What they didn’t tell you
Amidst scrabble of understanding and chaos
I met the setting sun that glowed of ease.
Under the stairs’ stored darkness of nightmare
I stumbled over moments that were keen
on fixing the knots of significance.
I could see words flying along with lies.
I could smell the breath of light
wanting me to stay away from the path of the wise.
The nonchalant winter nights desperate
to get rid of their sorrow,
the honest endeavours
sneaking some burdens to borrow…
have seen them all,
felt them even more
intimately than my own heartbeat.
Sometimes I strolled along with these:
the fences and fixities
but still whenever I looked beyond it
or would do that in future in life’s narrow street,
I could surely pair
up my chance with time’s spin.
Poet Pratik Mitra
Konnagar, West Bengal, India
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