But even they are not sure.
There again it goes-'sure'!
Is any one sure?
Life hasn't shown me enough clarity
So I refuse any commitments,
any responsibilities from her.
I feel a lot of things-
at times I am as violet as jazz,
then I am as orange as the sunset;
Times come when I take
the transparency of the wings of the wind,
And then again the nascent green
of a newly sprung leaf.
But does life ever deeply delve
into my chameleon colors?
No. Most of the times I don't expect her to.
See, 'she' is again a female.
And why?
I don't understand
this ascribing of genders.
Do you? Does anybody?
Ah! I knew it-
this is going to end
in a question-
unless I try with an effort.
"Unless," a word that changes history!
We all live with all the 'unlesses' of our lives.
See, I made the effort, and it paid off…
Well (?)
NEXT>
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WITH ALL MY WASTED TEARS AND SMILES UNSMILED:
SOMDATTA BHATTACHARYA
Have u seen my smile?
The one that I had not smiled
on a cloudy afternoon?
And what about my tear drop
That did not fall from my eyes?
Seen it either?
Well, what is my life anyway?
A comedy? Or a tragedy? Or a tragi-comedy?
Half of the times
I do not understand.
Somehow I am sure
Destiny herself is also confused.
Is destiny a she or a he?
Well, more questions, more confusions!
And surely the answers are not blowing in the wind.
I eat up all the blue of the skies,
the green of the grass around,
till there's no more of them;
And then sit still
meditating as to what to do next--
I am no worker,
I am no player either,
I am just a vacant look of old eyes,
which do not recognize the world around.
I try to focus hard,
saying there's surely a pattern,
but then…
How many times have I used the word 'surely' in this poem?
But am I half as sure?
I don't think so.
Who am I?
A question as boggling
as the number of dimensions of the universe.
And of more immediate importance I guess-
Is this a poem? A prose?
Is it anything? Any damn thing?
Some would stylistically put it as 'mental workings'
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