The Midnight Minutes
48 degrees was it the day, and momentless is midnight this standstill!
by CHOUDHURI SUKUMAR
Struck and emptied, yet a boxful of desires keeps me awake.
A streetlong of silence, only to be broken into pieces…..
somewhere a stray dog keeps on barking throughout….crying as if.
Desires so many….unfulfilled and unfurled, enslaves me;
I am dragged into this midnight.
Anger creeps in, crawls up….steep on the table….deep within.
In the cyclic redundancy of yearly living,
this easy uneasiness is ever on a comeback.
A flower raised its fist of fury!
Whispering darkness, busy press, it’s midnight.
Saddled and exhausted, yet a bagful of dreams keeps me awake.
Seen are some meagre souls here and there….their filthy fairy tales;
And the rattling rat race they are in, goes on….but nowhere.
Translation by Bikash Roy