This month’s poet: Willie Gordon Suting

POETRY COLUMN

POETRY EDITOR ANANYA S GUHA’S COMMENTS:

Willie Gordon Suting’s poems evoke emotions of love and nostalgia. They are simple present tenses but inherent in them is pathos and a crying soul. However there is no mawkishness and the poems lay bare the soul and look at life as it is. A talented poet Willie lives in Shillong.

Biography of Willie Gordon Suting:

Willie Gordon Suting is a writer and poet from Shillong, Meghalaya, India. His writings have appeared in the Sunday Supplement of ‘The Shillong Times’ newspaper, Raiot webzine and ‘The Northeast Today’ magazine (online version). He currently works as a schoolteacher in Shillong. Willie blogs at williegordonsutingblog.wordpress.com.

POEMS:

If Only Time Would Take Me Back To That Moment

If only time would take me back to that moment,
when our eyes met,
and the world around us was like all in a stillness!
I forgot the lighted cigarette in my hand
and she failed to hear what her friend spoke.
It was as if I said hello with my sad eyes,
and she said hey with hers.
It was as if we knew one another for many years
but couldn’t utter one another’s names…

Then a light drizzle fell on our hair and shoulders,
and we stood looking around,
looking around like clueless children.
The drizzle awoke us
and we quietly sighed.
I saw my cigarette nearly reached its butt end
and she followed the hand of her friend into a taxi.
They entered swiftly.
As I took out another cigarette,
she looked back at me from the rear window
and the car slowly vanished into the busy street…
…If only time would take me back to that moment…

 

In His Small Bed

He renounced all pleasures of life,
And buried himself for years
In his small bed.
The darkness inside the warm blanket
Was where he lived.
It was after some years that he believed
He could see and hear some people
Who were afar.
He smiled when one of them
Cracked a joke
He cried when one of them
Felt sadness creep inside her heart.
He believed he was omniscient,
Omnipresent.
A day came when he thought of himself
As a prophet of God and
A saint, sadly, who’s death was near.
When he lost his mind,
No believer came to see him.
There was not a knock on the door.

 

The Husband

I could smell his perfume around her slender neck.
I could see some of her cherry lipstick
erased by his greedy lips.
I could see her hair is not as tidied up as it used to be.
I heard his three missed calls.
I saw three condoms in the secret pocket of her handbag.
Yet, she pretends like nothing has happened.
That she loves me,
and that she similarly thinks that I love her.
Foolishly.
What a mask she wears.
The children have all grown up now.
They are still children to my sad eyes.
I’ve watched them grow with each year,
loved them since they were little babies sucking from those breasts of hers.
Sometimes, I think of leaving.
Seeing this family as an old life.
Finding another woman.
But it would not be right.
No…
It would not be right…I am a good father.
It would be a sin for I love my children dearly.
They are my everything in this sad world.
I’ll let the woman live her life.
I will pray to the Lord above.
The only reason I live in this house,
sharing the same roof, is for them.

 

The Woman In Swish Cafe

She sits alone in Swish Café
smoking two packets of cigarettes,
reading Anjum Hasan’s ‘Lunatic in My Head’.
She empathises with the character Firdaus, who longs for love.
She walks the busy pavements of Laitumkhrah
hiding the sadness in her eyes with black wayfarer shades.
When the sun disappears
and the rain comes,
she takes out her black umbrella and holds it down her head
to again hide the sadness in her eyes.
She reaches home with a taxi.
She goes straight to her room not eating dinner
and she tries to cry in her pillow…
But the tears wouldn’t come out…
She slowly tries to close her eyes,
but her thoughts would always go to the man she once loved.

 

In Her Underwear

She looks down at the busy street from his window.
Its late morning
and she’s in her underwear.
Then she looks at him.
There he lies asleep,
having had the pleasure of the night.
She could feel her baby cry in that dingy lamp-lit room
where her husband welcomes friends.
They say a mother can always sense her baby’s crying
even when she’s afar.
Its usually at this time that the baby needs milk.
She takes the money in the side table,
slips it in her bra,
and silently walks out the door.
As she treads the pavement where people look at her with hateful eyes,
tears begin to flow.
She takes out her black sunglasses from her bag,
and puts them on to make people think that she fears the hot sun.

Ananya S Guha

Ananya S Guha

Ananya S Guha works in the Indira Gandhi National Open University, Shillong (Meghalaya) as an Academic Administrator. He has over 30 years of teaching and administrative experience. He has six collections of poetry and his forms have been published world wide. Some of his poems are due to appear soon in an Anthology of Indian Poetry in English to be published by Harper Collins.