Contemporary Literary Review India | Print ISSN 2250-3366 | Online ISSN 2394-6075 | Impact Factor 8.1458 | Vol. 8, No. 1: CLRI February 2021
Srijani Dutta
Crisis
In the butt end of a city,
Spread the networks
Of celluloid souls,
Cigars and niche of
Worn out words,
Dried up bones
Of scattered ribs
From where no Eve is born
Anymore,
Nevermore.
Butt end of city melts down
In the labyrinth of thoughts,
Glucoses run dry
In the bodiless, chattered toes.
Half cooked, starved skeletons
Loiter,
By covering their bodies with
Tattered art manifestoes,
Honking horns, bells outshine
The nudity of calmness
Of dawn, daylight and dusk;
Out of blue, a whirlwind comes
And tosses the living cells
In a frying pan
Where past and present
Make a hotchpotch of
Lucid memories.
Amidst this pandemic
A pseudo flame grins,
Butt end of cigars burns down the deadlock of
The hullabaloos
Of damped polis and megalopolis.
City Lights
In the empty hollows of deafening streets
Smoke curls up
Pats on the ruby cheeks
Of a loitering shadow
Made of a train of swaying limbs;
A raven makes her way through
The shadow’s body,
They part away
Like the hands of a compass
Drifted to opposite paths;
Fragile and foamed,
A veiled figure
Sits on a bench
Half melted in solitudes, half reddened with
The mirth of mellowed memories;
Hallucinating mists making a ringlet
Around the swan like neck of the city lights
That blush, blabber
And to slit
The soundless sound
Of miseries.