Poem | Mekhala Chattopadhyay

Credits: Amrit Ghosal

A Poem for your Calm

And
When the wind blows,
You will always find
Poems scattered.
Pollen grains
Upon this dirty doormat I had bought
Just for a show of cleanliness.

Nobody picks them up.

Who knows they are there
But me?
That they do not grow on a tree,
But hang on to old, sagging trunks
Preparing to die, to be washed off
With pretty, colourful detergent bubbles
Packed with memories of innumerable
Advertisements thronging my TV screen
On quiet days just like this
With the wind blowing outside.

Poems decide to leave me,
They love the dirt.

A hypocritical calm,
 Descends softly over my timely routine
Of buckets full of habitual dreams,
Plaguing the boring shelves,
Hanging under the weight of unused treaties,
On days just like this,
When a scarecrow keeps hopping seamlessly
Across my mind.