Calcutta Poems III and IV
Autumn Morning, Calcutta
The temple's bells are loudly ringing
The fields explode with shouts and singing.
The children come to offer prayers
The fluffy clouds are white in layers.
The buds are blooming, red and yellow
The warmth of sun is gold and mellow.
The boys are leaping, caught in madness,
The kites are soaring with their gladness.
A kite cuts grooves on nimble fingers
In song and laughter, gladness lingers.
The scented wind is fey and restive
In suburbs now the mood is festive.
The autumn goddess rules the season --
And poets rhyme without a reason.
Monsoon Night, Calcutta
The city, drowned. It's now become
A gloomy, dark aquarium.
The passing cars -- they dart and swim
Like fishes, but their lights are dim.
The rain is sewing sky to sky
Across the clouds its fingers fly
And down the dazzling needles plunge.
Now soaking water like a sponge --
The streets are gravid, big with rain.
A curtain hides each window-pane.
A little stream. An urchin floats
Beside the ditch, his paper boats.
Past pebble-reefs, and rocked by waves
Then falling into watery graves.
If you've any comments on
this poem, Srinjay Chakravarti would be pleased to hear from you.