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An Anniversary

by Shamik Banerjee

My dearest Cynthia, I kept my vows

On this day of our anniversary.

I sweeped the breezeway, pruned the Beech's boughs

And watered the long-swagging Peony.

Our bed is neatly done; a coverlet

In crimson-murrey is upon it spread.

At eve I'll play your favourite cassette

And on my bosom gently place your head.

As promised, I have lacquered your long nails

And helped you don a camlet red and bright,

I've locked the door to mute all outer wails

And shut the louver to dim out the light.

Long you have said, "My husband gave me naught."

Now look at you—all complaints are suppressed.

Now maybe you are smiling at this thought—

'My husband's good although he's not the best.'

How meekly now you're sitting on the chair,

Your cheeks don't have the former fury's speck—

I wonder if your comportment was fair

I would not use that blade against your neck.


Shamik Banerjee is a poet from India.


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