by Manash Bhattacharjee
World, take a backseat.
Do not disturb.
I am reading Sebald.
Hush.
Trees with eyes flit by
My blind face.
I hurriedly drink
Evanescence.
Sebald slows me down.
I am a caterpillar
Of existence. I crawl in
Green fear
Towards the blade’s edge.
I think of the dead.
Some graze my mind.
Others run amuck.
The dead haven’t died.
Yet.
I read Sebald. The sun turns
Into a snowball.
Time holds up a crystal
Of half-lies.
I keep turning the pages.
Night, the ghost, descends
On horseback.
I follow echoes of hoofs
Drowning in the sea.
Writing is not the speaking
But the hearing
Through steel against steel.
And life is an inverse
Journey by train
Where the wheels of memory
Run over you.
Manash Bhattacharjee is a poet and scholar living in New Delhi.
P U L S E 
~He will cover
you with his
plumage
&
under his wing then
you will rest~ (Sebald)
Read him or he will read you….
Behind his fire, only blank pages…
Behind his pages, a string of sweat,
handcuff of dust
You read him….
Or memories will gorge you
Read him…
Or love will dance with history…
Read him, for you must
For the earth is Sebald…
Say bald….but he will offer
a mountain of hair…a sea of seas
Say bold….he’ll create fear…
Love him, read him, blow him…
Sebald is reading you…
Lovely……Manash….a very good one….!!!
i love the poetry,
And life is an inverse
Journey by train
Where the wheels of memory
Run over you.
I love the poetry.
And life is an inverse
journey by train
wheels the wheels of memory
Run over you.