ATUL
CHANDRA SARKAR
Fixation
Caught in
geometrics:
Points of beauty
spots,
Lines, curves,
angles,
Rising and falling
In an enigmatic
undulation
With graceful
fluidity,
I forgot that your
embrace
Would abandon me
In circles of
memories,
With me at the
center,
Pierced by the
compass point
Of parting and
caught
Disenchanted in
charcoal dark,
Concentrics of
despair,
Depression,
alienation,
Existential ennui,
Trudging down the
road of life;
Like a hurt
eventide
Gauzed with mist,
smog,
Red patched, mercurochromed
cirrus;
Limping beyond the
horizon,
Into an uncharted
woodland
Of indomitable
darkness.
BETRAYAL
The pink-lipped
sky stoops
To kiss the
silver-bodied eucalyptus,
The pale sun
slowly sinks
At the darkening
sight of betrayal.
And I?
What have I to
say?
What have I to
regret?
Oh rose you were
meant
To lend fragrance
to my life,
How did you get
into
Another’s
button-hole?
ABORTION
A dream slipped
out
Of the hands of
the dying night,
Falling to pieces
On the floor of
dawn
Glistening with
the first rays
Of the budding
sun;
No splinter, yet
pierced,
No wound, yet
hurt,
A bruised self
Bled, anemic
yellow;
Following the eyes
And heart-rending
shrieks
Of the restless
sparrow,
I saw slopped on
the floor:
A yolk-stained
foetus,
Injured by its
fractured shell;
Without the next
birthday
A stifled
existence,
Dumped in the
dust-bin
Of social scoff,
In tearless
bereavement
With a gnawing
guilt.
ATUL CHANDRA SARKAR
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