Bhaskar Roy Barman

So much obsessed with a piece of work

Devolved upon me and fed up with it,

I felt as if I were waving my hand at a shadowgraph

To walk a bit slow to have me catch up with it.

Hard at work, I got habituated to the scampering of mice

In the holes scattered around the walls, though.

I found myself visualizing a phakir of old

Meditating in the silence and loneliness of the river.

Indistinct and flitting fragments of memory

Kept haunting my mind groping for an impetus

To finish off the piece of work.

Yonder in the station a train whistled a warning

To stray passengers to get in

And threw splinters around to pierce

Through the silence of the night.

Fed up of the silence and the loneliness of the house

– I had rented the house to work in –

I wished I had not taken up the assignment

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