1
Mortal as I am, I face the end
with unspeakable relief,
knowing how I should feel
if I were stopped and cut off.
Were I to clutch at the air,
straw in my extremity,
how should I not scream,
haven’t finished?’
Yet that too would pass unheeded.
Love, I haven’t the key
to unlock His gates.
Night curves.
I grasp your hand
in a rainbow of touch. Of the dead
I speak nothing but good.
2
Over the family’ album, the other
night,
I shared your childhood:
the unruly hair silenced by bobpins
and ribbons, eyes half-shut
before the fierce glass,
a ripple of arms round Suneeti’s neck,
and in the distance, squatting
on fabulous haunches
of all things, the Taj.
School was a pretty kettle of fish:
the spoonfuls of English
brew never quite slaked your thirst.
Hand on chin, you grew up,
all agog, on the cook’s succulent
folklore. You rolled yourself
into a ball the afternoon Father died,
till time unfurled you
like a peal of bells. How your face
bronzed, as flesh and bone struck
a touchwood day. Purged,
you turned the comer in a child’s
steps.
7
It is night alone helps
to achieve a lucid exclusiveness.
Time that had dimmed
your singular fonn
by its harsh light now makes
recognition possible
through this opaque lens.
Touch brings the body into focus,
restores colour to inert hands,
till the skin takes over,
erasing angularities, and the four
walls
turn on a strand of hair.
9
A knock on the door:
you entered.
Undressed quietly before the mirror
of my hands. Eyes
drowned in the skull
as flesh hardened to stone.
I have put aside the past
in a comer, an umbrella
now poor in the ribs. The touch
of: your breasts is ripe
in my arms. They obliterate my eyes
with their tight parabolas of gold.
It’s- you I commemorate tonight.
The sweet water
of your flesh I draw
with my arms, as from a well,
its taste as ever
as on the night of Capricom.
It’s two in the morning:
my thoughts turn to you. With lamp
and pen I blow the dust off my past.
Come in, and see for yourself.
It’s taken thirty odd years.
Now, a small hand will do.
10
It was the August heat
brought the stars to a boil,
and you asked me about constellations.
Yet, by itself, your hand was a galaxy
I could reach, even touch
in the sand with my half-inch
telescopic
fingers. Overwhelm the flight
of human speech. Thus celebrate
something so perishable, trite.
Q. Write a critical
appreciation of the poem, “from TRIAL” by Raj Parthasarathy.
Ans. The poem “from TRIAL”
by R. Parthasarathy is a reflection on mortality, love, and the fleeting nature
of life. The speaker expresses a sense of relief in facing their own mortality,
as if they have reached a point where they are ready to embrace the end. They
acknowledge that if they were suddenly cut off from life, they would not scream
or protest, but accept it.
The speaker then admits their inability to unlock the gates of an unknown
higher power, indicating a sense of spiritual uncertainty and a lack of control
over their own fate. Night curves, suggesting a transformation, and the speaker
reaches out to grasp the hand of their loved one, emphasizing a connection and
the comfort found in the presence of a loved one.
In the second section, the speaker speaks about the memories and
experiences from childhood. They recall moments from the family album,
reflecting on their own growth and development. School and cultural influences
are mentioned, highlighting the complexities of navigating different identities
and desires.
Section seven suggests that it is in the darkness of night that the speaker
finds clarity and a deeper understanding of their own self. Time, which had
previously obscured their individuality, now allows for recognition and a
renewed focus. Touch becomes significant, bringing the body into focus and
restoring vitality to the hands.
The ninth section describes an intimate encounter with a lover. The act of
undressing before a mirror suggests vulnerability and self-reflection. The
speaker declares their readiness to leave the past behind and celebrates the
present moment with their partner. The imagery of breasts and their enticing
qualities symbolize sensuality and desire.
In the final section, the August heat becomes a metaphor for intense
emotions, possibly representing the passionate connection between the speaker
and their partner. The speaker acknowledges the transience of life and finds
meaning in celebrating even the simplest, most perishable moments.
To conclude, the poem explores themes of mortality, love, memories, and the
significance of human connection. It delves into the complexities of existence,
highlighting the fleeting nature of life and the desire to find meaning and
solace in the face of mortality.
