Sean Wayman: ‘Scenes from Palembang’

Scenes from Palembang

1

The river flows by
the secretive fort,
which broods on itself
like a painful thought.

What once had served
as the sultan’s seat,
now turns from the world
with a look of defeat.

Disdaining the fort’s
drab introspection,
the brown river takes
the opposing direction.

Going in search
of its mythic ocean,
its waters embody
perpetual motion.

2

Here on the banks
the old town skulks,
with wooden godowns
like ruinous hulks.

And worn-out houses
squat on their haunches,
their owners caged
in latticework porches.

By every contrivance
the glare is opposed:
the curtains are drawn;
the shutters are closed.

For even within
this tangle of lanes,
the sunlight pursues
its far-reaching aims.

It deftly invests
every pane with a glint
and narrows the gaze
to a wary squint.

It dazzles the mosque’s
aluminium dome
and hurries hordes
of schoolchildren home.

And when the sun
completes its descent,
the cooling roofs creak
the day’s lament.

3

A pair of lovers
has taken a boat
to go where the moon
and the waterweed float.

The lovers turn
to look at the banks,
which lavish their gold
like a shower of thanks.

Apart from the lights,
there’s only the flow
of the onyx-black river
which has them in tow.

They’re pulled by waters,
engorged with mud,
as restless yearning
stirs in their blood.

Sean Wayman