In a small closed room
there should be an intense
display of mockery
and souls shut and steeped
in jealousy would keep singing
their own songs in
high and low pitched voices
such are the clauses of these meetings.
Around one small pit
they sit close cremating their own dignity
watching the person next to them
with eyes glittering green in envy
such is the norm in these dark times.
Who is baiting whom
and to surge how far ahead
who caught hold of whom
to make a gain…
is the only data to thirst for,
to learn in desperation.
But no one divulges a thing.
Deeply buried in their own selves
neither do they see, nor do they hear.
They are frantically in search of
the touch of Midas.
At the backstreets each of them
is looking for an uncrowded road
and a blue canopy under the sky.
Inside a small room huddling together
is a flock of unhappy people,
imprisoned to the core.
The blue sky lies scattered
far, far from them.
imprisoned to the core.
The blue sky lies scattered
far far from them.
Translated by Amanita Sen
