Ms Koyel Chakrabarty works as a Full-Time Lecturer in English, BRCM College of Engineering and Technology, Bahal, Bhiwani, Haryana. She teaches Essentials of Communication. She is keenly interested in research and creative writing. She has published articles on post-colonial perspectives in National journals.

47. After Daedalus

An upward arrow is my dream,

I gon'na achieve it.

The sky calls the eagle up there.

The Sun is ready for me.

I doll the life that's inside,

I tax my inner soul;

For the winged me I desire,

Fearing Deadalus will hold.

The fall is steep, the pain tremorous,

The wings are cut, the blood dry,

I stoop, I fall;

Eros help!

Mammon darling, soul is goal;

Goal is gold,

Music is sweet ,

Where Jeus-Eros live.

Ah Had it ever been!

Jeus and Eros…

Married happily,

I wait wait …

Immortal waiting_

I see upwards,

The clouds call me.

I'll go.

Fall if I, no one to hold

Will Mammon keep me?

Or Eros come to scold?

I pity the self between.

I'll perish I think,

The Sun is down,

The Moon is calm,

She calls me.

I can go there, it is high too,

She is my sole solitude.

I'll die to her, cold,

Better than blazing Sun.

But can't the lion, bear a goat?

It can heaven earn,

I will bear my goat

To give the Lion a run.

48. The Twin Me

Its pity: I don't exist,

Its ironic: You say I do-

'In thoughts, in walks of life-

In walks with friends, in pain,

In dreams, in joy, in poetry,

In French, Tagore, Nights….'

I know I don't.

You say I don't know,

I really don't, when you say it to 'me',

Your 'me'- the over nurtured me,

Precious, unmistakably 'me',

That queen of pampered thoughts!

You blush- you have always wanted that.

I garnish the flowers to a thread,

I were it around,

You hold me there in,

I'm yours every Night.

You terribly miss me,

You desperately create,

You miserably break,

You make me your duet.

You come to meet me at dawn;

And show me up at day,

On some evenings I'm yours

The nights fight the fret.

The 'me', is cute,

The 'me' is all,

The 'me' is you.

The 'me' is fall.

Calls after calls;

The phones sing and end,

The night ends, the day breaks,

I become non-existent.

You have never seen the water beneath,

You have never been thirsty,

You have never waited for the moon,

Darkness you have been haunting.

Things heap untold.

You keep them unturned.

You keep yourself bottled,

You love to keep your 'me' strong.

In dreams nights in seas,

There's no platform laid,

It doesn't matter I lay it on not;

You have no guts to stand.

A platform surely exists here,

Not the black lawyer's fighting ground;

A stand to stand 'me' there,

That you rejoice to see me stand.

I find no place, nothing even to say,

You do things all you need,

Your telephones demand my sound,

Its deaf: whatever my voice speak.

Its pity I'm not only yours 'me'.

Not simply that you have begetted,

You know there's a me somewhere else,

Which you dare not test.

You stand paralysed,

As if you are made so.

You plea out my pocketed hand,

To let the sinuous action go.

My me stands with you crying,

Your 'me' handicapped,

You are caged asleep in the ancient age,

The twin mes stand trapped.