Friday, May 29, 2009

There’s a wrapper, where the chocolate was.

There’s a railroad somewhere beyond the skyline of this city. And tunnels. There are tunnels within the tunnels. Smoky and hazy and blurred. Like the corner of her ladyship’s mouth. The trains, do they explore the wonderland of your magic-acres?

What is love but a whiff of death in the land of lotus-eating voyeurs! People change streets only to find hidden streets, changes cancel out to make room for prodigal morality. Metal towers, grim and dark and foreboding. They cast the coldest stares to the hint of light beneath their presence. Does the sound of distant thunders resemble your whispering in my ears?

Much has been said and done. Over and over again. Each fragment of our incomplete thoughts, they belong to the charade of half-remembered faces and names. Just when the hue of the evening sky touches the tip of our collective iceberg, we notice, with a start, that summer leaves have just turned to the colour of your hair……

There’s a feather, where the pebble was.

7 comments:

Sucharita Sarkar said...

It takes a sensitive soul to dig out poetry from the entrails of the city...

One of my favourite city-poets was T S Eliot. What about you?

Puff said...

Hats off.

Amritorupa Kanjilal said...

Nirvana, tor shohore aschi :)

amar blog ta dekhis...

Minko said...

@Sucharita: Yes. After Eliot and to some extent Philip Larkin, the graying soul of city is lost from the realms of poetry...

Minko said...

@Rai:Nijey blog-post kawr...awnekdin tupi kholaar chance paini..miss your words!

Minko said...

@Amritorupa: aye...brishti niye aye:)

aachhish toh kawdin?kawbekaar kolkata shohorer pawthey...:)

sanju said...

cudnt help ...."besh" n i permanently disappear