Biswajit Chatterjee (Climate Change, Eco-activism, Whisperings of Social Justice)

Dr Biswajit Chatterjee is a clinical & preventive cardiac physician based at Kolkata. He is a bilingual poet & translator and has authored eighteen books till date. Recipient of two prestigious poetry awards he has edited two magazines & is working on a book of nonfiction to be published shortly.

 

 

The Final Exit

For Sylvia Plath

 

 

It had been a long and sultry summer

She didn't know how far the journey would be

A naked girl came running from the orphan home

And looked like a battered burning tree.

 

She thought this was the worst scene she had ever seen

And a shrill sound came out from her frightened heart

She thought it could be a delusion or a weird dream

Or a blurred image of her secret art.

 

She felt good that her world was going to tumble

With memories of funerals and failed attempts of death

Only the malignant whisper and the ashes of fireflies stay

She had spoilt her maiden book and the bible of faith.

 

Images of burnt fingers kept dancing around her chin

Before the rings of smoke and fire had ended the final scene.


 

 

When a poet dies

 

A real minor poet was found dead in his small home today.

He wrote the word NEGLECT in a piece of paper and died!

 

His tongue and lips were dry

His body cold and listless

His eyes were wide open and pupils dialated...

 

'Extreme heat', said the doctor who came, examined him and pronounced him dead.

'The cause of death?' asked a neighbour.

'Cardio respiratory failure due to heat exhaustion..

due to extreme climate condition

and probably the lack of empathy of his fellow writers '

said the doctor.

'And the government, the civil society, his estranged wife can't shy away'..he added.

Who couldn't prevent an young old man from dying with some honour who had no apparent illness..

And the doctor left.

 

Eleven people including seven active poets joined the mourning.

A frail woman in her sixties sang from Tagore

All the seven poets had read out one poem from the dead poet's chapbook, one poem of their own and said: 'this man deserved a little more'

A young publisher had arranged for a cup of tea and biscuits for 15 people but a few visitors had left before they called it quits.

It was decided that a collection of climate poetry will be published soon in the memory of the minor major poet on his next birthday.


 

 

 

She has become a tree

 

They had tamed her low with all their might

And spoiled her curves with power

She tried hard but gave up her fight

And was found after eleven hours..

 

She was laid in the ground with withered leaves

Embraced by her shadow and gentle breeze

With curious birds and nestless bees

And the mournings of the wounded tree.

 

It was a sacred place in the nature's hut

Where people come and sit for a while

But those men had come with a wicked smile

And thought she was a slut.

 

Serial killers of nature are still moving free

But untamed by the power she has become a tree.

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