Treasure Island

Pradip Chattopadhyay

(28.01.1961 / Kolkata)

When It Happens


The crow looks like black hanging rag
The trees blurred blotch of green
Trunks furcating like horns of stag
The sky is shorn of sheen!

The road in haze is dazed in dust
Crossing seems out of bound
Eyes from birth hold distrust
Under feet is slipping ground!

Cars loud honk speeding by
How far is the other side
Though it looked close and nigh
Now seems hands need a guide!

Faces of men look only half done
The letters on the board gone pale
Walking it seems is no longer fun
All sights are without head or tail!

In strangeness appears familiarity
Might fall and break my neck
Ghost like looms a known city
Left behind at home my specs!

Submitted: Thursday, April 10, 2014
Edited: Thursday, April 10, 2014

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Topic(s): humor

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  • Valsa George (4/10/2014 8:47:00 AM)

    You have beautifully summarized a situation that often happens to people who stand at the threshold of old age! Once we have begun using glasses, without it we can only see some hazy outlines and we would be as good as blind! Enjoyed this predicament much! A sure 10 (Report) Reply

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