Pratim Bishnu (10/10/1993 / Barrackpore)
3: 40’s Burdhman To Sealdah.
Vested in fatigue,
As I end this shift, after hours spend in the mine.
Waiting for your signal,
waiting for your call.
A small snivel, a grain of laughter,
as I see you marching in,
people stand back with hastened steps,
as you dust the platform of all its mess.
Ah my saviour, my warrior princess,
carry this wounded foot soldier back home,
I am too tired, to chase,
so stand still, keep a door in my place.
Take me home fast I want to sleep,
for if I do in you, I am yours to keep.
I don’t mind that, but what of those brutes in white,
that come and ask of my papers,
now if I skip platforms a few,
I don’t mind their phony authority, just let them sew.
But don’t they know we don’t need a paper to love.
Oh my angel my precious dove.
Just get me home, don’t mind the lights,
don’t feel down, let’s put up a fight,
run havoc against time,
flush all deniability.
I stand by one of your doors,
while you comb my hair in this wind,
you rush for me as you win my heart,
and as I see my home in the horizon,
and as we say our goodbyes,
I know you will be there tomorrow too,
I know we will meet again, my warrior princess.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (3: 40’s Burdhman To Sealdah. by Pratim Bishnu )
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