Author Archives: Sid

About Sid

Abu Siddik is an Assistant Professor in English at Plassey College, Nadia,West Bengal. He is a bilingual author, editor, critic, poet, and storyteller and has been published in India and abroad. He has three critical books: Representation of the Marginalized in Indian Writings in English (Falakata College Cell, 2015), Misfit Parents in Faulkner’s Select Texts (Authorspress, 2015), Banglar Musolman (Sopan, 2018), and two books of poems: Whispering Echoes (Authorspress, 2020), Rugged Terrain (Authorspress, 2020). For more please visit him at www.abusiddik.com

Watchman

Days are dull, empty

But no so the nights

As the watchman whistles

And strikes the pole thrice.

This way he flashes

That way he lashes

Sometime he smokes and coughs

Sometime he himself laughs.

The field is walled head high

No thief, no raider nearby

So what does he watch?

A palm tree tall, and

Weaver birds’ nests all.

Why do we ask why?

It’s so simple

He is a watchman

And his duty is to watch.

Roofs Are Blooming Fields

Covid-19 monster

Ravaging the world in fury,        

Social distancing is people’s elect way

And India locked down for weeks 

Streets empty, shops shuttered

Playing fields lay idle coated with long grass

And birds in hanging boughs twirl and trill.

Never knew roofs were running bays

For children, teens, old and all.

Same evening, same sinking sun,

Same flapping bats tiredly ploughing the orange sky.

Roofs are blooming, gleaming fields

 But how so sudden is a riot of colour?

 Is it a spring or a marriage vow?

 Motley children frisk and shriek,

A barren couple, ears wired,

Springs and sprays,

Fat women run in rhythm

 And their faithful men follow,

Whine and whistle.

Self-isolated, people clean, cook and spray

 And make home a heaven, heaven a home

And thus they tame the dreaded beast,

And thus they pledge to win the scary race.

Elderly Men Two

Elderly men two,

One spectacled, other not,

Covered with woolen clothes and all,

Watches bandaged to dry wrists,

Merrily sit and sip evening tea.

 Bench is bare and but they don’t care. 

A call they have

From Kolkata

An old mate is in hospital

Languishing lone for life’s breath.

Once they shared joys and woes

Once they visited friends and foes

There was mirth in the air

There was gay in their gaits.

How can they forget communal days?

How can they heal mutual wounds?

So they glue to the screen

Two tickets they need,

Tea after tea, route after route…

Yes, lucky they are

 Two tickets they get

By the window side.

Home they return,

Eyes gleam, hearts splutter,

And they wait for cocks to caw

And they hear the birds

They run to the sleepy station

And catch the mail

And they shriek and shout,

Finally settled,  a call they make

On wheel to their fading friend,

‘Zooloo! we’re almost close to your bed!’

It Is Dead Of Night

It is dead of night and

Blocks begin to de-light!

A fleeting relief!

Same corner, same table,

Same talks, same laughs.

Same men, same women.

Same girls, same boys.

Same streets, same malls,

Same faces, same thanks.

Same blares, same demands,

Same crowds, same yells.

Same poets, same readings,

Same followers, same clamours.

Same leaders, same promises,

Same butchers, same goats, same pigs.

Same alleys, same women,

Same bargains, same bliss.

A dog barks, a child cries,

Bats screech, winds howl.

Why Do I Speak?

I have a sweet home,

A loved wife, celestial children,

Nice neighbours,

And a fine job,

So why do I speak?

I have the warmth of the sun

Coolness of the moon,

Bliss of night, embrace of the hills,

Seas and the skies,

So why do I speak?

Buddha, Krishna, Jesus, Yahweh, Nanak,

Muhammad and other prophets —all have spoken

For light and kindle seas of masses

What else is left to speak now?

I’m a great commoner

Happy with home and hearth,

Who am I to speak against wrongs,

 Ills, and wounds?

Moreover, I’m apolitical poet

I worship nature and its immaculate beauty,

Children and farmers, workers and flowers,

Drink fine arts and crafts by indigenous wo/men,

And I’m happy!

So why do I speak against civilized ills, wounds, and wrongs?