Thursday, November 10, 2011
I write terminally ill verses
Incurable says the physicians
yet, the sickness persists passionately.
I crave for divinity
and keep slaughtering gods
my whimper echoes
on the stone walls
of ten by twelve.
the folks smirk distantly
at the distorted verses,
I laugh in delirium
I laugh ecstatic,
i laugh in fantasy.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
On her wedding night the little girl
got fifty one saris
fiftyyyy one saris as her gift,
on the " ashtomangola "
( eighth day after )
she received six more..
So many , So many
she never saw so many saris
in her whole life.
On the top shelf of her cupboard
she kept all the sea green ones,
she embraced one and
said, " you are my deep blue sky"
On the second shelf
she kept all the Rosy ones,
she embraced one of them and said,
" You are my Passion"
For the whole year she just received
more....and more...and more
How is she going to wear all
these saris in one life time ?
But before the year passed
one evening the little girl went out
with her husband to buy
Chinese and chili chicken.
Three masked men stood on their way,
Thrust a twelve inch blade on the
Upward , downward upward again,
smoking chinese kissed the pavement.
" This is Politics " The neighbours proclaimed.
On the wedding night
the little girl got fiftyyyyyone saris
six more on " Ashtomangola"
One day ,on one cruel mid afternoon
the girl threw her all the saris from
second floor balcony down on the
all tolarent earth ( ? )
The mother in law
dressed the little girl with a white
border less rough sari.
A nineteen year old girl
But that meagre sari too was
snatched away from her one evening
near the corner shop by three youngsters,
One naked little widow
screamed , Save me, Save me....
Laughter followed her wherever she went,
On her wedding night
a little girl got fifty one saris
on ashtomangola six more.
Recreated from Poet Subodh Sarkar.
( Ashtomongola... A married newly wed girl returns to
her father's House for a visit after eightdays just to
say " everything" to her mother ")