Two Poems by Amanita Sen
At the airport terminal
The mustard yellow of her dupatta
matches with my kurti-colour,
as we stand side by side, like our
golden deserts merge on either sides
of the boundary that part us.
Our skin-colours match, so do
our expressions—a little lost, flustered
at the shared fate of delayed flights;
hers to Lahore, mine to Kolkata. Writ large
on our faces the uncertainties of the day.
But we smile, a big one and joke about
our sameness of the colour of clothes, skin,
late flight-time. Not writ large for this while
on our eyes, the stories of shared betrayals,
the threats of the targeted missiles.
The room of irrelevance
Inside the room of irrelevance,
where many are doomed to live,
there are sigh-windows letting
out the pent-up heaviness inside.
The blank eyes of the inmates
speak of a soul left to die, having
given up on the hope of whatever
brought the flicker of lights in them.
Time is found aplenty here with none
to share with, not shortened by easy
conversations and crazy laughters;
lurching aimlessly from a day to next.
It grows upon one—this abandonment,
accepting, like an old wall is of cobwebs.
Senses taut up habitually though,
expecting the sounds of awaited footsteps.