Thought 2

Thought 2 long poem

Photo by M Pinarci

The city appears with three folds
The wintry upper sky is quite red
With dim looking sun
The middle level is foggy,
Zero level is full of chill wind.
The man you had seen in last summer on narrow street
Is no more,
The lady newly married but was still growing
Is now heavy laden with cumbersome new branches,
Yet looking happy.
The city is specious and has reasonable expanse.
People look mostly prosperous and well fed
Still the limitation ever drawing its dusty breath
Encircling the vision with mist and ugly laziness.
The countryside looks genuine and living
Endowed with multiple flowers and chirping birds.
Bikers in fast mode break the silence of
Village road
The five clamouring parrots on daily morning flight
Glide over your modest house, retire to same fold
Where you had been few months before with little daughter
Remembering the striking scene of thrashing of corns
Where autumnal glory was sat in most graceful manner.
Your heart was full of pains for just your departed father
And thine curious nose was scenting the trail of said demise.
Young house wife in a highrise kitchen
Flaming for morning tea
And looks through netted window
For love she bubbled for another,
The village woman puffed the coal fire enough
For the last ash of monotonous hour shared with husband in dead night.
The daily morning walkers jostled the city parks
Make the trees and bowers heavier with
Innumerable complaints, sorrows and ruings.
Milk man knocks the door of your neighours in frantic manner
The house where you have grown up with growing souls
Has been restricted with just four.
The ten rose trees thou planted in last week
Are reduced to just five
The lady to whom your close friend offered the first love
Refused to flower and still is in comfortable zone.
Last night thou slept well in drowsy separation
Desire of middle age was standing in balcony all through night
And caught cold,
Last month travelling to high hills witnesseth many nameless clouds loitering
In pine grove
The evening was cold, afternoon moderate,
The car on which you were riding had passionate bent
The highlanders’ house wives on afternoon freak
Sitting on roadside houses offered waking glimpses
Behind your back seat your lady is sleeping.
God built earth, human the very civilization,
Man and woman, a union, next generation
The dream and fantasy of early youth
The vigor of river, rain fed
Looking too weak in growing sands
The temple you built for embracing Lord
Capsized on wavy rituals.
The man you saw last year for last time
Waiting for another call to reborn,
The lady you had seen so young
Yearns another life for another living
The four rose plants withered at once
Were thrown away for new plantation.
The house wife dry with monotonous nights is
Waiting still for rains with timely fall
The house the man built with moderate means
Will never render a gentle knock on homecoming

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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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