A poem by Siddhartha Sankar Kalita

The Scream


Original: Siddhartha Sankar Kalita


Translated by Gayatri Devi Borthakur


The salesman of the Hoque Bookstall put something on my bag, hung on my shoulder, in no time and said,

Sir, with a great risk I carried your Munch * .please, you too carry it carefully.

Thanking him I
Stepped towards home by the street
Having a glance of mine
A few on-duty police squeezed
Marched towards the backside of a small shop

Being unable to understand anything
As soon as I opened the gate
Dissecting the secure barrier
My dog came to the street and
Barked so horribly

As I entered my room
All the furniture of the room trembled having a sight of mine

The clock collapsed on the floor

When came near the bookshelf to place Munch
Opening the shelf, all the books scattered on the floor

That was the hottest day ever
Just I switched on the fan
The fan started trembling
Hurting me on my forehead
Than fan collapsed on the floor
And too broke into two pieces

A salty current from the forehead
Just crossing the nose
Licked my lips

To measure the depth of the wound
I stood in front of the life-sized mirror
Pressing the ears with a great force
An alarming scream has gone away directly from the mirror.


*Munch = The Artist



Siddhartha Shankar Kalita


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