New Year?
New Year?
Who claims the year is new?
I cannot see good fortune's fresh-shot ray
Illumining my soul today,
And I'm still feeling blue.
Who claims the year is new?
Who says hope's buds will bloom
Within our hearts? Its nursery's long died,
And now my dearest friends abide
In the wastelands of gloom.
Who says hope's buds will bloom?
Old scars refuse to heal.
Like foreign hosts, they latch onto the mind,
Creating din of every kind—
An ever-turning wheel.
Who says old scars will heal
And we will get relief?
The married girl, each night, still looks above
To see the star of her lost love,
Who left with heavy grief.
We will not get relief.
New year? What's new about it?
Same tarnished windows, fusty rooms, and flies.
The old wall clock that faintly cries—
Same days that spin about it.
New year? I really doubt it!
Shamik Banerjee is a poet from India. He resides in Assam with his parents. Some of his recent works will appear in York Literary Review, Willow Review, Thimble Lit, and Modern Reformation, to name a few.
