A Narrative

Every new narrative has a new rhythm
A prologue. A body. And an end.

From the wax candles,
Those are ever ready to melt,
Flames rise to reach nothingness.
That space which is as hollow as mind itself.

On moonless nights like these,
I miss you the most. And on other days,
I miss you even more… Yet I wouldn’t have
You for the world at stake.
How can a leaf drift so far away?
How can the autumn theft desire such a heavy pay?

This isn’t poetry of despair.
Neither is it an ode to you,
It’s a celebration of the dewy
Residue that every tie leaves behind,
How can it still accumulate?

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poem by Torsa Ghosal
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Breaking News: 21st November'07

With unsteady steps of spree we have walked
The night and afternoons.
He and I on those alleys that now lie dead.
Desolate and crying.
The tear gas has done enough to make the
Cityscape weep, weep through a series of days
To come. And the blood that was smeared on the
Rear window of my car today and
The shard that pierced his skin
and the fire that veiled vision in
the most familiar lanes... the most unfamiliar state of things.
I encountered death in my Heaven,
As television screens flashed yet another
Breaking news: Kolkata erupts,21st November,2007.

We never knew why we were stuck,
May be just another traffic jam,
A little prolonged, he guessed.
'Traffic load increasing fast in this city'
He calmly said.

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poem by Torsa Ghosal
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!