To the Goddess of Poetry
They wrecked my face with their fists yet I'm yours,
Punched my face to bits, blood everywhere, yet in the darkness
In this dark alley I have come to stand and wait for you
Today's a load-shedding day; like that grey rainy Srabon-day
When from the dark suddenly three of them, dark, or maybe four
Slammed me beside the wall with its 'Vote for Ladder' slogan
That was the first time, so they let me off easy thank God
In the rain, darkness, they were beating me up, why
I didn't know until one snarled through gritted teeth:
"Bothering our Binny, eh, you bastard, if ever
In this neighbourhood we see you again…"
Broke my face; today's again a load-shedding day, no rain though,
From exactly 7:15 on in this lover's lane for you
I wait, not with a poem in my hands but a question in prose
I don't want to hear anything, just answer oh just answer me
Those whose fists broke my face, who sent them?
Your father the businessman? A powerful lover?
Or,
I can't believe it yet I've to ask, oh Heaven forbid! was it
You?
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