My father was a butcher;
My uncle worked in the wastelands.
I was a small clerk
in a grocery store.
There was no social security
or health insurance in our
country — and I had stage~I throat
cancer; my father had to sell
our house to buy me chemotherapy
We moved to a rented house. The landlord used to
behave to us, as if we were stray dogs.
The rented house was small, there
was no running water. The toilet
had several structural defects.
I had not married, I had no
children, and I had kept my body pure
for more than 10 years.
One day, at 2 p.m. of the night,
I witnessed a wonderful vista
through the window: as if ten thousand
suns shone brightly, at once, in the sky
and evaporated a few minutes
later — leaving deep furrows
of shimmering trails
of flashing lights — shooting
in random directions — then curling
and gradually dying away:
a third eye (vertically positioned)
opened in the middle of my forehead, above
the joint of the two eyebrows.
This eye had eyelid, eyelashes,
but used to remain closed and inactive
for the most of the time of the day.
My hobby was archery, and writing, and
whenever I used to touch the bow, or the pen,
this third-eye used to get opened, and activated.
I could intuit the world
through this third~eye.
I bought a pistol, and moved to the capital
city of our country.
I rented a very small room
near the parliament building.
I would observe the cars
of the politicians, coming to the parliament,
every morning. These people were
married, were fathers; some
were unmarried — but their bodies
were impure. None of them
had any third-eye in the middle
of their forehead.
These people were looters.
These people had bought and kept
bulldogs, in order to keep normal
people out of politics.
Yet, all of these people
were handed down pens, and all of them
were supposed to be writers.
They could structure
the world by (the power of) their pen, by
their writing; yet, they
were composing parodies, with
their impure hands.
I assassinated the prime minister
of our country, by shooting
him in the middle of his
forehead, one morning. The next
morning — my face — with the opened
third eye on my forehead — was
published in newspapers all over the world.
I was born again,
this time, in Finland.
I work in the World Bank, now;
I'm working to improve
the conditions in the slaughterhouses
and the wastelands, all over
the world; I'm working
to provide (social security and) health
insurance to every citizen in the world.
My third eye has vanished
from my body; but I've acquired a xerox copy
(from my local library) of the front-page of the newspaper
of that day. I'm keeping that picture
as a memento, of my psychic appendicitis.
Tanmoy Acharya 100 (author) on February 21, 2021:
Your comment is very special to me, because you seem to encourage, in my opinion, several of the attributes that has been discussed in the poem. I really appreciate your presence here. And thank you for commenting.
(Here are certain things that I would like to keep here as a record. If you don't like them being here, then I would remove them immediately. I just found them to be very interesting:)
1. "The Constitution of the United States of America is a divine document. Because great men worked together to formulate its rudimentary form before it was first ratified in the 18th century, it came with flaws. Those flaws do not preclude the divinity of origin. Because it has ever been touched by the hands of flawed men, the Constitution has flaws within. From my perspective, the Constitution is as divine in origin as anything that God has caused to be written by wise men that He has raised up to a purpose."
2. "Poetry is the heart of literature. A story is fine, a poem reaches the soul quickly eliciting raw emotion, and a Poem that is story Rules!"
Rodric Anthony from Surprise, Arizona on February 20, 2021:
I followed Jodah's comment here. He was correct. the story is compelling and I would not stop reading it even though my value of life disagreed with the killing of the person in the story. My morality sough justice, but the story offers me what it offers. I am being vague on purpose so that those who read the poem won't be totally aware before they read. I owe that to you for this literary offering.
Tanmoy Acharya 100 (author) on February 20, 2021:
Thank you, Mr. Rajan.
I wanted this poem to be direct, having no accessories and ornamentations: a bare description of raw life. It has been an experimentation. I am glad that you have found this experimental poem to be useful.
Tanmoy Acharya 100 (author) on February 20, 2021:
Thank you, Ann.
The government of India is doing many good things. It recently provided every citizen of India a generous health insurance plan. More such good things are on the way.
I have tried to shed some light of logic to 'spiritual' matters here. I know that poetry is not exactly logic; but the interconnections of the phenomena, described in this poem, might provide some insight why certain people do certain things (that we find in the newspapers). So, by logic, I mean the mathematics of schemata. I'm glad that you have found this mathematical attempt to be interesting.
Ravi Rajan from Mumbai on February 19, 2021:
This is quite unusual and well written. It lingers on you long after it has been read and gives a real surreal feeling of our lives in today's world.Thanks for sharing Tanmoy.
Ann Carr from SW England on February 19, 2021:
This is quite some poetry! It takes us to a dream-world, or a sci-fi world, but is a documentary of the ills of our world today, in dramatic fashion. I have never read such poetry before and it certainly hits home.
Tanmoy Acharya 100 (author) on February 19, 2021:
Thank you, John.
I too want to write lighthearted poetry. But I come from a country (i.e., India) which contains many complexities. If I write romantic poetry, that may look as if I'm not doing justice to the local life.
Hence, I'm writing these "heavy poetry" pieces in order to build the groundwork for what is to come: which is romantic and lighthearted poetry!
John Hansen from Queensland Australia on February 19, 2021:
Tanmoy, every line of this piece captivates and make you need to read more, with no idea what is to come. Reading the title of your poetry doesn't make the reader any wiser as to what the content will hold.
To say your writing is "interesting" is an understatement. A great read.