Lahore, Sunday, March 27, 2016 by Debasis Mukhopadhyay

I am not a silent poet

The quiet hour 1

Away from us a koel calls.
I lift my head from the pillow & figure under his wings there ain’t enough sun.
This means my young son will sleep for a few more hours before he becomes himself.
Peace. I breathe him till the bare day comes and becomes what it may become.
Yesterday’s baby soap has not faded yet.

The quiet hour 2

The bloodied walls rise into the quicklime of the sky burning.
The empty swings crackle remembering
The cuckoos that sang out over the park.
The flesh strewn across the ground rethinks
The bodies that flew overtaking thousands suns.
I think I have found him.
It’s almost him.
I breathe him when settles the cloak of dust.
Yesterday’s baby soap has not faded yet.

Debasis Mukhopadhyay lives and writes in Montreal, Canada. He can be found online at
https://debasismukhopadhyay.wordpress.com.

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