A Bizarre Land

Srijani Dutta


The way the crow sits on the branches of the tree,

Staring at the setting sun of a tiny town,

Is similar to him

Waiting for the yellow bus

In the stoppage of a neverland

Since eternity.

Here, the bus does not stop,

The pedestrians run frantically,

A soul goes from door to door

Supplying the old newspaper


The world has not moved at all.

The milkman befools the townspeople

With his teardrops

As he believes it has cured

The germs of cancer in the past.


Walking through the falling leaves,

A girl slows down her speed

To capture the slow growth of a bud

Bizarrely rare and unnamed.

Here, people take bath in the rainwater

Coming down from the clouds;

Here, the students write exams in thin air

And encounter the transformation


Of those letters into chirping birds.

They cross miles after miles

To find a shelter

Alas! They fall asleep

In this bizarre land

Made up of feathers.