Thursday, July 3, 2008 by Indrajit

A Sweeper

Mopping the floors in randomness.
With brisk strokes and bowing just slight,
On the canvas of priceless floors,
A Sweeper dazed, removes the patches.

Patches of snobs and pricey genteels,
Blots of kiddish trails and common men,
With indifferent strokes , he wipes clean-
The floor all day-the Sweeper unseen.

Pieces of dirt that lay bare,
And reminiscences of footwears,
He spills water and sights his field,
And soaks silent, his mop smears.

The Sweeper in his formal blues,
Brushes past shoe-soles many,
and when reined in by fatigue blues,
He rests still ,his pail and mop unglued.

indrajit ghosal .

Posted in: | 15 Sonatas | |  

Monday, May 26, 2008 by Indrajit

Home---- A journey

Sunlit poured through the windows where danced the dusts folly,
reflections of a vagabond mind, then ,glimpsed every cranny,
the satin that touched the heart and wiped the dusts within,
and through the haze, in a trance, I see a Home Coming.

The familiar smell of spices and pepper,
that seeped in the palate from a kitchen faraway.
i felt near the warmth of the hands, that stirred the mind pleasant,
Take me there to my Home, to the lost smells nascent.

The pranks a little, the silent love,
pampering a kiddy and then a little shove,
My study table's dust stil lays thick in dismay i see,
and to sniff my old books once , to the Home now I must be.

To the Home , i must return, lest the flowers wither,
and see myself anew again, beneath the same old mirror.

Indrajit Ghosal
Copyright(c) reserved 2008

Posted in: | 12 Sonatas | |  

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