Jul 062017

The Third Space

Sayan Mukherjee


It is not akin the procreator
-Frightened, intense-
Carrying her baby to be bred
For whom
She will bear the agony
She will suffer spattering blood all over her form
And accept the abrupt fall
Of the veins, the tissues, the skin
She will hold her breathing, struggle-
Just to attend her bewailing babe
-Cry out loud-
And assert presence;
A tabula rasa
Can also express.
Alike the azure: shadowy and shallow
Without a crescent, without starlets
Consumes me constantly
Lulls me to lunacy
And murmurs about hourglasses.
Since you draw words
The words slumbered like musing grains
Be assured, whenever
A reader arrives
They arise
And fashion
A secret, secluded oasis!

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