DUSK The line of dusk makes itself visible Not in orangish yellow, but in sullen grey, And confused white – I yearn towards my tea, Sip in its golden warmth, Feel it surging down my parched throat Along the cold tissues. It wizens me -- Making me quietly aware Of all the days gone by And how slowly my own sun Has passed its noon And is veering towards its dusky route, Mostly in grey abandon – CODES There are codes Unsaid arrangements Making you act, talk and move In a pattern specific Rendering facile, redundant, peripheral The presence of the other, Called the outsider, Who seems to intrude Into your closed circles Of intimacy or conspiracy. It is the codes That determine loyalty and staying – Beyond which, there is hardly any saying DISCOVERY Again and again Into the cesspool Of confusion, desire and hurt, Of misgivings and disbeliefs too, Sinks the sad heart – Until one discovers how The deliverer is the destroyer. Again and again One realises The slips so made and, In the clarity One perceives The dynamics of play.
Dr. Anasuya Bhar is an academic teaching English literature in St. Paul’s Cathedral Mission College, Kolkata, India. She would also want to be known as a poet.
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