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Writer's pictureBasudhara Roy

Plants


I urge my plants

to grow untamed,

to beget untramelled,

uncontained,

the fieriness of the forest.


Its abandonment, splendour,

tongue-in-cheek mockery

of human indignance, and

of the abysmal human inability

to control.


I urge them to seek the sun

and to make love to the rain

with the unapologetic

unabashedness of the wild

and to burst with the defiant

defense of lust, into riotous flower.


I urge them to fall asleep at night

with the forest’s self-begotten silence

and to wake up,

virgin each day,

with the same confident air

of self-possession.


Only that I know,

that walled and cornered

within this periphrastic prose of concrete

their kinship with the forest

is long-since, sundered;


And as they stoically await

each morning,

the watering can

and the customary parted-curtain

greeting to the sun,


their poetry

of waxed leaves

is being written

in unconquerable foliages

light years away.


- from Moon in My Teacup (2019)



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