January

 

Grey winter clings

To the dirty windowpanes.   

 

An old folk song plays

On the radio.                        

 

Dusk deepens.

 

My mother is fixing supper

In the kitchen.

 

After a busy day,

I read Madame Bovary.

 

Emma and Rodolphe,

The smooth folds of velvet

Conceal their weary hearts,

Their modest lips tell nothing

Of their inner torment.

 

Taking their clothes off,

Hurling their velvet jackets,

And balling up cotton stockings,

They climb into bed,                           

Their armpits stinking,

Their love-making foul and reeking.

 

A candid face now appears

Above my desk—

I reach out to touch her lips,

Only to find the image fade away.

 

Grey winter sighs on my table,

Ice-cold breeze knocks at my mind,

The frigid night-time emptiness descends

Upon my broken heart.

 

 

Bibek Adhikari





Poetry by Bibek
Read 189 times
Written on 2019-01-27 at 13:07

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Coo & Co The PoetBay support member heart!
All at Coo & Co agree, Bibek: this is excellent, powerful, and grim. And the N's descriptions of winter combined with the feelings in the final stanza are very effective, we note :>)
2019-01-29


jim The PoetBay support member heart!
Grim, but excellent. Your state of mind, exemplified by 'Madam Bovary' and the details of your own life in combination, works very well.
2019-01-28


Thomas DeFreitas The PoetBay support member heart!
Such powerful writing, Bibek! Bravo, and indeed bravissimo.
2019-01-27