Pijushkanti Biswas

Alloy

If you blow up a paper from a proportion

You can discover a mammal on vegetables

In a dark night of a new moon



With appropriate formula

With a margin of error again and again

It keeps changing of the definition of purity



It means, on any day, it restate that

The metals has a state

And DNA get a geometrical print

The egg keeps dividing itself into millions





From east to west

From home to hospital

To hear a sound of a bell

One need to come to a brass model

There is stored purest form of copper



Please never call my sweetest beloved

As an alloy

Tandoor

You have seen plaster coming out

From a wall whenever there was a tiny mistake

With no margin of error



Yet, doorstep wants the footstep back



You see, the greener side of the jungle

Never call me again and again when you are in red sari

With dashing apples on your front

It just burns the wholesome trees



But, just have a look on this unnamed tree

There is no rain in his luck

We can hardly hear his cry

With blood, with flesh

He is subject to a grill



This is why and how - this is geographic

By walking from one locality to another,

With mankind , city ejects itself out of the map



No one really attached to a city



With clearance of fog of the winter of a demography

In search of foods,

In search of goods,

Delhi ignites itself into a glowing tandoor.