Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Disposable Sun 7 (sonnet 57)

                For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a
                god kissing carrion…
                                                [HAMLET, Act 2, Scene ii

Why the hell of such an intense anger, albeit, 
Oh! Sun, Crazy Sun. well then, take away everything,
put fire to all. Burn out; burn out all, all to the extinct!
If only that is how it all makes you satisfied.

The hope for clouds, oh Chatak, is futile and morbid.
In your land the clouds are roaming,
Kankhowa, it is just you at a foreign land. Chanting
Around for false. Cursed is Your Fakiri outfit.

If a single living being survives on earth, it will repeat the million years’ record.
Thirsty Guru Dutt sings, put fire to the world. At distant corner, a ballad with a false note.
Shrugging off the burning Sun, bathing in sweats, men and women are on the way to work.
Also I can see a little bird with a stick on his beak, beside a dead dog with maggot...
What if, may be, or, otherwise, even, though – and with many more conjunctions
A tree holds a seed. Thus happen to my poetry that only grows under the sunny havoc… 

Suranjan Basu, 'Respite', Etching

No comments:

Post a Comment