- Chitranjana Bandyopadhyay
It’s niftier where she lives. All north breeze and espresso skies. That is to say, I’m lost there. There are trees more green that envy and more aged than wine. Yes, its niftier where she lives. There are five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes in one year. Time slows down there. There, walking along the port holed paving, I was the most foreign creature the pigeons had ever seen. They looked at me funny, frightened. I was a threat, unwanted. It’s strange, where she lives. The houses have two floors, with a garden attached. One grew roses, the other, weeds. Yes, it’s strange, where she lives. Its calm, where she lives. Not a sound of a drill, or a street vendor announcing his arrival. It’s as if, there is a price for a voice to pay- A costly one. Yes, it’s calm where she lives. And she lives there well.
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- Chitranjana Bandyopadhyay
I live in a limit-less land. There are mosquitoes, and angry men in checkered cotton towels. There are ruminating thoughts that fester in between the rusted cable boxes. And there is a less than fragrant, less than wanted canal that runs parallel, to me. I live in a ludicrous land. There are thistles and thorns and an occasional mustard seed you’d find on a plate. There are wise men and wiser crows who’ve seen it all. I live in a linguistic land. You can hear broken Bengali and broken hearts along the staircases. You can also hear broken families becoming whole again. I live in a labyrinth-esque land. You need to know the specifics. There are twists and turns and you’ll get lost. But you’ll also get found. Now isn’t that the dream? - Deveshi Bose
Along the streets of Kolkata Along the city of passion and joy We admire the heroes From marvel and abroad Yet we never know or see For whom we walk free They are the unsung heroes Whom we forgot along the road |
AuthorWritings by young people, either as part of projects they were involved with or submissions they sent Archives
December 2019
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