Road to Modernism

The more I look, the sadder I get.

The sky, the blue, the taste of freedom.

It doesn’t taste like freedom anymore.

The black chimney smokes, dissolving ,

The air gulping it in one go till it’s enough;

Leading to indigestion; I mean, pollution… Air pollution.


The land mower, mowing the grasses, Nipping them off the roots,

The hope of a new life perished forever;

In the faith of something better, Sophisticated, a building perhaps

Or a skyscraper even!


The rustic life appeals no more.

The city lights, witness to a thousand lives Breaking and patching; stands still.

Nothing can melt its stone heart.

We still love the lights don’t we?

We love the facade;

Behind which hides the sinister truth.


The truth? What about it? Oh, it’s painful!

It’s heartwrenching!

We don’t want the pain;

We are happy in the leisure of lies.

Lies comfort us.


In the painful comfort of lies,

I always choose the uncomfortable truth

Which soothes my pain of knowing

That which could have never been better!

That which could have never been mended! And those hearts;

Which could have never been together!


    ~Sucheta Mandal

       Kolkata, India 

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