I Stick To the Wall With a Frown. {poetry}
{source}
I am but a child seated in the classroom
The smell of bread, butter and sugar all
To me avails throughout the day’s length.
I behold elves, gnomes, flowers and beasts alike
Pasted on to the walls, with wonder.
Through the window could be discerned
The shrub in sway.
Tales of demoniac proportion and fairies are related to us
And during fairs
Dolls do abound in our vicinity.
Hardened egg shells, soft cotton and feathery down
Iridescent paper, glue and sundry doth
Take bulbous buttons into their custody
To exchange their individualities
For puppets, elegant and gaudy.
The adjoining house exhibits in unison
A ripened old man and the contents of archaic ways.
Sparrows and pigeons do glide down
When the sun peeps below at the town
To the call of scintillating water
Or else to seek refuge in
Holes which in abundance to them cater.
The mistress, benevolent and kind
Carries me away although for a while.
Magic shows are there to entertain
As is the buoyant dog and its pranks
Following in its train.
The budgerigar in suspended animation
Has its hue in equation with the tiny tots in visitation.
I partake of a crimson candy sweet
With care utmost and discreet
And if a mischance does advent
The orb is picked up
My backbone is bent.
Before rain makes its presence felt
The sky assumes a distinct black.
The earthworm crawls out of its burrow
Water down under.
I stick to the wall with a frown
The icy wall freezes the cheek
Sending forth calcified shudder.
Trickle and splash abound
Distant and around
Of scarce renown.
The blowing wind, deafening roar around
Fears alien cast.
The book abounding in tales
Open lies on the desk
Boasts of a hirsute bear
In a forest, thickets and groves ajar
Carries me away to a land afar
Strange and dark
Of draconian rules and measures stark
None dare tread the realm wherein hark
Saber-toothed canines and fiery ark.
A day out kneeling down
Smell of verdant grass.
A stag in brown study
Across the barbed fence
And the massive tree trunks ajar
Archaic and grand spread far.
Ants in a row crawl up the wall
In response to brethren call.
Day drawn out evening abound
Empty, desolate classroom
Ox articulating doom around.
Clock in sway across the wall
Apparitions mobile from void spring tall
With ease consummate and rare
Traverse everywhere.
The puppet, toil and all
Stationary lies in wait for the call
Wields a sword in its hand
As if a magic wand.
The classroom is pale, forlorn
Strongly set in concrete worn.
***
Born one fine Indian midsummer in the walled city of Delhi, Subir Kumar Sen had spent his childhood in awe of the splendid red sandstone fort, sprawling gardens, and lofty minarets in close proximity. He was interested in poetry since childhood. He wanted to portray what all he went through, what all he had seen and could imagine. He holds a degree in English, and has also studied Italian at the Italian Embassy and is a professional Italian translator. He is multilingual and is well versed in Hindi and Bengali too. He currently stays on the outskirts of Delhi. He tries to be very honest with his poems and writes what he sincerely feels. A couple of his poems were published by The Voices Project.
***
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