It was that year of our Lord

When the inside

Of the tomb

Could hardly be told

From the outside.

It was the year

We locked love and hope up in the attic

And pretended not to hear

The thumping on the door.

It was the year of putting the foot down

On the brakes

And holding on to the clutch

It was the year of shifting gears

And faceless tears on every mask.

It was the year the earth stood still,

The year that did not happen.

It was the year that it was decided

Hope is dead and buried

And must not be revoked back into life

With a monkey’s paw, because

The world has already seen

One resurrection too many, and

Its eyes are burning

(Let no phoenix dream

Of rising from that fire).

It was the year we built a tomb

And rolled a rock

And shut it from the inside

And promised never to see

The light of day.

It was the year of endless nights.

It was the year we did not dare laugh

Lest our smiles should anger the gods.

                                                                                       ~ Sinchan Chatterjee

                                                                                     Kolkata, India