Madly-in-Verse

The morning comes in with

its melancholy mist
wrapped tight about it
a slightly misshapen pea in its pod

 

someone’s going early, the others late

a word, phrase, a flake
lodged under my nail
a sunsliver flung up and caught

 

between the teeth

of time, someone leaves
nothing’s spoken, the door creaks
closed but can’t fully shut, the frame’s warped.

 

a quote ‘s been left, a line

from a verse, snagged outside
the wall, it’s not a good sign
and true enough, the one who first wrote it, is lost.




Yesterday was the death anniversary of one of the great Bengali poets, Jibanananda Das. 

And this morning I woke up to the news of Sunil Gangopadhyay's death, an iconic personality of Bengali contemporary literature, revered in India and Bangladesh.  A favourite line from his poetry roughly translates - only for poetry have I sneered at immortality.  I grew up reading his poetry and fiction, and I know there is much to celebrate, he has left behind a huge body of work, but right now all I can be is sad.








Shared @ dVerse