The Rooms Within Room. By Ray Subrata - Poem by Subrata Ray
Bina, my friend’s wife,
A mistress a on call
A cheat –fund’s agent,
A Beauty’s book, with,
Many a familiar look.
To her, as Lolita feels,
Life is only for the youth, ’
Save, the dictionary is nil.
Marriage! the bondage of a slave,
Leaving blue sky, green land,
Taking shelter in a damp cave?
Her husband a with many dustbins,
A clumsy canker, an auntie’s kin.
She frankly speaks of her love,
Pornography is a sacred book,
Every day a new body, and bewitching look.
Rina, her maid, is also paid,
Hers is outlaws land,
In society’s dusk,
Her trips come and go,
All friends, no foe.
Why? who think for them?
Who with eye and no name
Casting look for someone’s book,
Stands still on the door’s frame.
The day’s feeding on nasty game.
Lolita, Rena, Shaphali, take no bribe,
The bees come, drink honey from their hive.
Their warehouse –keeper, and then the owner,
Have their commission, and privilege frowner
Police, administrative giants, ministers, seek life in them,
They hide the light, force their right, and return without name.
No one has ever cared, none has gut to stain his fame,
The Binas from times immemorial remain the same.
Who are they? What is their relation to us,
They are our sisters and mothers, but mysterious
They save society from the animal-man’s-wild passion,
They serve our friends with the flash of extra-ration.
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