Bio Note: I have four poetry collections and a monograph on an Indo-Nepal border tribe to my credit. My works have been published in Indian Literature, The Bitter Oleander, Ink Sweat and Tears, Verse-Virtual and elsewhere. I love remote places, tea and mobile photography. I live in Kolkata, India.
A Rainy Night: Calcutta in August
The gaps between our fingers are wider than we thought and everything falls like a rainy night when the sky’s fingers cannot hold enough water while all doors in the neighbourhood are closed by our shadows The old trees and the clouds always lament inviting so much rain every year; it happens with age Appetite for everything decreases But you do not know your age and cannot accept all what you demand- either in love or on a picnic’s paper plate. This a commandment and a general guideline for all who have glided in different airs and waded in different waters to reach the edge of happiness . In any case, you need to keep all well-maintained changes even when all foreshore roads fall in the river nearby, with a garrulous sky above August settlements, and the necessary ailments of life rise and subside on our ten fingertips- like joy, like sorrow. They are our continuation of many soaps and transformations The rain falls and descends to a low height as the months in a calendar collapse to resist time and water goes down fast, a flight as straight as an official meteorologist’s white mind, to touch everything what we collectively name as the past – the old shoe boxes with a dry sky inside and the old stars
©2021 Sekhar Banerjee
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