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Four Poems by Arnab Chatterjee

1. Time

like a ball bidden by a cur escapes
till it lands in shadowy streets,
announcing doom in dusty clocks.

Like hunger in springtime
time flies and pounces,
and, the vegetation barks
at the mere loss of days.  

2. How Will?

How will this loss be recorded,
this saga of ripeness and rotten days
be recalled?

the mongrel runs, 
at the sight of a cloud
dressed smartly as a bone.

the wind drives dust
into eyes that are all set to record.

But the pages sneer, the stars conspire—
an orange dons the garment
of a prickly pear.

How’ll you record the tale now,
when cosmos itself is shoved
finally in tar bins,
refusing the apple?

3. High

High, head reeling,
along the shoreline of life
you saunter. 

And the waves—
drunk, yet penitent 

4. Like a Bride in Summer

Kind, graceful
like a bride in summer
the days revolve.

Till the prick of autumn is felt—
and  the girl is a bygone tale,
delivering in the quiet of noon
from a rose-bereft being. 


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