The story of alternate journey

Runa Bandyopadhyay
The story of alternate journey


Slightly curved asexual lips,
plucking pollen by removing petals.
In this day of flying pollen
alternate journey observing infusion.
But the lips at the freezing point.
How much colour can it provide?
After crossing all jokes one by one,
white and black turn expressionless.
Horizon of pallet turns grey.
Compassion can give how much shelter to her,
who is crossing the pacific with silence?
You have acknowledged the burning only,
lonely Tamas still in denial.
Come down inside the womb of slow river.
She’s on her menses,
incubating yolkless light.
Come down further to see
how she makes the sign of exile to fly
from laugh from weep
in this day of flying pollen.


Though few signs of wormed ribs
still exist in my exile,
I came back to the machine
to say no to melancholy.
I stepped down through sweated ladder,
deep very deep down.
I could see only a jungle of compressed black heads at the corridor.
My helmet unfastened and rolled down.
I got confused,
whether the worm now attacking my brain?
When I laughed out loud,
all the light of console became red.
Buzzer went on to buzz,
shacking waterbed so much that underworld stunned.
I replaced the old flash
by opening the heart of the machine.

Runa Bandyopadhyay, a bilingual poet, essayist, translator and critiqueer in the New Poetry world of Bengal, India, a scientist by profession, but fully addicted to innovative experimental literature. As a critiqueer she invented a new genre in 'recurring poetry' and...

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