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WORDS...AGAIN



I
So many of them
Saying the same things
So many of them…
For years they have felt
The pangs of time,
The sting of loss,
The warmth of love,
The heat of lust,
The angst of failure,
The joy of victory,
The wisdom of age,
The glory of words
Coined and arranged
Rearranged and exchanged…
It goes on…
What is there to say?
What is left to write?
What is yet to be thought
Or debated or won or lost?
All seems to have been done-
Beyond any use or impact.
Nothing makes a mark
Nothing touches deep…
An empty mesh of pointless chatter-
Ideas and words done to death.

                                                                      
II
But late at night,
Just before the dawn
There dawned some words-
Words again they were,
Loosely strung in a maze,
A maze of smoky rays,
Pounding against the ceiling
Asking whether to erupt or to flow…
The latter was chosen-
A choice that came by itself,
A choice that drew from the bookshelf,
The need to let it out
To add to the shelf’s motley,
A need to address the reluctance
To find out a new way
A need to do the same things,
To try the old thoughts,
To brush away the dirt,
From the clogged up mind,
To regenerate life
Not for life’s sake
But for the sake of a purpose,
A method,
A direction
To the neglected, senile, ancient pool.


III

Though meaningless these felt,
Though pointless the effort seemed
Though tiring the process,
Was it truly worthless?
The dreams that they all did dream,
The words that they all planted,
The trees that they nurtured,
The value that they harvested,
The depth that they added?
All that they thought aloud,
All that they restated,
All that they knitted for ages-
All collecting dirt for years…
The smoke was lifted
The maze gave way to voices,
That led to strong resounding voices
Of hungry young minds-
Minds that aren’t closed down
Minds that ask for more
Minds that ask why they learn
Whether to score or to earn…
A creepy wistfulness arose
The dark room, the old books
The greying hair, the thickened voice
All joined in to let out a sob…


IV

Where is that hunger?
Where is the madness?
Where is his happiness and
His pursuit of for what’s unknown?
Cynic, skeptic…Knows it all…
He seemed to have seen life
In all its shades and in all its forms-
Nothing left to know,
Nothing left to say,
Nothing left to note.
Up until now…
A moment of spark-
A few buzzing words.
An old man’s clarity,
An old mind’s need
For time to see again-
For time to see it all
With new eyes,
To hear the music of words
With new ears,
Free from prejudice
Or the complacent smirk…
Will the dawn bring time
And madness and mirth?
Will it blow away the dirt?




ARITRA CHAKRABARTI
1:45 AM, 05-12-2013.

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