Sudipta Mishra, Puri, 23 December 2023
And my poems of Three Hundred Sixty-five Days are lost
In the womb of the Dark Ages
I have buried them without any regret
And the feelings that ooze from the secret corner !
I have now hidden them in a mysterious chamber
By leaving the known streets of this year…
I now enter the enigmatic alleys with a difference
While holding the hands of yesteryears.
I will metamorphose by wearing the wings of hope,
In the process of ecdysis by shedding the scales of prejudice.
I will drive towards a fresh year with an epiphany of shine
In an epoch of time,
history will witness a new dawn
The trauma of the past year
The struggles in my chest will not be shown !
The obscure dates of the calendar will soon expire
Memories of the cheated ones find an exit
Still, the heart bleeds, and injury exists…
The anecdotes of love and betrayal leave a signature
in the breast of the coming year.
Let me not brood over the bygone nightmares
Away from the crowd of the revellers
I’ll sow the seeds of blooming flowers
I will sing the song of a new generation
as the clock ticks to signal a transition !
