Realistic Realism

UTSAB CHANDA

Seldom do I ponder, on the worthy piece of paper
That where does it end ?
which started all in a caper
Long yet short does the wait leads hither
the bucolic trust , where betrayal slithers.

A day I found the facts pristine
rebound to me in speed
to show me now , its sheer presence
amidst the darkest need.
A pragmatic shock I felt
of light and thunder
It is just a truth, I made no blunder.

Today a day that once more remind
me shadow of myself is the only thing mine.
The ambrosial girth of soul, dearest intimacy
is nothing but a lie
less true more fantasy.

Today is that day when I resolve again, once
To let no weed come
in the garden of my grass.
To not to lay spread the opportunists trap
that never brings succour , just venomous sap.

Yet I say thanks
to the chauvinists figure
You taught me good
For all my rigour.
But confused I am
to the extremest thought I can
Was it all a jinx or a talisman?

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