Translated from the Hindi, ‘Twacha’, by Sarabjeet Garcha.
by Mangalesh Dabral
only the skin is visible everywhere
dermal bodies dermal objects
all universe made of skin
whose roving and spinning images the TV
flashes night and day
everything devoted to the skin
many kinds of cream unguents foam towels
falling from the sky
men and women are seen bartering
desirable skin
love’s the name of a layer of love
spirituality is like spirituality’s crust
only periphery is spread out everywhere
new miracles being worked on it
beneath a beautiful surface an ugly
thought hides easily
the crowned god appears wearing
a divine skin
this is some other skin that doesn’t sprout
out of a living wakeful pulsing body
becoming its beauty
that doesn’t breathe
whose hair don’t stand on end
that doesn’t feel pain
this is not Kabir’s dead skin
whose deep breath burns iron turning it into ash
this is some other skin that never hears when called out
that doesn’t spout blood doesn’t rend the heart when touched
sorrow lies on the surface
a river of thick skin disappearing into the sea of wrinkles
washes away fragrant toilets towels unguents
this is our skin-suffused time this is our abode
our thoughts dance upon it
look at a poetry devoid of disease grief decay death
it lies here drying up like skin.
Manglesh Dabral is a contemporary Indian poet who writes in Hindi. His collections of poetry includes Pahar Par Lalten, Ghar Ka Rasta, Ham Jo Dekhte Hain, Awaz Bhi Ek Jagah Hai and Naye Yug Men Shatru. Lekhak Ki Roti and Kavi Ka Akelapan are two of his prose collections; he has also written a travel diary Ek Bar Iowa.