By: Pijush Kanti Deb

It’s a well decorated stage
yet may not be beautiful
to all witnessing eyes
and all of us are compelled
to climb a flight of nine stairs up
to reach the compulsory stage
holding mother’s kind hand
and cry in fear at the outset
of our automatic performances.
Mother gets down
leaving us in the custody of two masters
one of whom
teaches us playing a cuckoo
to solicit the angels on the stage
who bloom blossoms in heart
and smiles in stomach
and the other
teaches us playing a cloud
to welcome the demons on the stage
who dance on the floors
of our hearts and stomachs
trampling the paradise
built therein by the kind angels.
We are programmed to learn
as per our earnest interest
to perform our respective roles
tempting the tumultuous audience
to dance shouldering the heroes
and to throw stinky rotten eggs to the villains.