Commemoration / Postscript Poem by Tapas Bandyopadhyaya
Commemoration / Postscript
To clear up things.
To put on record
my ending of the story.
A date changes character
and refuses to be recognized.
Lines of confirmation
snapped.
The calendar suggests other figures.
A twelve says, 'Not me.
It was eight.'
Usually, eight is the culprit
Earlier it was four.
My numbers.
But the fact remains.
An execution took place.
And my severed head
was abandoned to cry for itself.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 12:08:25 PM # 1.0.0.1119
people, often in politics and service-industry, fail to realize that small changes to the routine or records can be a life-or-death situation for others. nice piece. -Tailor