To Fyodor Dostoevsky Poem by BASAB CHAUDHURI

I learnt from him that there is no escape
from the choices made knowingly or unknowingly -
a continuously moving rope and a touch,
and every touch transforms the rope as it moves.
There is no option but to touch the rope,
an ocean of despondency, hope against hope.
Today's glamour gives tomorrow's guilt,
every river leaves back a little silt.
Not touching the rope; a choice made -
one never knows where they all head.
Touch the rope; hold it firm -
slip it will, not on your term.

Such is the world: full of choice -
Could I ever stop my voice?