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Sunday Poem By Jhilam Adhikary

To the Envious God

Big lips, flavourless and sweet,
And I miss the kisses,
On my chest and cheeks,
Chaste God won’t know this feeling.
Envious, indeed, subtly,
I see God’s envy bloom in this room,
Not letting us meet,
And how dare the sun!
Rises without you, sets without you…
Treats you like every other…
Envious God, aweless fancy-monger!
Shall I scold you in a Shakespearean way?
Nah! Too much.
What a weird day God made,
How boring a day needs to be,
Free, stubborn, lazy,
For one to finish an entire book;
And yawning while parents fight,
Friends troubled the same.
A fuzzy head and no small talks,
And my melancholic friend’s melancholia at it’s peak,
A loved one died, not his fault.
I feel him. God does too.
And my other two friends fighting over nothing,
One’s crush is mad, other is sleepy,
Nothing to discuss, yet phone rings,
While I wait for dinner.
And humming…
Half of summer in gone,
Just the heat remains,
Again, God’s envy and nothing else.
Kal Baisakhi day and night,
But no raw mangoes on my plate.
And this day too,
And a few more days shall pass away,
No matter how much late I sleep.
Waiting, painting… thinking,
Studying sometimes, yet nothing,
In this room, quarantined,
And the calendar shows 21,
For life is messed up and God is jealous,
But he knows not,
Hope stays, plans made;
Alive we are and breathing,
Bored but still, a little blessing.
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