Poetry – Prateet Sarkar

Chartered

Here goes…
Something close to what may seem a chartered dream;
My ride for the night…every night…
My carousal of emptiness.
Just a phantom, pressing keys
A pianist and his monotony…
His monotonous agony;
A famished spectre and his loneliness…

A garden for a bed…
The faraway edifice! Not too far;
My paved paseo, protracted…ample for a walk…
Columns! Just four, all white,
To set the mood right
For nothing…but this night…

I’m the phantom…the artist…
I’m the shadow…I’m the art,
Fated to fade, every morrow;
Unless I borrow…a flake from the sorrow
I part with…each dawn,
To usher, flickering, that very night!
Here, in this heaven…my fragment
Of me…the self I call my own.