Pradip Chattopadhyay (28.01.1961 / Kolkata)
On a Lifeless World
From his glassed verandah
he stared in wonder at the motionless sky
with not a star twinkling,
he felt sadly amused,
the little stars don’t twinkle here
and he was so far away from the land
he had known all along as his home.
suddenly it dawned on him
that it wasn’t for no reason
that he felt rootless and homeless
in what was so long his abode
the same way he’s feeling now
in this glassed verandah
one fifty million miles away
from the place he calls home.
he shivered in this thought
looking at the vast frigid sky
where hurtled the ghost of phobos
whose pale orb he found too dimmed
to spin webs of dreams
he did with the silvery disc
in his once familiar sky.
at the sight of that desert terrain
exposed yet bereft of the wind’s ravage
where time stood timelessly frozen,
he felt lost in a massive alienness
listlessly searching for a way out
to come back to a tranquil equilibrium.
then his eyes fell on the ocean water blue
and he couldn’t hold back his tears.
like a man possessed
he started tapping the keys….
The first flower blossomed on that lifeless world.
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