Third Person

— By Suman Chatterjee


It is always behind the stage,

with no name, no trace.

Although you’ve felt its touch, 

In an early morning shower,

While alone on top of a tower,

Under a bright sun.

The face changes, the smell disappears,

Why to put it in a tent?

Let it belong to a dream

Far from everything mundane.

Still you need it very close

Once all the light-drops dry up, 

Just when you cross the turn

After a wrong kiss or thunderstorm.

Just a sight, and it flies

To a sky you’ve never explored

On a canvas you haven’t imagined

In a rhythm you haven’t enjoyed.

You may not care,

Or prefer a different conclusion,

Still, please, don’t give it a tag,

It’s a third person.


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