Poem By Shimanta Bhattacharyya
(For Maolcolum Bascher)
The sun steals indoors searchingly–
Like the neighbourhood cat
Mousing for easy pickings.
The clock’s busy hands
Scissor the threadbare spell
Of a drug laced sleep
In spasmodic reiterations.
There were times when lengthening shadows spread gloom–
Ah, how often we leapt out of bed
Just to watch a ripening sun
Apply a fresh coat of gold to rooftops
And the naughty gambols of lambs
Grazing upon lush green fields.
But now, twenty summers later,
One hardly looks at the scrawny sheep
On the grizzly hillside–
Only the grass at the foot of the telegraph pole is green!