Anoop Antony
By
Pijush Kanti Deb
I’m Not An Amateur Etcher
I embolden my folded hands
to hide their cementing elements
whenever
my watchful entities feel
the glow of the fire
of her glutinous closeness
assuming their spontaneous
and enthusiastic cooperation
in my game of love.
I look cautiously at my mirror
and gnaw the nails out of their fingers
as I’m not an amateur etcher,
itching may be there in mind
but of her
I long only to be a beloved lover
wishing to see my esquire alive
dancing and singing
on the stage of her sweet and soft lips
for ever.
So, I’m ever ready
to tolerate the biting of her blind nails
and forbid my eyes from caring of
the resultant blood shedding
and my heart
from feeling the objectionable pain
as to me
it will be an effective price
charged by my love for her.
A Burnt and his Rivals
Tactful rivals are approaching
showing their dreadful canines
Yet
A burnt
remains fearless and relaxed,
He just checks once again his locker up
Wherein his heart and soul are locked,
Comes out in the street to observe his body
Which is ever busy
To turn dust into gold,
Looks at his people
Who are still extending their hands to him
Sketching the lines of smile on their lips
And then
He climbs up his search-tower
Consoling his dream,
“Let them come, I’m ready to protect you.”
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