Poem - 1 | July 2025

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Laughter 



ASHOK (Neela) 

Hooghly, West Bengal

 


Old Balaram Dutta from across the lane,
Studies laughter with a tireless brain.

No sleep in his eyes, he works night and day,
Ten young lads help him in their own way.

Jars and bottles, rows on rows,
Each with a laugh carefully enclosed.

He roams the streets from dawn till night,
With traps to catch laughs—what a sight!

Which laugh is jumpy, which one's still?
Which laughs with eyes closed, which with will?

Which is dry and cracked like heat,
Which tastes like neem—bitter, discreet?

Which one sucks your spirit dry
Like blotting paper drinking dye?

He even notes the sycophant’s grin
That fake, sly chuckle soaked in sin!

Tee-hee laughs, and laughs that cry,
So many meanings—he can’t say why!

Rotten laughs, stale ones too
But a fresh laugh? Wipes away your blue!

Mixing and sorting every kind of smile,
Balaram Dutta thinks awhile...

And sighs, “The hardest thing, I say
Is to read a cheat's laugh the right way!”


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