Pijushkanti Biswas

Pijushkanti Biswas

Alloy

If you blow up a paper from a proportion
You can discover a mammal on vegetables
In a dark night of a new moon

With appropriate formula
With a margin of error again and again
It keeps changing of the definition of purity

It means, on any day, it restate that
The metals has a state
And DNA get a geometrical print
The egg keeps dividing itself into millions


From east to west
From home to hospital
To hear a sound of a bell
One need to come to a brass model
There is stored purest form of copper

Please never call my sweetest beloved
As an alloy

Tandoor

You have seen plaster coming out
From a wall whenever there was a tiny mistake
With no margin of error

Yet, doorstep wants the footstep back

You see, the greener side of the jungle
Never call me again and again when you are in red sari
With dashing apples on your front
It just burns the wholesome trees

But, just have a look on this unnamed tree
There is no rain in his luck
We can hardly hear his cry
With blood, with flesh
He is subject to a grill

This is why and how - this is geographic
By walking from one locality to another,
With mankind , city ejects itself out of the map

No one really attached to a city

With clearance of fog of the winter of a demography
In search of foods,
In search of goods,
Delhi ignites itself into a glowing tandoor.