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Pradip Chattopadhyay:
“I think of death now, but more than that, the life I left behind.”
this is like gray hair,
one day, just there,
lower back pain, joins the train,
this retrospection inspection,
seasonal,
neither spring summer or winter,
just a unique fall,
like gray hair,
appearing slowly,
surprisingly unsurprising.
there is no wisdom herein,
just timed capsule release
decay.
the weaker the eyesight becomes,
the squinting routine,
we see every moment,
through a rearguard retreat.
did we win, or just
stalemate?
we cannot accept
the sense of lost,
so squint harder,
for looking ahead
is refused
for that is a neutral state,
facing backwards
is the only warranted
directive,
that you must, must
take to make hard
judgement.