Poems by Sayan Aich



The ants on my wall

Form a long procession from opposite sides,

Meeting and greeting each other,

Maybe a warm hug, maybe a kind word,

Then cross each others’ path

And are on their way.

My grandmother, if alive,

Would have hoped people migrated like that,

To their Pakistans

To their Hindustans.


The Railway Station


You see, my home for the last fifteen years,

Has been near a railway station.

Every night, the last goods train leaves at 12:35,

Carrying off the night inside its coaches.

The tracks, spat, pissed and trampled upon throughout the day,

At night, breathes like a patient on life support.

I hear the whistle assault the air

Between two stations,

The clock tells time,

In bits and pieces.

The darkness gathers in small tobacco pouches,

I see the moon running after the train.

Image via malikiyya.se

Sayan Aich Bhowmik is currently employed as Lecturer in English in South Calcutta Girls' College. When not under the burden of checking scripts and other departmental work, he whiles away his time writing, reading, watching movies and supporting Chelsea FC, and hoping for his readership to swell.

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