Image credits-pixabay.com

A MAD MOTH

Rain stopped a minute ago.
Sitting on a drenched bench
With scattered soaked leaves of peepal tree
I juxtapose my perplexities
With the veins of a dead leaf.

Its static pattern,
Weaved stitches
Or her measured ignorance,
Impels to measure my entity;
As if some dense trigonometry.

While she kept me waiting at the doorstep,
I juxtaposed cold pebbles with her sound of earrings
Crossed the dividend paths amidst plough fields
And memory curbs her strain,
Like a caterpillar gnawing green.

Nausea grows;
Dewy glasses
A moth springs up from my dusky closet,
Keeps flickering with mad feathers,
Oozing streams of illusion.

 

SHE WIELDS AN EKTARA

She curbs her desires into coiled numbness;
Static pattern of twisted lies
Spreads insidious algae within her;
To the very edge of her nerves.
She is the void of a sleepy hollow;
Lost script in hieroglyphics.

She recoils her hunger under her fibreglass.
An infernal serpent!
With her ensnaring alphabets
She would induce chaos
Perplex minds,
Yet fix nothing.

Amidst abyss of chaos,
She wields an ektara;
Imbibes persona of a baul
To dissolve her crimson stains.
Mellowed slurs
Cruel dilution!

 

A BOY DREW A WINDOW ON MY PINJAR

First monsoon rain.
Class of standard three;
Little absent minds.

A boy with dishevelled hair
Came to me with a feeble stare.
A notebook in his hand;
Strange images were drawn.

“Complex arithmetic is lost beyond the mirror…

Meanwhile the ferrymen
Curve the passage through narrow Damodar
With submerged rhymes
And howl in amusement.

You venture out to seek motion--
Routined walks and avoidance;

Look closer sir…
I am a house where doorknobs tell stories.

My bicycle is drenched in rain…
Soaked like strange bird!”

I took solace
Under his fancy elm;
His thirst intruded my corridor,
Drew a window on my pinjar.