Plaything. a poem by Susmit Panda

Plaything

Zip it! Don’t tell me that the world’s a hard place, man.
I am the youngest of the Matryoshka clan. 

Don’t let no demon child dismantle, one by one
The mother, daughter and the baby son.

She sees, on my behalf, the dark, dark sky;
She sees, on my behalf, how human beings cry.

She dreams, on my behalf, of gee-gees whipped and drowned,
Of chariots shattered, tumbled to the ground,

Whose boom on many a night has often
Rang in my ears so I’ve had to cease laughing.

Don’t tell her though, or it will break her spirit, man.
I am the youngest of the Matryoshka clan.	

This is my space. I’m happy, as far as one could
Within a smallish, hollow drum of wood

Where one has only so much of a weight to bear.
I shan’t, for all the motley world, leave here. 

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Susmit Panda, born in 1996, is a poet living in Kolkata. His poems and criticism have appeared in Boog City, Coldnoon, Indian Cultural Forum, Guftugu, The Boston Compass, and The Journal (London), and are forthcoming in Fulcrum: An Anthology of Poetry and Aesthetics. He participated in the Poesia 2021 World Poetry Day Festival. 

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