Postmortem Of Postmodern-Love

By Debashish Chattopadhyay

You told me you love the sun And hid yourself in its mid-glory Romanticized when about to die graciously.

You told you love the sky Bothered not during the spark in its chest Wonderd when the stars took wounded rest.

You told you love the tree Woodcutters mowed down mercilessly You did not hear the bitter cry

You were busy counting its price.

You told you love your best friend Smiled when you needed his elevation Your mirror broke the 'ship' after execution.

You told you love your motherland Wrote slogans for self-gratification Forgot your sick mother provide nutrition.

I'm less amazed than afraid of "Love" Where price is known; value unknown. Your desire deserts - you love me too!!!

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By Debashish Chattopadhyay