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Partha Sarkar

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Three-fourths of the sins

 

The green handwriting from the sway of my childhood. 

I do not forget the meagre meal served by my noble mother. 

Yet, I cannot tolerate 

The nightlife 

The eternal vomit of wisdom 

And no question from the dead ring of the solar system. 

Yet I cannot tolerate 

The sounds of the sobbing and the weeping

When they write the names

Of mass hysteria 

Carnage 

Garbage 

And then I wish no salvation for the dead city 

And the nitty-gritty is –

We have not touched the river 

We have not seen the flight of the birds 

Since we met development. 

 

Above all, 

No clock has welcomed the cloak of the fog.

 

 

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The digital consideration    

 

The shadow of the war. 

The closed substance

And a clue to clear the sky.

The digital consideration.

Yellow hope.

Have reached the top of the corpse the frequent centuries

Without telling where the rooster is

And it is dawn

And you may tell the open secret to open the door

And it may open.

 

Everything is possible

If one is dead. 

 

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Partha Sarker © 2023