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“The Urban Interference”

By Anish kanjilal

“The Urban Interference”

Ding Dong, bell!

The guests have come to dwell

who have let them in?

The poor who couldn’t be mean...


The city sabotages and whispers into the

ears of the kinfolks of mountains,

‘’Greed is a prodigy, worship it”

Material around, feed your need,

Technology is the cord, plant its seed

Just mimic us and then only you can lead.

The rural manipulated,

The truth twisted and fabricated,

communication a curse and mechanism,

an infection — tragically misinterpreted

Now there will be smoke and then there

will be fire

Yesterday what was theirs has been

put on hire

What was pristine in the past,

What was virgin and was considered

to stand up to the last.

Now shaken, pitched and charcoaled,

Now a rising resort of concrete,

Just carbon and plastic...

Green devastated, grace evacuated of tranquil — they fail

to evaluate, the brainwashed rustic...

The ulcer-stricken leaves,

waiting to be dragged to the gallows and then be hanged…

The river which now looks lean

and defiled, roar to be heard.

stones and rocks blasted, slide down

as if mutilated and slurred.

Everywhere nature robbed at the mercy

of progress,

Thus, the leaves fall, the greed call,

And the urban stands to squeeze the innocence,

Money matters, ethics rest in pall.

Destiny giggles to see how ‘recent’, sprouts from the gradual

loss of sense.

Whereas far afar beyond the rising cloud,

— Which is both a curtain and a shroud,

Prying through one would see the green to have queued,

trembling while waiting,

Knowing next it would be their turn.

Somewhere a fume climbs up the firmament

We too climb, we too smell, the filth

hopping out of the corpses of dry leaves

Gathered in a sequence with a folk

like tool

The pastoral was fed to fire

leaves and ancestral values cremated on their pyre

Well, how many of us know that when

the shower ceases, the trees cry,

When the urban hammer rocks and rolls to blast the

veins and arteries of Eden to pave new ways, trees cry.

Or the cricket sings the song of funeral

for the grove which helplessly die…


See saw up and down

which is the way to the rural town?

A few feet up and a few feet down,

the way to reach the void; where

the clump has been mown.


They come riding on the broad gauge

to engineer the crematory ghat of the Dame,

The gargantuan cupidity still starves for more.

The six mouthed poet despoiled of creativity, patiently waits

for Destiny’s blade,

to severe his precocity from his corporeality.

While the golden past silvers and drown in the rear mirror,

The stooping trees and the bending roads,

speak of surrender and submission

The soaring sylvan fly go missing,

till its ambitious wings are discovered lying, scattered on a

dusty floor, as if it had underwent a fission.

Somewhere Shanghai falls

Somewhere New York calls

Somewhere diplomats are in a brawl

Here my crucified poetry bleeds and you all LOL…

Far afar an Arcadian damsel

Prophecies while romping with the marbles

“It is now time for sleeping old Buddha

to awake from his slumber

Melt and crawl down to gulp the fumbler.”

While I and you in a roundabout,

And somewhere opens a new black hole

A newfound earth to be destroyed — a neoteric civil goal!


The agrarian bridge is falling down,

Crumbling down, dwindling down,

The London Bridge is falling down,

And we are all heady!



We two sloughing first

and finally plunging into a well painted riverscape…

An attempt made to escape,

to find the Cosmic Dancer liquefying and taking a frantic


We two drowning in the confluence of dichotomy,

In a cocoon altering our anatomy.

Then your womb undergoes an incision,

It rips open and you point out at the spectacle which is in


An array of Serpentes, Lepidopteran

and the last zodiac constellation.

‘’Ring a — ring o’ roses,

A transmutation in process,

The urban interference begets an abscess,

Hush — ha! Bush — ha!

And we all fall down”

By Anish kanjilal

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