Wild Donkey’s Bray

Rana Roychowdhury —————————————————————– Rage I Have Veiled Rage I have veiled Cranes fly I see with binoculars Their whites flutter in  the skies This janasamaj, medicines, bandage Blazing flowers, window concealed All this he had jotted down—in notepad after notepad Everybody on the T.V. is saying killing someone is a sin He had written about such a sin in Notepad after notepad— The dog’s mute stare he had written about And about boiling rice. ***** Now He Hangs As the Moon In the Sky Moon in the sky—tonight.   This news the pristine girl brings to me This news the shadow of the adjoining door sets free   All of us the neighbourhood gang Climb up to the rooftop. And see Truly moonlit it is, this sky and that awash.   Right then someone in the crowd said: But that is not the moon! Heck no, that is the land grabber little Khude!   And we all see now, indeed It’s that ruffian Khude, for whom the police Was on the lookout; right now in the sky He hangs as the moon. ***** Adda When Ramachandra left for the forest You got emotional and howled and wailed Right from that day we had decided That if we have to visit the forest Let there be occasional jungle safaris Treetop houses and no less Manas sanctuary, Kaziranga, at the least Gorumara (via Lataguri), for travel cars please contact Bappa Ganguly: Phone 9433425179 And if one is looking for a good, healthy cottage On the forest outskirts It must be Mithu Banerjee’s Now the question is whether Mithu Banerjee is a man or a woman? If she is a woman, we may decide (with alcohol and dancing adivasis in tandem) To inhabit the forest for 14 years It is our long standing wish to see copulating wild elephants. ***** Water Water Fills up the bucket   Filled up bucket Makes me happy   Water From the bucket Goes far away   In this manner, everyday I fill up and get drained   A world of water Revolves Around me ***** Playing Carrom The way the professorial couple plays carrom Is still beyond my ken.  Especially the red. From distant districts Hopping trains, skipping vendors Prancing past the splendour of chanachur-lipstick-peanuts The professorial couple will make sure to gobble up the red. I think: those of us from Kalyani, Basirhat—till date those who With upright tables, vertical minds,  childlike, play carrom— Red is our cherry toy. Our claim and our due. Our clear-cut poetry magazine. Look! There’s Shajal, just crossed the bridge to hit the red straight into the net. But the professorial couple nets it obliquely At an angle—winding down the Sahitya Akademi path via Banga Sammelan The red makes its way to the net. As if a bride’s hibiscus got stolen from the garden. No one knows the thief—blurred, he’s the yellow river bank. But in anthologies they dazzle and on the dais too In tea cups and in editorials— But … Continue reading Wild Donkey’s Bray