• tracyossment 10w

    The city of joy

    She wakes up before dawn,
    Dips herself into the holy Hoogli river.
    Her mane, dripping wet. 
    Droplets from her hair leaving trails
    On the steps of Babughat.

    She cooks in the morning.
    The tang of her macher jhol
    And Alu posto,
    Fills the air of her para.

    At midday, she can be seen,
    At the academy,
    In the strokes of an underrated artist's brush.
    From the rap cyphers at Nandan
    to the cacophony of Esplanade.
    The bustling noise of the traffic
    Narrating stories that are left untold.
    Stories of her life.

    The crowd of office goers on the train,
    A metro ride to Uttam Kumar,
    Bargaining with the yellow taxi driver,
    Kathi rolls at park street,
    Watching young love on the benches of Sarobar,
    The artistry at Kumortuli.
    She has ample stories
    To fill up all the pages, the world could provide

    When the sun goes down
    She can be seen under the red lights.
    Dressed in glitters that will blind your eyes.
    Layers of makeup to hide her pain.
    She sells herself,
    To satisfy your greed and lust.

    Sometimes she lights up a joint at the green zone
    Sometimes  overburdened by expectations and responsibilities,
    she collapses at Majherhat or Ganesh talkies.

    At the end of the day
    She returns home to her daughter.
    With just enough money to buy her books
    No new clothes for her this Durga puja.

    She laughs,  she cries
    She is innocent yet wise
    She is crowded, still lonely
    Filled with art, but no one to buy.
    The city of joy has teary eyes.
    ©tracyossment