Two Calcutta Poems
It's three o'clock. A summer breeze,
Not strong at all. The hazy trees
Begin to gossip with the hedge.
A crow is squatting on a ledge.
A cat is sitting by the crow;
It licks its paws, then mops its brow.
The yellow sunshine drags its feet
Across the roof in tracks of heat.
The lazy wind gets fresh, and flirts
With curtains, blowing out their skirts.
The curling smoke from chimneys sway
Like pennants in the breeze today.
The city sweats. A stupor hangs -
A tongue between a mongrel's fangs.
A hazy current seems to take
The slums and buildings in its wake.
The city drifts along the stream -
It's floating in a murky dream.
Its face is wreathed with pallid fog
So mixed with smoke, it turns to smog.
The lights on top of Howrah Bridge
Go drifting now across the ridge
Of towers, skyscrapers and trees
Like roving ghosts who seek surcease.
As illusion casts its net afar,
They seem to swim - each passing car -
Against the tide of smog which slows
The traffic down to viscous flows.
If you've any comments on
this poem, Srinjay
Chakravarti would be pleased to hear from you.