AMID THE BLACK AND WHITE - -

Often, at the last o'clock of the
night, just before the scattering
of jasmine flowers,
a familiar voice,
breaks my
dream,
that's a Chapman or the stranger
serang, I haven't any idea but
I'm sure, he comes and
fills the life in the
nectar of rose -
bud, and
slowly
disappears in the flickering sky -
line, life again becomes
fresh, ready to struggle,
in the mist of fly -
over, the sun
rays find
out
the philosophy of blooming and
the flowers of balcony wait
for it eagerly, the flock
of pigeon just flies
away in the
blue sky,
again
the metropolis slowly becomes
the mass - forest, the
endless way of
survival.

* *
- SHANTANU SANYAL