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The Cry


The Cry (Santanu Dutta)
Bagnan, 05th March, 2009

She slept peacefully on her bed.
The evening peeped at the window.
The scent of Kamini flower didn’t prevail
then, from the gate. The silent moon
looked at the plane from the slope
of the western sky. Over her cold face,
in merriment, buzzed the fly.

I walked in sadness along with them
in slow steps. The low, monotonous
sad notes of the funeral song, filled air.
Some of them, scattered the petals of
flowers on the way to her last journey.
Someone went on searching of an empty
pitcher to sprinkle water. No one thought
but from respect, on her coffin, I kept
a green wheat stem.

When she was alive, she was hopeful of
 a happy, long life. She had a cottage and
she opted for a love child of her own.
She smiled at me significantly being shy
and told, “In me, I harked a mother’s
cry.”And at last, she went away to the
land of stars, hearing her baby’s cry.



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