When the rainy haze peeps through the broken part of her window,
Her self curls like a gross jute sack.
The skills fade
That she learned from the vines
Of maintaining the order through chaotic structure.
Broaching the season’s sermon
The deranged metre impedes the turmoil in tiny bubbles.
When the numb rhythm flows through her voice,
She wishes she had a grumpy cat.
She may touch her feelings
While pulling her fingers through a fluffy cat’s furrows,
Where her dripping anguish may cling like some odd cords.
She wished to live with a grumpy cat
And both can scorn the abominable normalcy together.
Jyotirmoy Sil is a dilettante poet. Presently he is an Assistant Professor of English in Malda College, West Bengal. A few of his poems have been published in Muse India journal, Madras Courier and Spillwords.
Photo Nick Victor