropolis
extra ruinous than the ruins I left behind.