Poetry

Mechanic Masquerade

There’s void at the center. Gone are legend and myth.
Folklores of fairies now no lips do ever utter.
Wings of unsaid words gather in the nasty nest of tarnished teeth.
On the tampered table lie brownish bread with rancid butter.
                                     
The coughing of the unreal city is witnessed by the sleepless smog.
Shadows of extinct birds are found sitting on the skeletons of trees.
Emotions have gone to an eternal hibernation like a dead frog.
Bodies are no longer virgins even though lips did never kiss.
                                     
Reality’s been made out of fragments of fanciful falsity.
What’s visible is intangible, what’s tangible is invisible.
Eyes are overshadowed by the hazy light of the mazy city.
“Shape without form, shade without colour” are what is available.
                                     
Nothing but only shadows of made-up memories lie beneath haunted hats.
Silhouettes of shattered souls walk through alleys of restless rats.
Minds without bodies operate bodies without minds.
Venture for the solid Truth is futile. Truth is of gaseous kinds.
                                     
There will be no difference between yesterday, today, and tomorrow.
Clocks are bought as alternative for the time which can never be brought.
There’s no distinction between smile and tears, joy and sorrow.
For the mechanic masquerade, the dance of metallic masks is only sought.
                                     
Is this the flame of fire brought by Prometheus
Which is responsible for all these artificial hues?
There remain no real gardens of flowers but of only thorns.
Is it true?
Everything’s been created, nobody’s ever been born.
                                                                     
         ~Swapnajeet Das
             Kolkata, India

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