March 4, 2015

Kanchan Chatterjee

She shuts the window

to the July heat
garbage smell
traffic buzz

looks at his
side of the bed

starts humming

thoughts at the Kesaria stupa, Vaishali, Bihar, India on 5th September, 2013

well Sid

here I'm at the feet of another

of those numerous stupas,

where either you've stayed for a night or had taken a bowl of honey

or spoken about your


as they say. . .

I'm not so sure though

but then

it's you

who'd said

to question everything


acceptance, anyway, that doesn't really matter

what really matters is

at this place

this particular piece of land

where i'm standing right now, and the sun is setting


and there is a cow grazing nearby


all those overcrowded buses

plying between nowhere to nowhere, and the memories of the last tiff with her 

and my boss beside me

and my empty inbox

and somebody's wry smile, and

someone's cutting remark

and a few 'NOs'

and some useless 'YES's'

this whole life

so far

is nothing

on this rainsoaked day

amidst wayward wind
watching the highway no. 33, through the moving window
the distant hills
and miles and miles
of swaying grass - a train cutting through
all these, whistling; homebound

I forgive

--Editor's Favorite Award, 2015

Kanchan Chatterjee is an executive  in the Ministry of Finance, Government of India. His poems have appeared in Mad Swirl, River Muse, Decanto, Red Booth Review, Cease Cows, and other fine places. He was a Pushcart nominee in 2012.

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