Scientific Research Fellow in University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee
At my youth
on a white loin cloth
a black spot was given
I never know for what reason.
The essence of my expression,
the spirit of my creation,
the source of my writings
became a bird with cut off wings,
became a bird with slit throat,
my talents cannot but rot.
Then I was little,
my mind and heart brittle.
Still laments my inner self-
to myself I failed to provide help.
Now the gallant defeat in that occasion
renders me to declare war against every exploitation.
© 2020 Sankhajit Bhattacharjee