DUSK IN LOUTOLIM

by Antonio Gomes, MD



Alleluia! Alleluia! sing the flying angels
and the drone of cicadas rings in my ears.
The sun glides slowly, then tumbles,
over a bleeding red and golden sky.

Ding-dong, ding-dong, the church bells
ring, and the village elders the Angels sing.
A "good night" here and a "good night" there,
the dark night settles on the village square.

Cows, sheep and shepherds trod home
the smell of dung and crimson dust
fill the air. Rich homes their iron doors
bolt, drunk Kundbi, the dark alleys roam.

The gray veil envelops my world
shadows guard my favorite haunts
dogs bark fiercely in response
to the howls of famished angry wolves.

The dark night moves into my home
the flickering ponti dances on the wall.
My ayah's shining eyes and graying hair
moves in the kitchen aroma of chicken soup.

Notes::  Loutolim is a village in Goa where the poet hails from.  Kundbi is a local tribe. Ponti is a kerosene lamp (translation from the Konkani); ayah is a special maid (translation from the Konkani)