Mismatch Poem by Pravat Kumar Mandal

Mismatch
Pravat Kumar Mandal

Here the spirits are sleepless
The faint light of the firefly shines,
They come more and more in rows
Stinking, covered with white polythene.

Searching for the grave increases
The wandering souls are only numbered.
There is peace in them and no rivalry
There is no desire to be nurtured.

The lightless sun rises here
In the darkness of the waking night.
The spirits keep the pen in their mouths
They try to get the calculations right.

But the mathematical issue weak here
Pushing in the crowd is very unbearable
Distance is needed for the trial
Harassment in trace! Mismatch discernible.

(29/07/2020)