The Last Wish

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(a guru purnima poem)

first stood on the porch, then
barged into my room,
slumped down on the arm-chair,
flickered through the books
and asked me the difference between
a phrasal verb and an idiom

I gave the answer — honest
but he made his face
and turned sour
for he wanted to fathom
the depth of my knowledge
with a question as stupid as a broken string
swigging down the water from the bottle,
he laughed derisively
skimming through the pages of the blue diary,
he spat out —
“You write great.”
“You are a genius.”
getting up he looked at me
with shining eyes of an orangutan
(like an old loneliness his eyes
follow me into sleep and
whisper stories. I know
it’s easy to give a dead blessing.)

then,
the guru walked out
and slammed the door so hard
that the ground beneath me
started to crumble
and swallow me up

I had the desire to yell
(and  kick his goddamn ass so hard
that he’d never slump on my chair again.)

Twitter @bibek_writes

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