Four Poems by Arnab Chatterjee

1. Time

Time,

like a ball bidden by a cur escapes

till it lands in shadowy streets,

announcing doom in dusty clocks.

Like hunger in springtime

time flies and pounces,

and, the vegetation barks

at the mere loss of days.  

2. How Will?

How will this loss be recorded,

how—

this saga of ripeness and rotten days

be recalled?

There

the mongrel runs, 

at the sight of a cloud

dressed smartly as a bone.

And,

the wind drives dust

into eyes that are all set to record.

But the pages sneer, the stars conspire—

an orange dons the garment

of a prickly pear.

How’ll you record the tale now,

when cosmos itself is shoved

finally in tar bins,

refusing the apple?

3. High

High, head reeling,

along the shoreline of life

you saunter. 

And the waves—

drunk, yet penitent 

refuse.

4. Like a Bride in Summer

Kind, graceful

like a bride in summer

the days revolve.

Till the prick of autumn is felt—

and  the girl is a bygone tale,

delivering in the quiet of noon

from a rose-bereft being.