Monday, 3 December 2012

A Simple Desultory Observation

You see him
Bent half-naked in the sun
Weary with the ache of a thousand years

Digging as he is ordered
Digging the grave of his dreams.

Perhaps he raises his eyes to yours.

You spit in his face
And he wipes it away
And bends to his work

A thousand years of weariness
In every motion of his arms
As he digs the grave

Of his dreams.

And after the dreams are buried
You build your house on them –


You did not see the anger in his eyes
When he wiped his face that time
You did not see the clenching of his hands

Or the old rusted spade he uses
To dig the grave.


You did not care.

But perhaps this time
The grave he digs

Will be your own.

Copyright B Purkayastha 2012


  1. Не навреди, не бойся

  2. I really like that. I root for the underdog, waiting for the tables to turn.

  3. In my modest opinion, this is one of the best poems I have read from you...

  4. I find myself with tears in my eyes reading this.


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