Poetry Shanta Acharya THE LAST ILLUSION Lying awake like the sky all night I fall asleep with the promise of dawn, waking in a land of rainbows beyond our universe, part Vegas, part Himalayas, welcomed by an unfamiliar God. Not the gods, goddesses, saints, saviours I had grown accustomed to – no parents, grandparents, ancestors, friends. All believers of truth, goodness, integrity and other such virtues were despatched to earth to pay their dues, mend lives blighted by ethics. The gods to themselves kept Justice, humans held on to Hope – the strong, pure in mind and action believing most in divine retribution. Ushered into this transcendent realm I encounter history’s countless evil men. These were no monsters regaling me with stories of their inhumanity. Smiling at my shock of recognition, the last illusion, their bacchanal proceeded without interruption. I was summoned to join in their celebration. What any human knows is finite, what we do not know is infinite… Angels singing carry me back gently to myself leaving me to figure It out… I am woken by the cold, clear light of day. WISHES Having tied strings on trees, walls, stones, wished on the new moon, fallen eyelashes, tossed coins in rivers, fountains, wells, sometimes over my head and shoulder in more places than I care to remember, circled several times the sacred scarab, climbed mountains, hugged pillars, statues; kissed icons, shrouds, Shiva Linga, images of gods, goddesses, saints; made donations, fasted on different days of the week, prayed to the sun, moon and other divine powers, lighted candles in churches, cathedrals, folded my palms in prayer in temples, knelt reverently in mosques and pagodas – I have learnt that wishes are milestones on our journey back home. Nothing disappears without a trace, only our pilgrimage transforms as we learn to celebrate our brief passage with grace. (From Imagine: New and Selected Poems) Shanta Acharya, born and educated in Cuttack, Odisha, won a scholarship to Oxford, where she was among the first batch of women admitted to Worcester College in 1979. A recipient of the Violet Vaughan Morgan Fellowship, she was awarded the Doctor of Philosophy for her work on Ralph Waldo Emerson. She was a visiting scholar in the Department of English and American Literature and Languages at Harvard University before joining Morgan Stanley in London. She worked in the asset management industry and has written extensively on the subject. The author of ten books, her publications range from poetry, literary criticism and fiction to finance. Founder of Poetry in the House, Shanta hosted a series of monthly poetry readings at Lauderdale House in London from 1996 to 2015. In addition to her philanthropic activities, she served twice on the board of trustees of the Poetry Society in the UK.
2 Comments
Ramakanta
7/26/2017 07:27:55 pm
The two poems in morning sets my mood for the day. The last illusion will echo in my mind.
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Kumarendra Mallick
7/27/2017 02:16:32 am
Lovely poems. One can relate the theme to oneself and therefore are admirably readable. Congratulations.
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