Three Poems by Dr. Sonnet Mondal

Thoughts About the Dispossessed

A strong yearning to go home
and this awful weather signals
red to me, like the traffic police
of fortune and desires.

My feet, restive with brimful
vigour irritates my peace.
Cold winds add tumult
and thoughts clutch
as sweat of humidity.

Heavy head and paining eyes
paste me to bed and
jog my memory
of those who sit
without desires in roads,
dispossessed with frayed rags.

The report card of their whims
have been torn by the all-pervading.
and scattered to places far away
from their vision,
too remote from their reach.

My days will get over
with the Sun spearing the
flowing clouds but
they are marked as spots
raising finger at civilization.

My Chained Faith

The far-flung whistle of the colliery
and of the Calcutta-mail
calls me every day after dinner.

The train’s shrill echo and
rhythmic melody of wheels
form a sublime image of
the girl out of my dreams,
waving and smiling;
screaming and crying;
standing and waiting
just for me amidst gasses,
trees and hedges that wave
in solitude and hope.

The curvature of the lopsided land
plays hide and seek along with
the clouds and moon blurring realism.

My belief is incurable and so is
the facade of pleasure that I show
while I follow compellingly,
the whistle of the colliery.

My faith lies in the train,
in the wilderness and
the vaporous figure of my love
while my whims are chained
with famine and society
that may identify me as a mad
once I leave my job and run
into the hazy backwoods.


The ‘Prairies’ are to be blamed
for the loss of my love…
My affection was tossed above
by the winds, the slave of grasses.
I was puzzled through clear meadows
searching for the letter that was nothing
but a blank paper for her response.
She is lost, her shrill laughs prick my anxiety
for she might be one with snake creepers
entering into the delight of lust.
Her sharp breathes must be of approval
to let loose the creepers over her skin.
The mortal and immortal has left me
on my knees over the place where
numerous such letters beg to be delivered.

Profile: Sonnet Mondal

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