Milano
Last december, close to new years, we drove down to Milan from Paris. Reached at 2 AM and spent the next two hours GPS-less, mapless and quite hapless, searching for a nondescript hotel in a place that speaks only Italian. We woke up groggy eyed early in the morning (10AM), and decided to test out the public transport of Milano and navigate our way to whatever it is that one has to see in Milan. (Obviously we had planned out trip immaculately.)
The bus hurled us towards this old fortified fort of a place called Castello Sforzesco. It looks so grand and humongous and they claim Da Vinci had something do with its design and architecture. Later we walked down Via Dante (oooh Dante!), admired some wonderful photographs that were being exhibited and walked up to Duomo di Milano (the cathedral of Milan). There we posed like roman statues to each other's cameras.
Then we ran out of time, had a quick bite of delectable pizza and scrambled into our car and drove to Rome.
(Pictures - Krishnan beeming in front of Via Dante as Debanu readies his camera, Duomo di Milano, Inside the Duomo, Castello Sforzesco)
Old Furniture
There is old furniture in my room,
Sitting around like memories,
But you are welcome to
Bend your body in acute angles.
That way you can stand straight
In my room. I once threw my
Old Piano out the window,
It hit a high note in the main street,
And its keys flew like birds
Released in the sky. That created
Some space in my room.
The window would suck up
The air in my living room,
And blow it outside. The clouds
Would scatter like flaky paint,
Scatter and sometimes fall with
A thud, with the force of gravity.
There would be space in the sky,
But what good is such space?
Errant clouds come back
All the time. Clouds must be like
Traveling gypsies.
The space in the living room heaves
And pants, gapes in the shape of
A yearning for missing pianos.
It needs to be suppressed like
One would a yawn, with a palm
Or fingers. Suppressed by a new piano,
Brand new furniture. It would look
Out the window like a lady waiting
And worrying, cluttering my living
Room like memories are won’t to do.
There is old furniture in my room,
Sitting around like memories,
But you are welcome to
Bend your body in acute angles.
That way you can stand straight
In my room. I once threw my
Old Piano out the window,
It hit a high note in the main street,
And its keys flew like birds
Released in the sky. That created
Some space in my room.
The window would suck up
The air in my living room,
And blow it outside. The clouds
Would scatter like flaky paint,
Scatter and sometimes fall with
A thud, with the force of gravity.
There would be space in the sky,
But what good is such space?
Errant clouds come back
All the time. Clouds must be like
Traveling gypsies.
The space in the living room heaves
And pants, gapes in the shape of
A yearning for missing pianos.
It needs to be suppressed like
One would a yawn, with a palm
Or fingers. Suppressed by a new piano,
Brand new furniture. It would look
Out the window like a lady waiting
And worrying, cluttering my living
Room like memories are won’t to do.
4 comments:
I like the middle stanza. It reminds me of an impressionist painting by Pissaro..
I like the 'new' style.
I want more, please :)
Pissaroaaaaaaa? Like thatttttttaaaaaa?
More coming soon :)
Nice travelogue!
The poem is wonderful! There seemed to be a sense of breathlessness...But why would you want to 'suppress' the memory with something 'brand new'? Let the memory breathe in its own space and the 'new' furniture in its own....
Well, the furniture is a symbol of memory. Old chairs, tables become part of our memory.. until we forcibly throw them out and replace them with new furniture, which then become associated with new memories...
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