Friday, July 4, 2008

TWO Poems of Manu Dash


The day I was busy
settling the bills
of the oncologist, who
treated my ailing father,
my son celebrated silently
his seventeenth birthday
with his friends.

I watched morosely
the old plant in my garden.
It needed pruning
for leaf and bud.


I get upand put on the mask
till I retire to bed.
Over the years it has been
dearer and dearer to me.

Donning it, I play different roles,
deliver different dialogues,
and throw different expressions
at different people.

I try my best to keep
every body happy and agile.
All have forgotten
that I too have a face
of my own, and,
when I exhibit it,
they fail to recognise.

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