I leave you nothing, Papa, <br />Except a red brick mound. <br />You may call it home <br />And in case I am no more <br />Do not seek me door to door <br />Instead let the whirring of the cooler <br />Cast upon you, dreams galore <br />Sensex 10,000 and still rising <br />To peace but not rest. <br />To Ma, if you can digest <br />Cruelty. This is called fate. <br />I choose to die intestate. <br />To, Shantibai <br />My fair maid of Cheapside: <br />Kakdwip, swinging on the Maids’ special local <br />6: 30 to 8: 30 called Sonarpur express, <br />Reliever, I have received much <br />You may keep a lifetime coupon for lunch. <br />To, my children I bequeath: <br />A rotund hazy moon, <br />Gathering sweat without faith <br />Lies, deceit, NASA’s treads <br />Antique. Another fifty, <br />Or at the most, a hundred and fifty years <br />Of celebration, globalization and spoof! <br />If not, then <br />To, my grand children <br />And their young ones, <br />Sorry, <br />For you I uprooted trees and planted polyphenylpropelene <br />Warmed up the Poles a bit, <br />Played a little ball game <br />Katrina Rita Wilma <br />All damned females playing part. <br />Nobel for Dolly of the cloned heart. <br />For you, who were never there <br />But in our imagination, <br />I bequeath an impaled sky, <br />Spread eagled with bird flu <br />Trusting you, <br />To avenge yourselves on your sorry ancestors <br />Watching with cold and listless eyes <br />From Mars Colony 211/B, <br />The lights go out <br />One by one, <br />Paris, Sydney, Rome, Perth <br />On old old Earth. <br /> <br /><br />Mandira Mitra<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/deceased-intestate/
