Native Land

Native Land long poem

Photo by gtall1

When you are in your native land
Suddenly meeting an uncertain hour of setting winter eventide in clumsy manner,
When the determined darkness striding too fast
Mingles with receding rays of days last sun
That down over crimson void.
You may hug by smoky charm of unknown flowers.
This is the time to light up cow dung in every stable
This is the time to oversee the hazy cornfield
Where the visionless night will sit for dewy showers overtime
Everything appear sightless, save the
Known village moon, lingering over a tall tree
And reshuffling branches, often air rumbling gesture.
Turn your head back and be greeted by a tall shadow
Facing a distant bower and with squarely look.
Nothing but a moon lit façade of yon native house
Where thousands silence carpeted lawn
With grassy apron welcoming you along
With handful known faces who are
Known or half known or fully unknown,
Bracing earthly pleasures and yearnings
Which are of yesteryear for them.
Perhaps the dimmed end arrives at earliest when the same moon was foggy.
The lonely house with giant shape
Had yet to hear any living steps since the last soul’s sigh.
The weedy legion battle like combating the last memory.
The air is hush, gathering mists lit the pyre of happy hours
With blushing moonshine.
Your memory fails to gather the last happy remembrances
Your ears invoke an uncanny mistrust about hissing voices of a dear one
Whom thou last saw years ago in same haunting balcony.
Is it not hapless wonder for you being prohibited
Guest in silent feast of deaths?
Is it not uncommon for you to feel a gathering
Storm of oozing cries of them on whose lap you have grown?
This house has seen many happy minutes
Rimmed with golden joys unbound, of marriages
Fest and voices of hundreds guest.
Struggling memories loosen over dissenting pains
Looking for suitable recluse in dead darkness
A solitary owl shrills its presence in kingdom of weariness,
Rendering the house once so living looking absurd.
Footsteps of lost fairies once
Smothered your heart appear living
And thine ascendant with fatherly halos.
Everything gone. Clock struck nine though the night seems eternal
Thou withdraw from sad compound for another world
So vibrant and steaming.

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Shuvo Chakraborty

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lecturer and advocate in university and incometax tribunal. an english poet and diehard follower of john keats
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