Body of an Ancient Sleep

Fog weeds out
tea estates and pine forests in Tindharia hills
with a whitewash till noon

Cart road, railway tracks,
dark gorges, occasional vehicles,
silent waterfalls sleep
deep inside the folds of a double mist

Before the fog lifts at noon,
I find
white crows flying, white mustard fields,
a white church
near some white rhododendrons;

down the village,
a white tractor, empty,
heading for a white post office

On top of the hill,
I notice two identical houses, side by side
White

All their windows and doors are closed
Twin houses hemmed by white pine forests
like Himalaya’s bushy eyebrows,
old