The Poet : Anuradha Bhattacharyya

We are like the stray line of a poem which always feels that it rhymes with another line, and must find it or miss its own fulfilment.


The Poet

A spiral is his heart,

He goes down step by step,

Plunging into abysses to bring up

The really new,

Not clever empty rearrangements

Of the old parrot-ideas.

I know what he means

When he says it is

We who keep the sun going,

And I believe what he means is true.

He is a giant, yes,

And his work;

The accumulation of inexact expressions,

Not the discovery of the precise

Inevitable words. After all,

All words are just words invented.

Restraint is nonsense…

He creates

As many shams and shibboleths

As he destroys.

Logic achieves monsters,

Fantastic structures grow

Ascend, throng the universe

And disappear into the intense inane.

~Anuradha Bhattacharyya ( Fifty Five Poems )