Tale Of A Good Depositor Poem by Rites Ghosh

For the last nine days
I watched him at his intense toil,
minutely depositing basest substance
at his best will and stubbornness-

wings of hard hope
tireless though,
I must be ashamed of
such selfish hoardship

a black body dwarf,
almost insignificant
because of his bluntness
as to widest variety of earth
under eyes-
a sportive life here
leaps and falls:

no attendace,
no eagerness,
no amazement ever-

he builds a womb,
a clayful semi-dark birth-bed
of mysterious lump:

god deprived him of a chance,
how intensely he goes about
with a neglect-

yet here he heaps and heaps,
keeps his little dreams poised
before they spread wings-

he may be a father
but I am no puerile-
can a fractitous human thought
be spent over this trifle?

when usual work commands
me smarter,
in quotidian business
I move bright with reasoned flesh:

I too have some procedures
which by name and assertion
I call civility- a good shell
where things are busy
to unmake and all arts
to smother keenly.