On Saving My Poetry Poem by Rites Ghosh

Let's be good revellers
and in the funny winds loll,
sipping frivolty from glasses of poetry:
one causeless mutter
packed in one concocted rhymscheme-
and bohemian punctuations
in landless argument...


from my father once I
heard of a poet of some fits
or, alien frenzy-


once in time of a
marauding government's capital exploits
proscribing books over state
he shrieked, not because
they dragged the preys
and burnt the lot...


he raved the sky because
government bears spared him
as essentially dead-
his causes most fugitive -
therefore least culpable
his style and face of poetry...


he wrote to government
about its violent mistake and
implored to rectify carelessness
so that his poetry may escape
pitfalls and curse of lying...

he wanted his art to burn...


now while I write, I fear, someday
between slightest abarration of eyes
and frivolous hands
my poetry falls
like a wayside caracass
stinking out
and driving away
people...


people may have come
to seek a cause,
to seek something
they never got anywhere
in the world...