​​Binayak Bandyopadhyay (India)

The Loser stares wherever
 
ow-pressure surge changes its path and gets into the
coastline Gusty winds and uninterrupted rain make the sea
swell And the fact that she couldn't reach to him,
the river gasps with sediments within
The woman winces with the man inside
With the life inside- the heart;
This flinching will go on, until-
everything becomes a desert, everyone is neutered, everybody turns dead…
But who then will write the death certificate?
Who will write songs- stories- films?
Who is going to say- for one apartment, for just one award
an artist who portrays blood as condiment-syrup would never be the conscious of a community;
The soul of the society is that rickshaw-puller
who on a midday summertime even on pedaling a mile can easily
after receiving a twenty-rupee note in hand returns back the other five…
 
Earth returns back the craters of the moon
With the moonlight the night would go by;
The day passes by the shade of that tree
in whose hollow the cuckoo screams, the snake does not…

This mystery is our living; this living is the fate…
Our spirit- from the bottom to the top is a pair of jumping fish
On one of their eyes a harpoon is stuck and thus the other one can’t return to the water
Just waits for when this eye be stuck too
And, love would descent dripping…

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