Transcendence Poem by BASAB CHAUDHURI

Song

Morning brings a smell of yesteryears -
long before I was born,
perhaps my father had this feeling
or my grandfather.
A bird sings -
melancholy,
a feeling of loss this morning
through which the day will roll to glory.

Radio

Old, dilapidated
kept on the concrete slab.
They had used valves
long before transistors.
Once dear to all
now just memory,
beneath all that exist
there is a story.

Rust

It is a chemical reaction
oxidation.
Below the brownish layer
a little active metal,
if at all, or lost for ever.
Once upon, it had a price
brittleness is the reminder
of hardness.

Grinder

No electricity,
a stone surface
upon which a cylinder
made of stone
ground the hardest spices.
So much force and attention -
she was meticulous in everything
that she made.