About You My Love Poem by Boudhayan Mukherjee

A passage cool with tender hooks
Of silence, the clothesline bare
No shirts or petticoats swing with breeze.

You cross your legs, defaming coolness
Of your serene mental frame, a madness descends
And you rush inside to pick up my book
Black Milk, strewn with poetry unread.

You burn a cigarette between your ruddy lips
While a poet downstairs feels elated and
As you concentrate on his lines of poetry
A fresh breeze wafts into the room, oh dear!

Is poetry made to comfort
Or are the words listless topography
Of a free-flowing imagination
Made precise by your own sense
Of loneliness, love and nostalgia.

Are you sure you relish my poems?
Rilke or Lorca, a queen a fruitless
Papaya tree a male one unable to seed.

You uncross your legs and throw away
Thehalf done cigarette without fuss.