by Partha Sarkar
My brother met with an accident.
I told my old friend, but he did not show any concern.
And I did not mind it – everyone has his own tense chapter.
But after a long time… he said,
‘Partha, we have to think different. The sceptre has been changing hands.
No positive telegram comes from the calm lake…’
This new email from an old friend in the afternoon before I avoid the stale faces.
But I am neither convinced nor confused as it is just a lifeless address as if
He did not know how I fought myself when he was hidden in the smoke of tobacco…
When he did not send any green leaf from his abode stenched in death.
Now he comes as the messiah,
And I firmly believe I must not show my hidden card before I know
Who is not an imperialist? (Revolution gives birth to another imperialist)
Who truly opens the door for the puppies at dawn?
The troubled soul of the conscience in the cornered bottle
Moves in a congested notebook through the fetid syllabus.
After the third signal, yawns the traffic.
No carnage is hardly negative.