I and the wind of the city

By Ansuman Dey
Kolkata, India


I and the wind of the city -1


This day, no one's playing dreams.
this day, torn papers and old leafs
are flying in the air like me; very afflicted!
Such hollow mentality of the city wind
has left no philosophy on the streets.
The streets go down and down and lost
whichever way, without the history.
Like smoke, the wishes coming out
of the melting windows to breathe,
to smell the most latent aroma,
to perceive the waves of death.
This day is reverberantly excruciating.
This day, frogs and I are mute and busy
digging the soft mud ; very shattered!



I and the wind of the city -2


Neon sparks
and
I become
the mirror of the city.
Sleepy bricks crawl
into the Gothic darkness;
a very dilated and secret exodus.
A photograph excavates my soul and disappears.
Chronic noises hang
like the ear-worm blues from the futile erections.
I snuff out the neon to become
mirror to the city.