All Saints Cathedral

Who says colonial history
Doesn’t speak to us anymore.
Just look at the gothic spires,
The ballflower ornament,
Of the cream and red sandstones
Of the All Saints Cathedral and
You will see the darkening moss
Spreading like a sermon,
Telling a story of mango-dappled afternoons,
Guava scented mornings,
Where Christ became global
In form and content.

The cloisters are still
Dark and cold in summers,
The stained glass baptistery
Silently biblical and apocalyptic,
The reredo behind the marble alter still redolent
Of a belief in miracles,
The nave with dark teak pews
Echo with the voices of childhood.
If you strain your ears you can still hear
The dull soft choir of yesteryears
Now mixed with the cooing of roosting doves
And the decrepit stain of impermanence.

First written in December 1992, Allahabad and subsequently published in Bestpoem: A Literary Journal, January 7, 2008

Takiyama Kaido

The rain shimmers, slants, swirls
In the brightly-lit Takiyama kaido while
Cars speed past in rain-smoking wheels
Towards many a wonderful pastime.

In the semi-darkness of the sidewalks,
Made darker by sakura tree branches,
Young girls in umbrellas speed-past on bicycles
Laughing and chatting loudly.

The michi-no-eki frogs
Carousing in paddy fields
Sing unequivocally in a chorus
Of the rural past of Hachioji.

As you walk past shuttered windows
You realize the two worlds fighting for survival:
The one fast asleep by late evening,
The other reluctant to go home early.

June 2007, Hachioji

Takiyama Kaido

The rain shimmers, slants, swirls
In the brightly-lit Takiyama kaido while
Cars speed past in rain-smoking wheels
Towards many a wonderful pastime. .

In the semi-darkness of the sidewalks,
Made darker by sakura tree branches,
Young girls in umbrellas speed-past on bicycles
Laughing and chatting loudly..

The michi-no-eki frogs
Carousing in paddy fields
Sing unequivocally in a chorus
Of the rural past of Hachioji.

As you walk past shuttered windows
You realize the two worlds fighting for survival:
The one fast asleep by late evening,
The other reluctant to go home early.

June 2007, Hachioji

The Nakasendo Highway

It climbs up into the sky
Curving at the point
Of the distant horizon
Where ideas meet emotion
Then vanishes like a wild animal
Between wooden houses in the
Overnight heavy snow.
In the morning it can only be
Recognized by occasional pugmarks
Of a pack of raccoon dogs,
Small clog footprints or
A lonely raven’s
Caw caw for food.

When the cedar forests
Are swollen with snow,
And their swooning pollen
Is caught
In the tight grip of winter,
When the buds of the
Peach, plum and cherry
Hide in their protective barks,
A dwarfish figure approaches
The barn, somewhat bent,
To clear the snow
Over the ishidatami
For no particular reason.

The snow
On the Hime No Kaido,
Remembers,
Apart from other
Nubile girls,
The princess Kazunomiya
Who also took this road
On her way to Edo
To marry a shogun,
Even while engaged
To another man,
Just to give more power
To the empire.

As her large retinue
Wound its way slowly
Through small towns
Making friends with people,
And rested on the shores
Of the vast blue Biwa Lake,
The princess looked back
Towards the wooden Kyoto
With wistful regret,
And had an inkling
Of things to come;
A married woman
Becoming a nun.

Hirosige’s floating world
Of 69 stations have
Now given way
To modernized expressways,
Streaking shinkansens,
And the distractions
Of the civilized world;
The beautiful post towns,
The secluded sukego villages,
The houses along the highway,
The old world of Nihonbashi,
The bookshops of Kanda,
Lie in ruin, or are nearly gone.

But the seasons remain and
The mountains of Sekigahara,
The Ise shrine of Amaterasu,
The snow of the Japanese Alps,
Come to life again in seasons
Of falling snow,
Of floating cherry blossoms,
Of cicadas chirping from trees.
And if your strain your ears
You can still hear the princess,
The daimyo and his horses,
The common people, breathing
As they negotiate the Nakasendo.

(Tokyo, 2006)