Carrying the shameless juices of wildlife, the battleground emerges; all bloodless soil bears the crow's eye's subterranean ocean wings to the root of the stone navels, the battlescars of some god other than God. Beauty's meadow in its rough hair, some shadow-dwelling monster with muddy feet climbs into the farmer's unbeautiful sleep, the water hyacinth's waterweed-entangled traveller's tune is heard, a slight infatuation with death before the assassin comes. In the wild kalkasundar-hedge, as the lover's face is removed, the crevice goes on deepening, the folkstone's wind comes blowing. On the slippery blue burnt cheeks of night's final hours, water locusts are ashamed of their end-of-war erotic sorrow. Before waking up in the kalkasundar-hedge, the crow's deep wings, the dunes, wordless tears of the lover. Note: The kalkasundar is a wild thorny hedge.
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|Title Annotation:||Three Bengali Women Poets; poem|
|Author:||Mahapatra, Anuradha; Banerjee, Paramita; Wright, Carolyne|
|Publication:||The American Poetry Review|
|Date:||Jul 1, 1993|
|Next Article:||Another spring, darkness.|