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. 

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