Let me suggest a walk,
A different one,
To a red red dusk,
In search of Clive street,
Within this city the same,
Only time getting reversed to 1937,
Let me hold You there like a poetic heaven,
To climb to your red red shore
Of a poet, who painted red the city poor,
Dinesh, a poet of a dusk,
Let me hold You there unasked,
Hold me hands, O autumnal sweet rain,
Hold me there to search Dinesh again,
A virgo by birth, a poetic sting, a pain,
Hold me to His inglorious pen,
By which He found once how people came and went,
How this city carried hundreds 'snake like veins,'
Carnage where burst bloody red,
On Clive Street, where His sickles he bred,
Hold me there, O my Damsel fair,
Hold me there, like a Love burnt dare...
On a red red dusk, a Dinesh Das,*
Hold me to make Your Sea, sanguine unasked.
( Note: *my tribute to Dinesh Das, a revolutionary poet, who was born on16th Sept,1913, at Chetla, Kolkata. He created a stir, in 1937, by the publication of his poem called 'kaastey', meaning sickle. )