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A strangled anthem croaks. The words wrung out from its twisted throat, the tune trickling down like a thin ruby red snake of blood from a burst vein. What agony is this in the morning? A chorus of children. Their hearts and feet bared to the elements. Their tired sleep and pay deprived school master. His broken harmonium and bladder full of passed-out desires and passed over dreams. But patriotism will prevail. At least, as a good example. Just as much as children will be disciplined with hunger. So it happens. The school bell tolls. The Anthem's head rolls. Another dirge heralds another Monday. |
| Rumjhum Biswas's prose and poetry have been published in literary journals, both online and in print in India and abroad. She is working on her second novel amongst the chitter of squirrels and the squawk of squadrons of parrots in Chennai, for now. But her itinerant spouse ensures that she doesn't sprout roots. At least not just yet. email: rumjhumkbiswas@gmail.com |
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