Blue Eyes Paint Circles Poem by Arnab Das

Blue eyes paint circles
Over and over the black
Sporting his auto gun
Points to the railway track
And asks him to run down
But also mind his step
And deep beneath his heart
He knows he can't escape
But for his dear life
He'srunning like a mad
While the blue eyes shoot
And the black drops down dead

Now Sally in her alley
Dressed up as hell
Talking to a shabby man,
Who says he knows her well
The man pleads her kindly
If she'd like to date
But talks fell out midway
And he blamed his fate.
So he mixes his sorrows with
Blood and drinks it like wine,
And now he's lost his mind
And simply sit there and whine.

The fishermen at the gulf
Caught in oceanic flowers
While the poets look onto them
from their corrugated towers.
And the mermaids sing there
So loudly, for the ships to lure
And the black water tapping
White between ships and the shore.
The captains play on penny whistle
You can now hear them blow
And the poets from their towers
Count the ships that come and go.


The vision returns to the city
With implications wide and great
Isit in my sorrows drowned
And smoke my cigarette
But the cigarettes smell nothing
Like the taste that I have known
While the ladies smile past me
In their stark evening gown.
Their eyes are like treasure trove
Their faces read like maps
But I slipped past all of them
For I know them; they're traps.

Now the stars have gone hiding
In their shallow swaggering pride,
The ladies of the promiscuity
Has taken all of her things inside.
I strolled past their balconies
Playing, myself, a good old game,
To retain all the essence intact
But give them a new lot of name.
So the prostitutes are know as
Sally, virtues are known as vice
The poets are known by their wives
And people, with color of eyes