Unveiling Hidden Emotions: The Enigmatic Power of P.K. Deb’s Three Poems
Ever wonder how the rhythm of life could be scorekept like a game — Seventeen blank shots, no less — five for birth, five for death, and a curious seven for weddings? It’s almost as if our milestones are measured in the quiet, almost sacred pauses between moments. This poem dances on that thin line between the physical wrestle of existence and the intangible accomplishment of unity — ten hands, but only two souls sharing the triumph. There’s something deeply earthly about the scuffling described here, yet it comforts, like a familiar sparring match where the stakes are both tender and true. It challenges me: how do we reckon the true tally of our lives? With blank shots, counting cards, or the bonds we wrestle to keep? Dive in, and let these lines grip you as they did me — with a poet’s eye and a marketer’s savvy, I find the balance between meaning and momentum in every verse.
Seventeen blank shots
five each for birth and death,
wedding gets seven.
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