Poetry

February 15, 2019 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

pixabay

 

By

Nitusmita Saikia

 

 

 

A picture

 

 

Listen to my silence a bit, you will hear my yelling,

Right from my heart those cries come,

Don’t be scared of its rhythmless attitude,

It cracks in,

Like a dirge on the pyre of faith and humanity.

 

My shivering curves in your eyes will speak

and spread my lavish street life,

Glade to know that

picture of my hollow eyes,

jutting out of filthy clothes shines in your ritzy world,

Now your name and fame

In my beggar’s dirty hands I assume,

A little now I flatter myself in tune.

 

My loins not enough to stroll when I am happy,

So I left to be happy,

Now my only piece of knitted thread

Just to cover my shame,

Your lens would tell that also

Only when there are ears to listen my yells.

 

Why all this melodrama of your skills!

Reading; writing or shading tears?

They can’t calm my burning hunger,

Your name and fame fails to feed my mouth,

Then why do you always come like a beggar

Looking for me in some dirty corner?

 

 

 

 

 

A forbidden race in debt

 

 

Stodgy with badinage of jingoistic looks;

We lay at the edge of extinction.

Not slapstick comedy but a tramp in its action

Time to make restitution!

 

Debt for skin, debt for colour,

Life was seized by unknown bailiffs,

Slavery sometimes; sometimes war!

For the play between knives & forks,

Painfully we lay bare.

 

Implicitly convinced that,

It drains water when our flesh spilt,

The predator laughed at my wounds,

As if,

A forbidden race in debt we were!

 

Not much appealing; the plea for mercy!

Yet for centuries we did it,

We assimilated which rather pleased anyone,

Crackers given to us,

Again we laid bare for experiments.

 

Where is the oil; where is the diamond!

The skin; the fur that pleased them so much,

I and my family were not only,

But my land; my lambs all are swept

By greed and money.

 

Eventually reached those smoky lanes,

Life still blooms in its passion,

Denouncing its scars,

A tale of robbery not yet finished,

But at a halt,

An interval to relish those suppressed words.

 

 

 

 

 

Nitusmita Saikia

Nitusmita Saikia is an Instructor in National Cadet Corps by profession and a keen worshiper of literature by passion. She dreams and pens from Jorhat, Assam. A young budding poetess has been adored by the society of world poetry. Being active in various online poetry groups, she writes for e–magazines like FM Online Magazine and Ardus Publication.

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