Printer Friendly

In the Garden of Freemasons, Kolkata.

 Gnats flee into thickets Swans too, in search of periodic water.
 I brood on Jibanananda Das, poems tucked Into a notebook, returning
from the Book Fair
Struck dead by a tramcar, aged fifty-four. On tendrils of dirt, in the
spot where he fell
Spirits cluster. Children sing to each other Tossing balls as children
do
A mechanical bird tethered with wire Circles a stall of neon colored
bras, panties too.
Needing a place to wait for you (Chowringhee undid me)
I sit on a flat stone in the garden of Freemasons. What did the poet say
about swans, nine of them, mystical?
He did not know why there were nine Vanishing into trees, but that there
were nine
He was sure. It's dark in your city, clouds cover the moon
The House of Freemasons tilts With the weight of gnats wings.
Under a crystal chandelier, When he's sure no one is looking
A man with red hair polishes his own shoes. Don't go away, think of
the poem
I hear you say-- It's all you need to do now, or ever really. 
COPYRIGHT 2010 Institute of African-American Affairs (IAAA)
No portion of this article can be reproduced without the express written permission from the copyright holder.
Copyright 2010 Gale, Cengage Learning. All rights reserved.

Article Details
Printer friendly Cite/link Email Feedback
Author:Alexander, Meena
Publication:Black Renaissance/Renaissance Noire
Article Type:Poem
Geographic Code:9INDI
Date:Jun 22, 2010
Words:218
Previous Article:Aubade.
Next Article:Question Time.
Topics:

Terms of use | Privacy policy | Copyright © 2021 Farlex, Inc. | Feedback | For webmasters