Sandra and Me
Image created on Canva
“Argh! Still life. All still!” Sandra tells,
Robed in her dark-brown frock,
As cool winds blow the welcome bells
And strike the marble rock.
I make a half-pint cup for me;
My weary nape reclines.
I offer Sandra too, but she
Immediately declines.
I look at her; she looks at me—
Fervidly, each to each.
No maid, however lovely,
Can touch her beauty’s reach.
She’s fair; she’s white. Her face is plump—
A fable never written.
Her locks of hair — a lordish clump—
I’m smitten. Ah, I’m smitten!
But where’s her cheeks’ rose-pink display?
She hears me well, I guess,
Then deeply ponders what I say
With feelings unexpressed.
I pour another half-pint cup
And fondly wish to share
It with her, but when I rise up
To give, she doesn’t care.
She says her love for me is old,
Like some recherché wine.
Tonight, however, Sandra’s cold—
Her lips don’t join with mine.
But what words can an artwork speak?
Can hues kiss or embrace?
Inside the mountboard, worn and weak,
Lies Sandra’s deadpan face.
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Shamik Banerjee
Shamik Banerjee is a poet from India. He resides in Assam with his parents. His poems have been published by The Society of Classical Poets, Sparks of Calliope, The Hypertexts, Snakeskin, Ink Sweat & Tears, and Autumn Sky Daily, among others.
Find more on Shamik 's Instagram.
