সূর্যমুখী নদীৰ কোলাত । অবনী চক্রবর্তী
Even in the
song of the creek he hears cacophony of sirens
(And they
say the poet lives in the silence of solitude).
He hears
the squeal of fallen leaves;
Powerful
eyesight of silence!
The
darkness calculates
The gruesome
pain of the machine-led night;
Bewildered
at the parasitic creeper crawling up
The arms of
the lush cassia.
He gages at
the leftover terracotta dreams
In the womb
of the rock that still shines
In the
darkness of the night.
And in the
cradle of the eastern river:
A motel is
birthed.
A new
sunrise of horizontal beams
In the dog
collared pages of an old book.
Down below he
hears the melody of the raging people
He dives
in; shifting sand and pebbles, picks up the octave
A broken
sky
Belonging
to the artist who has never seen the lantern
Perhaps a
motel built in the grave of a civilization
Dropping dead,
breaking the pathway of a friend
Blinded in
the lust of development
She sleeps
into the darkness of the cemetery.
Every ghastly
night he falls in love with solitude.
Sawing to death
all morbid memories.
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