Sonnet Mondal - India

From the Bow of Battle

Sitting with backs to each other

two worlds converge in the borderline

of an estuary with the ocean of skies.

Thinking as a lazy habit fails to decide

the course of waters ready to flow

like sprinters waiting for gun fire.

A haze in the western sky blocks

vision which returns like wounded soldiers

from an ongoing battle.

From the swelling land nickel plated rain

drops jump to life and fall to shadows

in the half eaten darkness

still fighting with watered-down rays.

Routine of 21^st Century

Sounds of the air cooler as an industry

beating the falling beats of rain pulls me to bed

disfigures my pillow and hairs.

A strong inhaling breath

hangs me midway between sleep and dreams.

Window panes clap at mermaids

leaping in and out of water filled pools...

Magic of outside ruled by the snoring cooler

is a daily decorum and alarm

of a corporate life.

Illusive Stones

Shining stones, unturned for centuries

twists fixed parts

heads out of the waters to a malformed world.

 Waterborne wafts,

same as the time without civilizations;

a respite for the unspoken lives

                                     returning from hibernation.

Stuck in the roots and underground currents,

feetless stones budge

                                               devoid of significance.

Bikers and drivers race beside the sturdy highway-

eyes and head fixed in fashion

minds gripped in hard beating headphones.

A bellowing cow shaking its horns,

restless on its feet

breaks the vision of a tourist

the witness to the picture driven story

as buffalos move out of the ancient stones

                                              and trembling waters.

The Smell of Past

Cancerous smoke

cradling in the lap of fluids

leaves legacy in crippled skins.

Hunter boots lying in the corner-

Socks scattered

in broken webs of spider-

Regret trying to dig through

the heap of three scores

ends up with soil and mud-

Somewhere in the mixture a smell

of the incurable past.

Being Alone

 And what was that thin squeal about? I remember

it beside my afternoon nap;

perhaps the same reverbs(in mind)

and it designs earthly objects moving in unearthly stance.

Calendar rubbing against the cracked plasters

and steadily snoring table fan offers bizarre visions.

just a result of those vampire films (on the idiot box)?

This mental barrenness is lending the night an option (to overpower)

and those irrational film makers a success.

Let me have a try with these earphones; at least rock music

wouldn’t squeal in an alien way.

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