Guernica—Arnab Chatterjee
Translucent, like a bungling window
half-crossed by curtains;
or a Guernica tossed to the skies
in heavy rain—
Life moves on, paranoid
obese; with a thousand sores,
committing incest, munching trash—
in cheap, abandoned stores.
2. Midnight Blues
This is
what we’ve become
in the dead of the night,
when—
the sky shows
a scratch, proudly
after having labored
a twilight of lust.
Let’s see
what then awaits—
when heaven itself
refuses to kiss,
and, instead—
rudely kicks at the door;
wherein resides one
who pulls everyone
almost anyone in,
when near-misty lanes
shut their eyes
in the heat of the day.
3. The Garden Complains
The cosmos spreads
a feast of colours.
The garden complains,
an absence of leaves.
4. Myopic Eyes
At the end of the day
vehicles roar and sleep;
settling the dizzy flames
steel-like,
in blind, myopic eyes.
5. In the Midst
In the midst of life
he pulls himself;
till the chord of breath—
suggests,
a much-needed knot.
6. I Await
I await that day
when this earth shall finally stop.
I await that night—
when dreams shall be stored
in overflowing jars.
7. A Million Icicles
A bushfire
in those open fields,
summon the brats.
And then,
the cosmos seems to sing
in the lonely winter.
Yet,
those windows remain shut
sealed by tales of pain,
that have endured
but a million icicles.
8. A Dry Kiss
A dry kiss tonight
will no longer heal.
Just some words thrown
on that pavement of love,
like tangled, decaying locks
shall not console.
9. Windows
Windows
are opened and closed.
Like words,
till they cannot go further
and are sold in cheap trays—
with the tray eagerly bartered
and the syllable ostracized.
10. A Sudden Metamorphosis
A sudden metamorphosis occurred tonight.
Enough to turn a pool acidic,
sufficient
to darken an abyss.
11. Silence Screeches
Silence screeches
in the middle of warm nights.
Till one wakes up
and whispers in the dark.
12. Within the Bush
Within the bush
beneath those trees,
he found something.
But,
he’ll not name it.
13. Who Knows?
Who knows,
what’ll come
and stare at our faces
sufficient just for a grin—
Made only
for a paltry existence
looking into blind alleys.
14. A Snail Climbs
A snail climbs a wet branch.
Skeletons lie scattered,
in thousands…
Thus, I see
these twin images—
and that reminds me
of the bygone days,
left burning, like a cake
in a short-circuited oven.
15. Now
Now,
nothing can heal this gash.
If someone does,
where will thousands hide
when Destruction is due?
16. Lost Eggs
The earth digs within
to find lost eggs.
The leaves conspire
and the waters sting.
At the edge of time
where the rainbow ends
sits a fool
in a sage’s outfit.
17. Tuber
There’s nothing now
that can repair this—
not even a cool dig,
down those primitive farms.
As we did once, with hands as spades.
Like a tuber, intransigent
about to be exhumed—
the land snores now
like an alligator,
full of life within.
18. Tonight
This little pup tonight
plays with a deformed ball
in a nondescript room
among people;
Who did not care
where its toy lay hidden
when it howled days ago.
Like a werewolf
threatening the darkness
within their souls.
19. The Evening Drips
The evening drips
into your tresses unlocked—
a bedraggled pair.
But those lanes will not conspire,
the music shall live on.
20. Finally
Events repeat
like the sun’s motion,
or the thief’s steps;
Till we cannot say
when was it
when we laughed well
or when—
that curtain of life
came down
finally.
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