Three Poems by Sagnik Mukherjee

On every stair
Sits a seller,
Some selling toys that don’t play,
Some selling watches that don’t tell time.
Faces smeared with moth eaten tubelights,
As puddles of brown water invade traveller’s shoes.
Nobody stops. Nobody moves.
Nobody comes. Nobody goes.
Sellers seeking passengers of a
Blind train station;
Selling toys that don’t play,
And watches that don’t tell time.

Twilight.
Leviathan rears its head
Gasping in conspiratorial concrete.
Red light at the tip of its height,
Shines on a silhouette’s bald spot.
A  silhouette…
Roaming the evening,
Struck by a nightmare.
Teetering boots slip away authority,
While acres of dumpyard envelopes
Oxygenless evening.
Tastebuds conspire milk dew honey;
Saliva tastes evaporated icicles,
Hanging forever by flight’s noose,
Is this where Kubla Khan lives?

Orphaned traffic honks,
Drips those stately walls.
Impaled between Today and Tomorrow,
A retina dangles,
Egg white.
It dreams…
Of sunless siestas,
As the mourning room,
Stitches shut.