Poems by Partha Chatterjee

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On the Crossroads

O’ father,

hold my fingers in your firm grip

and help me cross the road.

 

Suspicion

I’ve burnt myself half, fortuitously.

And deliberately, left the rest unburned.

 

Bike Accident

Helmet transforms into a skull.

The road runs as usual.

 

Insomnia

Night burns into an ashtray.

I fly to you with the wings of ashes.

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Partha has nothing to say about himself, except that he loves poetry. He believes that a poet is a human who is but the manifestation of hues.

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