Incantation

An emaciated mother-horse was telling the lore’s of Mongolia to her feeble young one while feeding him on the grassy patch opposite Academy.
The last golden rays of the rain-drenched day emanated the fairy of the Victoria Memorial. The remaining greens of the Esplanade and Lady Ranu’s* pigeon-blue aristocratic detachment.

Discussing about the eminent war between terrorism and imperialism I, with my friend, were moving towards liquid fire crossing over poetry sessions and art exhibitions.

In Calcutta’s ambiance of nihilism and depression, hedonism, lust and hypocrisy blossom like flowers—
The homes had been broken. All the promises and holy rituals had been swept away.
In the polluted Ganga hilsa and beauty does not exist anymore.
Cursed embryos, burnt wood and stifled time flow by in low tides,

The unheard incantation of the mother-horse brought into my memory the tribal flute player of Singhbhum, the moonlit night that smelled of my mother.


*Lady Ranu Mukherjee established the first art exhibition hall of Calcutta –The Academy Of Fine Arts.



By Sreedhar Mukhopadhayay