Confession

Amrita Bhattacharyya

There has always been a murmur

Of approval around the bath-tub

The rise and fall of white foam —

Splashes and sparks of consent.

 

To dispel the mist

He waited for half an hour

She was forty and four

With the beads, bangles and bites –

 

Upon the edge of some dreadful catastrophe,

Even when her brown hair

Showed signs of greyness,

She begged his pardon!

 

A circular well-built third wall

On the brink of the precipice

Revealed the inclination – soft.

The prospective estate smelt an unconcerned air

And the handkerchief

Still clung to the rail of the bridge!

 

She opens the rugged pages

And reads the line again and again –

“Returning is as tedious as going over”!