Six thirty at Tagore theatre

A Tarkovsky movie:

Sacrifice.

It is raining.

Tonight , the screen will ask:

How many words do you need to live?

How many words does a person knows?

How many among these will he or she use?

How many of them will the other hear?

How many words will tell your pulse?

It is 4.30.

If you get an auto

The Tagore theatre is just forty mystic minutes away,

Allowing for a traffic jam.

The rain will tune

The instruments of the mind.

Tonight the screen will ask:

How many waves  should spread and fade

To make your word a seashore?

How many sailors should be consoled

To make your stand a lighthouse?

How many fastdays , dark whirlpools of fear,

How many meanings, petals of anxiety ,

Insufficient sight, inadequate hold,

Wasting and waiting

How much emptiness, has to gather

To make your eye a harbour?

How many husks,

How much salt,

Mutterngs,

Evations

Nondefeats, non-victory, to make you a sea?

It’s quarter to six.

The rain laminates the dusk.

Scattering  thoughts on the wet ground

A figure wavers on the road.

If I wait longer

Someone will come in.

Perfumed the armpit

Wore the jeans.

Festival allowance is

Safe in the pocket.

Must get hold of a rear engine auto,

A rear seat in the Tagore theatre.

Tonight,

The screen will say:

In every enjoyment there is an element of sacrifice.

(Tr. By Prema Jayakumar)