By some odd calender description
tonight,
you and I were supposed to talk.
I stretched a little finger,
into a daunting charcoal emptiness..
Begum Akhtar wafted in
from the corner of a window,
high above.
Tonight, her voice sounded tired.
I looked up,
from where
Raag Desh had caressed
for some time now.
The Begum seemed quiet,contemplative-
lonely as my disquiet sky
vague as her ghostly horizons
and yet she sang,
like a poet's fruitless lines
resignation in every line,
ecstasy in every glimmer.
-© 2013 Maitreyee Bhattacharjee Chowdhury
tonight,
you and I were supposed to talk.
I stretched a little finger,
into a daunting charcoal emptiness..
Begum Akhtar wafted in
from the corner of a window,
high above.
Tonight, her voice sounded tired.
I looked up,
from where
Raag Desh had caressed
for some time now.
The Begum seemed quiet,contemplative-
lonely as my disquiet sky
vague as her ghostly horizons
and yet she sang,
like a poet's fruitless lines
resignation in every line,
ecstasy in every glimmer.
-© 2013 Maitreyee Bhattacharjee Chowdhury
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