Sunday Poetry By Pradipta Dey

The Minotaur in Love

To the bones, today I dance with you.
I let you know my shin bones seem to be agreeing with me.
We seem to be making a good couple, as we dance our last dance.

To the eyes I say, lie more.
Lie, with your heart open.
Maybe, you’ll find the truth there.

To the fingers I say, maybe caress the paper more,
Maybe you will find Athens, basking,
basking in all its glory,
the glory I created. Oh yes, I won Helen for you, troy.
Oh yes, I won Helen.

To the brain I say, how fares The Minotaur?
Has he found the scent of me?
Has he found the stench of unriddled, morphic, ravenous death
on his nose, the one he prefers so much as he sits in his myriad maze
Searching for his myriad lover.

Oh yes, let me tell you,
The Minotaur had a lover.
a lover so brute, then the Minotaur sought to prove to her
his love for her
And got stuck in this maze he calls his dwelling.

Did we even follow Ariadne’s thread, or
were we just too in love with the redness of it
that we lost track of fidelity?

To the heart I say, gently still
Your words are your own,
lest you share it with Ariadne.

Thus, to this day, I dance around,
my shins, eyes, brain and heart ask me
Misty-eyed, when will it end,
this labyrinth of suffering?
Perhaps Gabriel was right.

Oh, I guess you figured out
who The Minotaur was.