Poem by Rajumoni Saikia

Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού


@Rajumoni Saikia

A piece of old news paper lying on the way that was always in and out. A poem was there in a corner on it . Might be someone had tied up ‘chanachur’ here to drink with wine  .
The title of the poem and the name of the poet was not there. For me it was a
Poetry by an unknown poet.

What was the name of the poem?
Many names came to mind in the poem.
Wet in the rain, dirty in the dust, the poem was as if it were counting the last moments of it’s life.

Why are poetry and poets neglected ? I am astonished !!

I picked up the piece in my hand, it looked as if the sky of winter ( Phagun ) was hanging in my hand.

A painter was drawn a symbolic picture next to the poem.
My eyes rushed again and again to look the wet dancing girl in the rain. I felt,
It was a picture as smooth as a woman’s body.

How compassionate is the reader of poets and poems? How successful the poet and youth are in love ! Geting restless thinking about these things.

It is in poetry that we search for its existence. We access here the
river like youths, rain like tears , monsoon clouds how confrontational poetry like life is!

What was the name of the poem
Who was the poet?

I put the paper on the wooden pole next to me waiting for a poet. The poet did not come,
A butterfly flew around the paper.
If the name of the poem is given  ‘Flying Butterfly’,
Will the heart of the poet come to me!

A poet came atlast and said – In that poem he wrote about me, painted a neglected prose like poetry, seeking the address of a neglected poet.