Three Poems by Sonnet Mondal
The Bridge at Midnight The city bridge has survived another day. Its throbbing iron rails, the shops nearby and the traffic do not fit it anymore tonight. A few signposts and streetlamps imbibe the ambient literature like babies in a womb unaware of their own existence. As the roads stretch to sleep, a horse cart trots over the bridge carrying the confessions of the day. The Biscuit Factory The biscuit factory still bears a baked aroma on its unwrapped metal. The leftovers are soil now but it failed to engulf its breath. The blurred slogans on its walls are old bruises—still longing to heal. It feeds on time to shed its colour for the bricks to appear— the way a tree longs to shed its leaves without our staring. The Trident and the Tea Seller The trident lightning arrestor looks more constant than before— besieged by discomfort, bygone joys and pain—a belief flowing endlessly into the future. The creepers cannot offer love to it—no red or yell...
