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Three Poems by Basab Mondal


The memories appear
like a mellowed tiger
approaching a village.

Brushing off the flesh 
hidden in between the claws, 
they swim past 
the river.

I hone a knife.
I can see you, clear.
Just then
I discover, I was in a dream.

A cinematic sequence 

Time climbs down
the dystopia scented stairs 

The focus alters
time and again.
The revengeful scene 
zooms up.

A deep shadow 
accompanies the ballerina's skirt.

Life here is a synonym of sleep 
and Death a sequence. 

Do the birds 
ever die a natural death?
Do they dissolve 
into the blue vistas of the remote sky?

Do the fishes 
ever die of illness?
Do they wither 
into the muddy slime of the deep ocean?

Whether they do or not
I wish to
disappear in the nothingness 
of my own inner-self.


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