Poetry
Cats
A pet cat ought to be buried
again and again.
Every time you fill its
grave with earth, sand, gravel
it scratches up through the layers
to wriggle itself out in the open.
Then at night you find your cat
pussyfooting in the bedroom
or sitting stoned, eyes wide open,
on your high wardrobe.
Cats beckon peace and solitude
When they're alive,
Many see in them bad omens,
Many never know the feline magic.
Everything told,
dead cats are a nightmare,
Tell me why ---
A strong urge prompts you and me
to bury them with so much love.
But we cannot.
Dead cats never like to
remain holed up in graves;
They know they aren't alive;
Still they want to move around,
despite the fact that they're dead
and you are scared of them,
you just can't throw
your pet cat away into the wild bush.
Cats are so cuddly!
I'm one of those doomed,
who wander for the rest of their life
with dead cats slung over the shoulder.
Shihab Sarkar is a leading poet and eminent journalist.
For all latest news, follow The Daily Star's Google News channel.
Comments