vendredi 17 juin 2016

Samita CHATTOPADHYAY' BIRTH.



Those footsteps !
So very familiar !


I know She is coming …
My Muse !


**


There She is …
Where the field meets the sky
And wind sings to allure birds...


She is looking like a wave;
As if she will crush down in no time
And the sand dunes will get a gift of utter silence !


***


I can't believe this !


Hey eyes!
Rather get perished
And let a new Truth appear !


There
Quite far away
I can see a group of leopards !
Are they animals ?
Or are they empty Stomachs full of greed ?!
They're surrounded by sub-animal hungry creatures.


And there
She is lying …
My Muse …
Submerged in a pool of blood...
Greed is tearing her apart.
Paws are busy.
Tongues are enjoying dinner...


****


One eye is filled with tear,
The other is burning with anger …
Standing still …
I can feel her presence everywhere...


*****


Continuous oscillation
Pendulum doesn't know to stop


******


She is there...
But she is coming towards me !
Red footprints on the ground...
Is Mother Earth weeping ?


*******


I knew it !
The Earth is trembling...
Volcanic eruption...
Is the Earth puking blood ?
But why am I seeing a spring …
A virgin spring ?!
Zillions of stars are getting scattered …
As if the sky is distributing all that is in its store...


********


My fingers crave to touch those stars...
Where are the stars ?
Thousands and million copies of my Muse
Are standing in front of me …
All profusely bleeding,
All wearing crowns of nails !


*********


So much light !
Or is it utter darkness ?!
Am I conscious ?
Or is it a terrible numbness ?


**********


A touch between my eyebrows...
Is it She ?
Am I awake ?
Or is it an illusion ?


***********


Lying down like a log.
Motionless like a corpse.
My eyes are glued to nowhere.
Who's controlling my eyelids ?
Is there a figure in front of me ?
Or is it nothing but an idea ?


************


The figure disintegrates...
Zillions of clinquant words
Yearning for expression...


*************


The words do not stoop down.
Standing erect
They look straight into my eyes.


**************


The fragrance says she's here
I know, here she is -- my Muse...


***************


Eyeballs move.
The body walks.
The hand takes a pen


A poem is born
Which looks like a novel...














Samita  CHATTOPADHYAY


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