Contemporary Literary Review India | Print ISSN 2250-3366 | Online ISSN 2394-6075 | Impact Factor 8.1458 | Vol. 8, No. 2: CLRI May 2021
Bonobithi Biswas
No Revolution Please
No revolution please.
Get brown sugar instead, the next best substitute.
Don't be alarmed, I need a cocktail.
Rotting in water to make one's what-do-you-call-it
Yea, that's the best, your personal innovation of
perfect liquor (roll the 'r')
Call it, say, an old car. Fifteen years old and finally to the
trash. And with it the funny secrets since four. You six.
No problem, call it Love too. Suits me, either way.
Someone broke the piggy bank, the new vehicle be blue.
One hitch.
Some notes are red stained.
Sorry I'm rich, but that's from when water and toilet paper ran out last summer. I was menstruating, not like you can blame me.
Honestly, I wouldn't care for broken down cars or ships.
I'm afraid of some small things.
Let's say it's OK I think.
Going by my haphazard calculations, by the time this
revolution strikes, we should be ready.
I expect to have a house by then. For us. Or at least, a barrel.
Sequel Inevitable
The florist had closed by mid-afternoon
Flowers wither.
You know my name,
What is yours?
One more time,
a wait, a laugh or two,
an apology.
Wish it wasn't daylight
or the familiar cafeteria.
The pink rose remains in my head
each petal flaking
Catching the currents
Dark River,
years ago, a little boy offered away
my leaf coracle,
chockful of fake prayers and
strange pink flowers
amid the light, holy chants,
we turned to the water,
away, away... mid-current, topples
curtain-call
The flame lost
The voices again
heard.
pay the kid a silver coin-
extinguished star.
Applause.