- Death of a song
The hills cover in mist Giggles of women
over the flirtitious Sardar’s remark In the orange field
Could be heard clearly in our courtyard
The clouds descended towards the Earth Creating the illusion of heaven
Just as in the story
Our Boju was narrating from Mundhum I often lifting her bulakee
When she sipped fast tea in a silver mug She told stories of creation
And with folded hands
Bowed everytime she uttered the names of God
Tagera Numa Phuma Sewaro Porokmi Yambhavi Sewaro Yumasang sewaro
Thebasang Sewaro She sang songs,
Which we could hardly understand And whenever she finished
Seeing our startled faces
Her laughter echoed till for mountains With silver hair and her wrinkles
And those age old ornaments She looked majestic
Just like the mount Kanchenjunga So pure and powerful
Her stories and songs Had the rhythm of jungle
Perfectly balanced with nature We grew up at a glance
Left our ancestral house
To earn all nonsense in cities Leaving happiness behind
And when we finally realised
It’s time to go back home
Our boju was already gone And with her
Our stories and songs died too.
2. Fikka Chiya
Come April
And I am in love again
With all things fresh and beautiful
Except those…
False promises
That you made to me
And the leaders to
Garden workers
Come April,
And I am in love again
As the golden rain
Touch the parched earth
The hill blooms green
The rich fill their coffer
And the poor feels their dream
This year too
Their same aspiration
A begging bowl for politicians
Agendas discussed and faded
In dusty files
Just like their hopes
Sewn and knotted meticulously
By the intellectuals
In some air conditioned room
Come April
And I am in love again
With the first flush
Green or black
Does not matter
As long as the tea leaves
Swirl and twist
In that glass pot
Diffusing an enigmatic smell
The Aroma of heavenly souls
Or the earthy sweat of labours
3. THE FINAL JOURNEY
The physical cage too weak
To hold my enlightened soul
The duties now done
I think…
So let me set on my final voyage
The love once so powerful
Now, not so strong
To chain me
Unshackled my sprit
Mixed with the cosmic infinity
Ready to merge
In unknown bliss
As my soul leaves
The last wish is…
Instead of the meaningless rituals
Let my ashes
Be thrown on the mighty Himalayas
My soul merging into the serenity
Let my ultimate remains
Be swept by pious Ganges
My soul flowing is purity
***
Srijana Subba
English-language writer, poet, and educator rooted in the hills of Darjeeling, West Bengal. Her work draws on the culture, struggles, and socio-economic realities of the Himalayan region, rendered with quiet power in both poetry and prose. Alongside her literary practice, she is a committed social worker whose grassroots initiatives have brought the joy of reading to children in rural communities.
