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My House will be Painted Today

By Dr.Ratan Bhattacharjee | Category :: Poem

My house will be painted today
It may be red, yellow, or violet
Some advised me to paint it in green,
Many others pleaded for blue

In the sunset the horizon is red, in the meadows grass is greener
The sky is azure blue but colour of money fascinates me more
The enchanting mistress, my rupee, pound, my dollar,
The dream of pound pounds me, I hear the sound of Volpone’s cry
Amazing illness that money creates, physician heal thyself
All the perfumes of Arabia cannot sweeten this hand of mine
But dollars can enthuse my sweet heart more
Amazing look of her countenance envisioned in the pupil of my eye.

Time for another cigarette, life is so dull,
A walking shadow that struts and frets
My house is not painted at all.
I hate paints, I hate my house if it is painted
But I love my sweetheart for her painting. So strange it is!

For painting - I am that man who hates the house,
but loves his beloved
I am not insane, I every day go to office,
Draw my salary, drink my wine, smoke my cigar
I love my mistress, I read my newspaper,
I vote for the party, I never tell lies
But I have not painted my house, not that I hate colours

I love the colours, the rainbow in the sky, all the colours in one shade
Is it not queer, I love colours, but I don’t love painting?
The painter is a poor man, I called him to come to paint my house
I pity the man who paints for others,
He is a fucking whore painting for others
All his life,
His face is like a whore’s bed, full of scars, it is pounded by pounds
Dull by dollars, raided by rupees,
The painter is a professional whore, I called him to come
Now I feel uneasy to talk to him, he paints for others.
Like the unfaithful wife who paints for her lover in her husband’s absence

Actors are supermen and superwomen,
They paint their faces all their lives.
They are so ordinary, but painting gives them a splendid look.
We spend our sweating to see their painted faces

My painter waits for my nod. He will paint my house today
He said it is his life, his profession, his love.
O God!
My house will be painted today and I gave my nod.

By Dr.Ratan Bhattacharjee | Aug 9, 2013 | Category > Poem >Sad | Comments | Views 3895

 
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