Two Poems

By Sekhar Banerjee


The renovated church near the promenade

has a large bell

in wrong metals – it sounds like a sea-coast cannon

and the new washrooms stand side by side


like soldiers, anxious

before returning to the garrison

You spin oddness and similarity like a nervous Tibetan

weaver making religious motifs

on a scarlet silk scarf

or a sleepy tailor stitching consecutive wrong

buttonholes in a formal shirt

We take a side and arrange similarity throughout the series, as if,

every uneven number is our special child


There is an ice-cream seller with a pair

of maroon shades in the rain

You can’t decipher his eye movement


like dissimilar chairs in a perfect table

You come to understand

juxtaposition is rather a choice than a coincidence


The Essayist

Nowadays every organ in my body

is an individual. I walk like the French Revolution

and I see the working of my limbs

 like an eighteenth-century staggering power loom

I roam and I count

one by one: this is my hand, this is my head,

this is my perception of my face

And, I know, those are my legs which will not let me fly

and that is my only solace for losing all wars nearby

like an essayist balancing his words

in the second draft 

And I look at my severed legs only in the dark

when the last pomelo flowers of spring

start blooming on them,

as though, they are my French floral brocade shoes

and I float

with my bereaved knees

 like a renaissance painting – white and blue


Sekhar Banerjee is a bilingual writer. He has four collections of poems and a monograph on an Indo-Nepal border tribe to his credit. He lives in Kolkata, India.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s