Talkatora Gardens, 22nd May: A Prayer

By our newest guest poet, the esteemed Shruti Krishna Sareen

Today, I prayed to you, my goddess.
In a small high ornamental mughal pavilion
In Talkatora gardens. I prayed the way
I have never prayed before. I prostrated
like a Muslim, folded hands like a hindu,
and knelt like a Christian. I went to each
little high arched window overlooking treetops
saying, like Emily Dickinson: ‘not knowing
where the dawn will come, I open every door.’
I thought I would pray to a spirit. But it was
to you that I had to pray, my goddess. If there
are such things as vibes and energies, may mine
reach you today, of all days, my goddess. I prayed that the birds you love so dearly
would tell you what I could not, my goddess.
I wept as I prayed, as I wished you to understand:
that I don’t want to hurt you, harm you, fight with you, do anything
to you. That I want only peace. But that I need
soul-nurture for survival, my goddess. I didn’t
only pray for you to understand me. I also
prayed for me to understand you.

I wandered all over Talkatora Gardens,
where I preferred the solitary border paths
where for once I forsook Tracy Chapman
for whispered prayers to you, my goddess.
I listened to the sound of bubbling moving water
in the centre paths. The green purple yellow
lights that glittered underwater in the dark.
There were parks for children, and gyms for joggers
People with dogs, people with balls, people who came
for fun, not for prayer. I left them all alone, my goddess.
I chanted your name with abandon
in freedom, and without guilt, my goddess,
in the complete belief of a devotee.
Wearing a garden-garden, bagh-bagh dress,
I seemed like one myself. I carried my new karbi bag,
It has blue and silver, amidst the red and black.
I found it unusual. Earlier I would crave the typical
most representative of the region, whereas natives
would eye curiosities. Have I become a step closer
to a native, I wonder. I saw this tree
all leafless. Perhaps hollow, like me. A little bent.

You are the roots to my tree, my goddess.
I stand, I grow, but I will die if you forsake me,
my goddess. I need you, for my existence,
for my security, to save me from danger, from
annihilation, don’t you see? you are my magic
charm,
you ward off evil, bring safety, my goddess.
I got sloshed to stave off fear. Used you
as a talisman to ward off fear that you induce,
My goddess. Does that make any sense?
Mostly my life doesn’t, anymore.
I applied for a project on axomiya food. The food
you write about, the food you ate all your life
the food that’s your roots as you are mine.
On your birthday, as you turned older, I realised that I am too old for chocolate brownies.
But most of all, on your birthday, on your birthday, my goddess,
I prayed for peace, and compassion between us.
On this most awaited day of the year, and the most
remembered, on this date that is always on my lips,
I prayed for you not to forsake me, my goddess,
Keeper of my sanity, keeper of my strength
because if you forsake me, my angel, you break me.

[Poem by Shruti Krishna Sareen. Also published in the anthology Sapphic Voyage, 2023. Cover image shows the mughal pavilion at Talkatora Gardens.]