Sonnet - Poem by Joydeep Sircar
What gave her mind the charity to test
sharp judgment against the thumb of truth?
History, or natural history?
It matters little. What matters is her ruth.
What made her turn away from the sexual contract,
deny her generous breasts their flow of milk?
It doesn't matter. What does is the strength
in those shoulders beneath the whispering silk.
She has been much in my mind of late.
As winter solstice closes it's cold fist
around a small and dusty Punjab town
from my heart of darkness I set down
this exile's tribute to a dekabrist:
beloved Anuradha, bittersweet chocolate.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You