Sunday, March 16, 2008


The king has no memory
that we were robbed
of metaphors.

Dense amnesia envelops
the slave-child.
The present

would soon be lived through
(but he’d forget).
And the kingdom

has guided channels
serving anaesthetic
to a select few

who feel.

Today, unguarded,
at sundown fled

of war
into forests
bearing familiar names

on raw, peevish barks.
Perhaps the Druids
still pray for us.


The Mad Girl said...

Bah!I'm not sure I understand the context but I can sense something.I love the amnesia bit, the escapade of the prisoners of war!

Inam said...

But you found the metaphors again, din't you? perhaps in the tiger-skin bag of the Druids. They pray for you, I think :)

Lovely writing, esp. the very disciplined control over lines and stanzas.

Sayan said...

Beautiful writing,each line says so much.

Ah,you make me think.

rOhit said...

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful writing.


(¯`•._.•[Raaji]•._.•´¯) said...

beautiful :-)

Riya Das said...

this is very beautifully expressed...
i love the opening lines

Jadis said...

Hmph!!! Eta kaar jonno lekha?? BTW, khub bhaalo hoyeche. Mes ze loves itszzzz!!!