Kolkata: Old-Age Home - Poem by Boudhayan Mukherjee
I will lose in transit
the stillness of my icy shadow
carved on the grey years
of my Old-Age Home.
I am a leaf, drooping to reach
pooled in the center of my grave.
At dusk wooden stairs fold up
as I reach the streets.
I no longer know my city, trembling
in the mist
of my tears, heteromyopia.
The bells chime at Park Street
as silence ingests the sounds.
Silence parches my lips, frail eardrums.
My son, , I now have limbs of a child, your child.
But I'll run to your flat, wobbly-legged,
if you call.....
*Calcutta, the iconic cultural city of India
has been renamed as Kolkata.
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