Poetry: Jyotirmoy Sil

Jyotirmoy Sil

Ballad of roof thatchers

Straw within straw does entwin

woven lore of smile and pain.

Cuckoo hums a low refrain

prophesying summer and rain.

Kalboishakhi in summer's swings

—a fleeting lore of grace—-

as it expands, embracing a new fragrance,

a hymn in the evening wakes.

When ants rally up to the thatches 

prophesying flood,

in a fleeting spell home clings 

to the bamboo bends.

Steps in water, memories scatter,

softly lost where time does confer.

Truths whispers of roots unseen

raindrops within monsoon's clouds sheen;

In winter, poverty reincarnate in foggy spleen 

underneath the braids of thatches.

Yet comes Spring with breathes anew

and cradles broken dreams like morning dew. 

***

Dilemma of a night cat

Bizarre figures from her dreams wane everyday,

like the faded fabrics upon a pot of china clay.

On that couch, she herself coils

loving Dickinson's death poems,

and rotates her memory like a observant cat 

sleeping on a dusky mat.

Her sterile marriage remains a secret cue

for attaining fancied mad cabarets undue; 

a pinch of vermilion hue

—a hollow mockery to pursue—

holds a mark of sombre incantation

as if, of a moth’s memory of a cocoon.

Then, she intends to imitate

silence existence of a night cat—

that hovers around empty alleys

where shadows uncoil like liquid vines,

twisting between fractured walls.

So that, within her mindscape—

dilemma blends with numbness,

some mystique chants she may whisper 

transforming into a sage demure;

amidst the dense abyss of grin

her abode is curved, and yet is sheen.

***

 

An unsuitable bride

Like a mundane faded carpet

in the drunken blaze of summer,

she coils like a caterpillar;

a moth on the wall with fleeting whisper

chants a hollow mockery for her.

‘...now walk a few steps,’

grooms mother says,

‘let's see how delicate are your legs;  

little up, your chin—

smile up your chubby face

(…not a bit of grace).’

‘Whatever, no dowry his father desires;

up to you are gold ornaments…’

The boy, she reminds,

who after her school comes

by a cycle green 

with a tender wind. 

Tears tremble in her eyes,

her smooth dream wanes.

Then an empty vase breaks.

***

Bio: Jyotirmoy Sil is a dilettante poet. Presently he is an Assistant Professor of English in Malda College, West Bengal. His poems have been published in several webzines including Muse India, Madras Courier, Setu, Spillwords, International Times, Boundless 2022, and in Yearbook of Indian English Poetry 2021 and 2023.

Email ID: siljyotirmoy@gmail.com

Mobile No: +917278541009

 

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Setu, March 2025