amitav mazumdar


From Behind


Behind the instincts, when your fierce steps trod
I thought of you, you became my thought
The wooden cross dangled, always in my hairy chest
The thud became more piercing, my strength would gone to rest
If it is humanly, with all flesh and bones alive
The tongue hasn’t tasted honey, there is no room in the beehive
Someday at somewhere, I shall meet you
Perhaps there’ll be no wind, only silence reigns in the milieu

Submitted: Sunday, November 17, 2013
Edited: Monday, November 18, 2013
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