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Contrasting current | Poem By Sayan Basak

she could, and did

fall from the attic to the cellar

with not a tread touched,

nor a hand placed on a balustrade.


switches transfused energies

with perplexing rapidity,

with the sun spreading golden rays,

or falling through the grid

to the dungeon floor,

in a heartbeat.


then, five sets of stairs

transcended in metaphoric flights,

over black boots and raincoats

with exhausted tissues;

waving flags of surrender

from bathroom windows.


her words rang cold as December,

on spurious petals of lilies

iced inking,

tinkling in crystal condensation

between eiderdowns of night and day,

and nightshirts of mid-July.


slashes from the talons of owls

scored deep,

soothed by an unlit oven

that embraced, and interred her soul

in the eternity of a bell jar.


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