Wandering about in the bluest depths
Of Earth, in wet heavens,
Unaware of the inevitable
End of the earth,
Arising out of furnaces,
Coloured in coal and petrol.
Perhaps breathing its last,
Before the last drops of water are
Snatched away, or
Infused with glossy oil,
A painting on a blue canvas,
Foretelling death, before
Blue turns red,
The fish writhing in pain,
Looks at me,
As I breathe gasoline,
And we bid goodbye,
To each other.
RED VELVET WRECK
Sweetest sounds of violence,
Its beats, a flowing verbal melody
Its ebb and flow, menacing
As always, painful, as it should be,
For whom you ask?
For those tall figures
Who forbid poetry in the dry lips
Of their servants,
What shall they sing then?
Verses with their hands, machetes, guns,
Paintings in red, sculptures in flesh,
Choirs sung by the last breaths
In City halls and parliaments,
Who remembers these hymns of love?
The streets, like a slaughterhouse,
Of day when violence performed,
Like a bard who carried the sickle.
Like rats in a mill,
Little heavy feet crossing streets,
Little light on their faces,
So little to care as they greet,
Almost like metal gear,
Working in tandem,
A labourer towards his work,
But none looks at their ordeal,
That they break their bones,
But cannot buy a house,
Where will their children play?
In schools and grounds,
Or in soot-covered workshops?
One denied of their childhood,
While the father lost his too,
And yet he works for
Health and quiet merriment,
Perhaps holding onto a dream,
That in avenues of great monuments,
His family shall once live too.
Arnab Bhattacharya works as a researcher in the field of sustainable development and political economy of decarbonisation in Milan, Italy. In addition to his research work, he has a passion for reading and writing about class and caste issues. Arnab's poetry is characterized by its unreservedly coarse style, incorporating social realism and class struggle.