The poets of Goa were hidden
though mutterings pelagic were heard
does poetry reach us unbidden?
a beach with no poets? absurd!
a sky without clouds is a rarity
a field without weeds is most odd
sans poets how show polite charity?
is Goa as silent as God?
This poem is responsive to a prose reflection (posted to Facebook) by Vidya Nayak (who hails from Bangalore, and is lately living part-time in Goa). She wrote:
Was thinking I have not yet run into a Poet in Chinchinim. Or elsewhere in Goa. Not yet. The signs are all there. I have seen grown men with longish locks, stubble on chins, glasses askew, muttering at the sea. I have seen women sitting on rocks, looking into the sunset, tabloid in hand, the tips of their tongues sticking out, muttering at the sea. I have even caught myself looking into cobalt waters and seeing faint languid outlines floating and dipping beneath the sheen, muttering at the sea.
And the other day, at a party where all was merry and folks were doping and smoking and drinking and generally living it up, the host came up to me and said, you know what, you must meet this friend of mine, he's a poet.
Que sera sera.
(And to be honest, I'm missing them, my poets)