His muse?

a poem by Jayati Chowdhury

Wearying monotonous journey,
Clink-clank rambling of the train in motion
The shrill cry of the whistle,
Alone in the valley, he waits-
Is the intolerable clamor
His muse?

The long haul flight after midnight
Rupturing the tranquil, took off,
Lone figure in the terrace
Looking up at the sky-
Is the incoherent sound
His muse?

The barren landscape, ripped off its green glory
Dusty wind carrying grimy fragrance,
Walking downhill
His body smeared with dirt-
Is the bleak countryside
His muse?

The sparkle blemished
Carcass muck and litter hover,
‘boat ride’ a lost splendor,
Sitting by the edge with pen and leaf-
Is the sullied creek
His muse?

Silhouetted in the past,
Reckoning the pain of wrecked bond
And broken rhapsody,
An outline in the dusk-
Is the unfinished love saga
His muse?

The mundane mishmash-
Household and office chores
Natives yelling amidst uproar,
Lonely in the crowd-
Is the mayhem
His muse?

Scribbling ceaselessly
Emotion and event in medley,
He wanders in the darkness
His unfathomable thought-
Unable to answer
What is his muse?