Photo and Poetry

Paramita Mukherjee Mullick


DO THE CROWS KNOW?

Do the crows know who lives in the house?
The house with the bolted windows.
The green shutters becoming grey with age.
The walls in a sorry and shabby state.
Needing a fresh coat of paint for long.
The plaster peeling off in many places.
Once the house was yellow in colour.
Patches of yellow is still to be seen.

Do the crows know who lives in the house?
The house which has stood still for ages.
History lying still in a central Calcutta lane.
The crows hoping and flying on the terrace.
Landing on the cornice to rest their wings.
The blackened water tank with no water.
No sound to be heard, no soul to be seen.
The cawing of the crows the only sound.
***


THE HOUR OF AWAKENING

In the early morning, when the earth is awakening.,
The trees are awakening,
The birds are awakening,
The sun is awakening,
My mind awakens to a new day.

Silent, tranquil and calm.
A mellow light touching the sky,
Just like the pinkish tinge on a new bride’s face.
The black silhouettes of buildings.
Lights glistening at some windows.

The peaceful hour of awakening.
The household is awakening.
Humans everywhere are awakening.
Nature is awakening.
My soul awakens to a new day.
***

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