Stepping into the Concentric Swamp

Apratim Kar


Forged into travesty a surreptitious lump of flesh stumbles

with a stoic intent as the armour of death closets the

fingers of breastbone and lips whisper with a dumb malice

hanging on the margins of rambling thoughts trenching

the face of history of Man strewn with motion, space,

moments, blood – whatever the edicts proclaim

about scrupulous scrutiny of passion and pathos arranged

in an intricate geometry keeping to an antediluvian rhyme.


Hope kisses dust and evil blooms off

the reticent corridors of cortex and spine.

Lanterns shine with dark flames puffing out

airs of vague solitudes upon the shells of human pride.


A cirrhotic orangutan squats with a bresaola on his bowl-shaped palms.

Beauty creeps up the middens of sick cells to court a bouquet

of vapid reasons praying gusto to vandals who breathe

venom of war and hatred sporting a grin at the blank,

morbid face of Man sentenced to be guillotined million a time.


Stifling nights crawl like a caterpillar on the sprigs of dusk.

Nuanced silhouettes of bricked boxes upon meadows go dim

drown and fade out: profane dark space nightmares

the liquid letters to become Cupid before they slither and

wither away into Hades. The lazy log of flesh eyes its double to see

the veins run inked with decay and maggots of age worm into its core.

Disparaged senses are designed with variola in the face of time.

Unable to resist an icy moment further,

the apples of Adam bursts with dominion:

drive the bayonet in this flesh and hold it

till the placid smile of time freeze,

for death wears a laurel while the life is left in lurch.