The Shelter Poem by Binayakumar Mohanty
The Shelter
The old owl hides
in the crevices
of age old sculpture.
The brute butcher
washes his blood stained hands
with fluid of democracy.
The rapist of humanity
pretends to sketch
the portrait of the goddess.
The washer man forgets
the odor of the betrayal
in dirty clothes.
The soft bodied snail
withdraws in to its shell
for safety
but crushed under the wheels
of racial fight.
Everybody search for a shelter
for uncertain catastrophe.
Is there one?
Part 2 “The brute butcher washes his blood stained hands with fluid of democracy.” Blood is on the hands of everybody. Like Pilate, they want to wash their hands off. And come clean of all their sins, whether it was of 2002 or 2018. They very legally loot you and fill the coffers of their cronies, only to gain the favour in return.(Contd)
Thanks sir your social out look that is an essence on the part of a poet and critic.Your encouraging words are like air for my lungs..
Hi Binaya, A haunting revelationary poem. “The old owl hides in the crevices of age old sculpture.” The bird of ill omen itself does not want to reveal itself. The portents of the age is so dark and ominous. Yes, the poet is speaking of today. Contd
Thanks Dear Sir for your love and inspiration. Regards Binaya.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/4/2024 1:38:06 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Part 3 “The rapist of humanity pretends to sketch the portrait of the goddess.” Deception is all around. Enough is enough... Yes, let us now call a spade a spade.
Thanks and deep gratitude for your critical analysis of my poemRevered sir.I am obliged to your love for the poem and the manner you read and comment on the poem.I am speechless. Regards Binaya.