{"id":1148,"date":"2011-06-30T02:55:01","date_gmt":"2011-06-30T02:55:01","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/?page_id=1148"},"modified":"2011-06-30T12:44:40","modified_gmt":"2011-06-30T12:44:40","slug":"subhankar-das-611","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/subhankar-das-611\/","title":{"rendered":"Subhankar Das, 7\/11"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><strong>Ma<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Ma did not have a dressing table. Maybe she liked her defective hand<br \/>\nmirror\u2019s self that emanated from the tired dusk like light like a drop<br \/>\nof love. Running behind a dragon fly, crossing over again and again a<br \/>\ndilapidated brick wall, an experience of a wet and sordid world like<br \/>\nan age old breathing marked self imprints on my breast pocket. It<br \/>\nresembled a crumpled winter afternoon\u2019s tidbit made of tamarind, salt<br \/>\nand chilly that left forever its tangy taste on my tongue. The dragon<br \/>\nfly wasn\u2019t named in those days. Then it never occurred to me that it\u2019s<br \/>\na statutory to give a name to everything, it\u2019s a must; as I did not<br \/>\nknow then the meaning of a dressing table or anything about its dazzle<br \/>\nand cries.<\/p>\n<p>It is said, my hair resembles my mother. Standing before the dressing<br \/>\ntable mirror I look at my ruffled hair and search for my mother in the<br \/>\nlong flowing locks. I don\u2019t go to the hairdresser anymore. I have<br \/>\npreserved the pale ribbon, a tip of which she held in her teeth to tie<br \/>\nher hair and the memories of those evenings in a box, so that ants do<br \/>\nnot eat it up.<\/p>\n<p>Be careful, son<br \/>\nTake care, my son<br \/>\nStay at peace, my son<\/p>\n<p>I take care and I stay wrong. In outmost care whom would I give those<br \/>\nfountain-cherished days, to take care of? Who will try and understand<br \/>\nthe smell of the colorless withered ribbon.<\/p>\n<p>Forget about me; just ponder over the closeness of the two bodies.<br \/>\nConsider those poses and reflexes \u2013 the falsity too.<br \/>\nFeel the touch of the soft feet. Just feel the touch of the fingertips<br \/>\non the burning forehead. Without applied color you and empty and a<br \/>\nzero.<\/p>\n<p>But I saw the color that oozed out of her face.<br \/>\nI knew she was the doe, who wanted to go beyond the violence of the air,<br \/>\nleaving a single earthen lamp burning in the deserted hall.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Ma Ma did not have a dressing table. Maybe she liked her defective hand mirror\u2019s self that emanated from the tired dusk like light like a drop of love. Running behind a dragon fly, crossing over again and again a dilapidated brick wall, an experience of a wet and sordid world like an age old [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"parent":934,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-1148","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v24.2 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>Subhankar Das, 7\/11 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/subhankar-das-611\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Subhankar Das, 7\/11 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Ma Ma did not have a dressing table. 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