Reflections On A Romantic Potboiler

Poem By Joydeep Sircar

'I'm sorry, ' said the young and beautiful blonde.
'There's nothing more for me to live for now'.
The convenient pistol, poison, or large pond.

The banality embarrasses acutely. How,
we ruminate, could he have been fool enough?
Reassurance comes. Hell, it was just some hack
pounding out his so-much-per-column stuff.

But a vague disquiet survives the malediction.
Do not probe further. It is only the latent pain
of regret that, unlike the fool of fiction,
your heart is fettered by your tyrant brain.

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this is a terrific read!

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Other poems of SIRCAR

Andha (1990 - 2001)

We who had loved you abandoned you at the end.
Sunk in our individual miseries,
a failing family betrayed a trust, lost that
one true enduring selfless love it had found:

Jelep La

Younghusband's ghost haunts Padamchen.
Tarmac runs where mule tracks went.
The road from Zuluk climbs in zags.
Wind whips Buddhist prayer-flags.

Ganga Sagar

Prince of gamebirds and master of crooked flight, the snipe
the sea at dusk brought in as prisoner
looked at me with bright obsidian eyes
gently refused food and clumsy care


The mirror holds a countenance of grief
seamed with the lines you and the years incised.
It's over at last, I think, without relief.

October 2 [the Birthday Of Mahatma Gandhi]

Every year must you come around,
greatest of heroes, most awkward of men,
to shame us with your unsolvable paradox -
the dichotomy between means and end?