Monday, May 14, 2012


I see twenty two faces before me,
Maybe nervous, Maybe calm, Maybe resigned
Stung bee lips of one.
And coal mine fingers and palms.
Calculating, Calculative
Red fingernails on Calculator buttons.
The kissing and hissing of pen and paper.
They whisper like lovers
Little lip movements
And sign language,
All jumble up before me.
One of the girls is called Bobby
She smiles every time I call out her name.
Maybe she thinks I fancy her!
The others frown at the answer sheet
Creeping, crawling
Three hours towards freedom.
And I, their prison guard
The most fettered of them all.
I'm the vending machine
On foot and mouth
" Does anyone need extra sheets this side?"
What a dolt!
They need answers, Release.
Or maybe a moment or two alone
With new found Emergency Services by their side.
In the Battlefield
And the examination hall
Any alliance is welcome.
It's their Auschwitz.
Instead of poisoned gas
Through overhead showers
The city heat slithers in their skin.
And instead of Wagner,
I have the Lansdowne traffic
Drowning out voices in the head.
I feel three inches shorter,
And my English has a German ring to it.
Maybe they want my head.
I see Tagore looking down upon me.
That deliberate, sombre Mount Everest look
Behind which lies the inscrutable Indian.
He never appeared for a three hour paper?
In the heat, Dust, Petrol Fumes, did he?
The horn honking, Ambulance screaming,
Urinal smelling crossroads of the city.
Does he have a poem on invigilation???


Mama Zen said...

This is so clever! Reminds me of taking a law school exam.

Abin Chakraborty said...

he has plenty on education and exams...not on invigilation, though.if you can make poetry out of such dross, there's plenty to be happy about.and lose the word verification.go to the setting and alter.