Confession Poem by BASAB CHAUDHURI

Every morning an opportunity
to confess my failings
and to express my feelings --
the day words do not flow
I become a beggar.

It is not that I write,
I confess what's inside me.
Just like waves
words break on the shore,
the spill over is what you see.

The yellow flowers
that fall from the tree --
greenish-yellow or yellowish-green:
have you seen?
Is it a painting or it is an indifference?

Roads going one over the other,
those walking like me or my brother,
neither I know them
nor they know me,
I haven't learnt how to see.

Potatoes and tomatoes in the market
one in sack, other in basket --
greyish-red or reddish-grey
I know not, only you may --
and I will be happy if you say.

None says a word, just walk by
I walk too heaving a sigh,
many a truth, many a lie,
in spite of these, a butterfly --
dancing around a butterfly.