Marveling
A poem by Eugene Datta

Marveling

Dappled sunlight on the hills, red chili peppers
drying on tin roofs – the archers take aim.

A man walks into an empty bus stop and sits down
on the bench, a pigeon sitting on the roof –

one life a scaled version of another, the two
separated by the ways they throb and flit to the end.

Stray dogs, a dozen or so, around a traffic circle
with a concrete lotus painted pink, blue, and white –

some sleeping on the island’s curb, some walking
around, as motorbikes, cars and buses pass them,

unperturbed. At Clock Tower Square, a man rests
his head on the shoulder of another.

The champion of naked manifest awareness riding
on the back of a flying tigress, curling flames

and blue-veined white clouds around him.
One morning years later, somewhere else, a fire-

crest will make death look easy when it will dart
into the glass window next to you and still instantly

on the patio. You’ll marvel at how gracefully
its delicate eyelids will hide the violence of its last

surprise. Unaware of that now, your heart lifts
at the sight of a little girl darting out of a green door.

In the picture you take you’ll find faces in the unlit
room through grimy window panes. Outside,

potted plants and prayer flags, and strings
of red chili peppers hanging on the wooden façade.

About the Author:

Eugene Datta’s recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Dalhousie Review, Mantis, Rise Up Review, Rust & Moth, Arboreal Literary Magazine, Hamilton Stone Review, Main Street Rag, and elsewhere. He lives in Aachen, Germany.

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