A Domestic Interrogation

Poet : Oohini Mukhopadhyay 
Those weary wrinkled bed sheets

That faded strap of the once upon a time enticing lavender bra


Which was now pastel, hanged unattended and dead on a hook

The abrasions of the surface of the wooden desk

As if elimination was conducted in progression

Saggy and slumpy cushions overlapping each other

Trying to fit in space against the antique handles of the sofa

And towards the right was a polished almirah


Full of porcelain all dust shielded

And just a strange scent all around

Of an incomplete isolation

Of a desired desolation

Of unheard yearns of wildness

Caged in the temporary dwellings

Without a confirmation of its inhabitants

No landscapes, no frames on the wall

Just a few marks of fresh dark blood near the broken pane

With two strands of a brunette’s

It is all left on the spectator’s

To weave a story or to dig one

To believe in the face value

Or to go deep in its virtue


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