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Gedicht

Banira Giri

What Am I?

A black hole in space,
an oasis drained of itself,
a corpse tossed beneath a bridge
on the outskirts of town?
Hey, listen—a face—
I found myself in you
I embrace you and falling at your feet
ask—you must tell me
what am I?
Am I merely
a night exhausted by lightning bolts?
A thorny bush of berries?
Am I the avenging curse of Sati
or the blade of Bhimsen Thapa’s suicide?
A black hole in space,
an oasis drained of itself,
a corpse tossed beneath Tukuche bridge?
or the Kot massacre entire
dazed in itself?
Tell me, what am I?
What am I?
Only an instance of helplessness
turned toward myself
or a series
each in its own right arising and ceasing
going and coming?

Ma Ke Hun?

Ma Ke Hun?

Banira Giri

Banira Giri

(West Bengal, India, 1946)

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Close

Ma Ke Hun?

What Am I?

A black hole in space,
an oasis drained of itself,
a corpse tossed beneath a bridge
on the outskirts of town?
Hey, listen—a face—
I found myself in you
I embrace you and falling at your feet
ask—you must tell me
what am I?
Am I merely
a night exhausted by lightning bolts?
A thorny bush of berries?
Am I the avenging curse of Sati
or the blade of Bhimsen Thapa’s suicide?
A black hole in space,
an oasis drained of itself,
a corpse tossed beneath Tukuche bridge?
or the Kot massacre entire
dazed in itself?
Tell me, what am I?
What am I?
Only an instance of helplessness
turned toward myself
or a series
each in its own right arising and ceasing
going and coming?
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