N’fheadar cén áit.
Chuireadh mo gháire mé ag doirteadh caife orm féin
Thosnaínn ag sraothartach, seile á spraeáil agam, deora
liom is strainc orm
Dhíríodh mo gháire orm
daoine ag stánadh orm go fiosrach ón slua
Bhí sé tógálach, fiú ar an nguthán
Gan cúis ar bith thagadh sé chugam de ruathar
is mé a bhaint as mo sheasamh
mar a bheadh gaoth ag bogadh os cionn bláthanna féir
nó mhoillíodh go suaimhneach ar nós sholas na gréine
i mí na Nollag ar phánaí fuinneoige.
Conas a chuirfinn síos air?
Coinín i dtor?
Féileacán os comhair scátháin?
Srutháinín ag rith thar phúróga?
Gráinní gainimh ag glioscarnach i ndiaidh tonnáin tráite?
Deilfeanna ag princeam?
Lonrú an arbhair scilte?
Braonta báistí? Réaltaí?
An gorméan a bhí ann?
eascann leictreach?
scornlus?
arietta?
splanc neoin?
páirc feileastram?
criosantamam?
astaróideach?
siorcón?
braon dúigh?
siosarnach páipéir?
script folaigh?
Ar cheil an sneachta é?
Ar bascadh faoi ghluaisteáin ar luas tríd an ngreallach é?
Ar stop comharthaí é?
Ar scanraigh bitseach é is an oíche ina dúiseacht aici?
Ar chuir fia-chailleach i gcás é?
Ar chuir an clog ina thost é?
Cá raghainn sa tóir ar mo gháire caillte
anois nuair atá bodhaire is daille is pairilis
sa mhullach orm?
Níl ionam ach anáil thais
carn cnámh i ngeimhle
gearradh domhain gan fuil
neascóid gan phian
fréamh gan ghas
macalla gan liú
An lá ag dul ó léas is níl na lampaí sráide lasta
abair liom, duine éigin!
An nochtfaidh an chamhaoir é nuair a bháfar an ceo?
An taibhreamh a bhí ann? An bhfuilim im’ dhúiseacht anois?
An foláireamh a bhí ann? An bhfuilim slán anois?
An gealtacht a bhí ann? An slán dom anois?
Dileep Jhaveri
My Laughter
I have lost my laughterI do not know where
Laughter used to make coffee spill over my lap
I would start sneezing and spray spit – with tears streaming from screwed up eyes
It used to point at me
quizzical faces from the crowd would stare at me
It was infectious even on the telephone
Without any reason it used to come rushing
and joggle me
like wind moving over grass flowers
Languidly it used to linger
like December sunlight over windowpanes
How can I describe it?
A rabbit in the bush?
A butterfly before a mirror?
A streamlet leaping over pebbles?
Glistening sand grains after a wave ripples away?
Gamboling dolphins?
Corn gleaming beneath shucks?
Raindrops? Stars?
Was it a bluebird?
an electric eel?
a bellflower?
an arietta?
a neon spark?
an iris park?
a chrysanthemum?
an asteroid?
a zircon?
an ink drop?
a rustling paper?
an invisible script?
Did the snow bury it?
Did cars speeding in the slush crush it?
Did signals halt it?
Did the bitch keeping awake the whole night frighten it?
Did a witch encage it?
Did the clock silence it?
Where will I search for my lost laughter,
now when deafness and blindness and paralysis
have piled on me?
I am merely a moist breath
a heap of shackled bones
a laceration without blood
abscess without pain
root without stem
echo without a cry
Daylight is gone and street lamps unlit
tell me, someone!
Will it emerge at dawn after mist drowns at dusk?
Was it a dream? Am I awake now?
Was it a warning? Am I safe now?
Was it madness? Am I cured now?
