Trials after trials; my begging lips started to give up
and then spoke the reticent judge-
“Hang till death”
Similar footsteps were heavy that day
marching onto my thin nerves where
memories have set up a light nest;
I was wrong; my thoughts of it to be undying
were crushed. The nest was thrown off and
the eggs about to burst open were carried
away by ravenous vultures.
A month was the time,
in which I was allowed to be a man
fit to be hung in the square of law;
a man who can feel pain rather than
one of whom pain is ashamed of.
A book, I still call nameless was all I took
as medicine; pages after pages the holiness
of it cured my sores red in deliberations
of the world outside the prison and future.
The clock in the central hall that used to sound
as the devil’s treads, now seem to be useful
hours that smile with the era of truth
approaching me with its unlikelihood.
One more day to go and the last page
of the book had, “seven ways to go to heaven”.
I had restored my greed of learning till the last day
to grasp the ideas just before falling free
into the ocean of kismet.
Strong arms pulled me out and the walls
wailed, feeling my nonexistence.
My last wish was torn to pieces without any grounds
known to me or perhaps to the ones who did it.
Now, I am walking with obscurity holding onto
some pages which said,
“Truth prevails on death. Neither before nor after.”
© Sonnet Mondal
Dhananjoy Chatterjee Hanged In Kolkata Jail
After Ahmned, Hangman Crunch
Sonnet Mondal, author of six poetry books, pioneered the 21 line fusion sonnet form. He has received a number of awards, including the Azsacra International Poetry award in 2011.