Inspired by Anton Chekhov’s Swan Song
Prince in nawab’s costumes
Shouted in the dark Proscenium,
—Who’s there, bequeath thousand gold coins
among the poorest citizen of my domain
Did anyone find those words?
breath-Stop flare, somebody sneeze somewhere
a cat under any seat in this empty auditorium
couple of rats are chewed by her, maybe.
Now deep blue night surrounds the stage
Who left Shaw’s set long ago today
Tagore is waiting for next team yesterday
Alas! ‘The houses of cards collapsed
The king is always in the company of the circus
dark has own sounds but yet here some other cry
and say: It’s not a costume, it’s a dress, sir
—Nabab?
There’s a table in the dark brown darkened green room
The craftsman left the corner and sat up.
Prince is still in nawab’s mood, –Nabab,
Are you still here?
—I couldn’t pay rent last three months
so I thought to spend the night hiding in this room,
to sleep well in comfort today, after last six days.
I heard your voice, and here to watch you, sir.
—Is my voice still so well—known?
—You don’t know, who know not you declaim
To be, or not to be; that is the question;
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer;...
—I haven’t had a dialogue in twelve years
even Nobody said to say
Shakespeare, Shaw or others
Chekhov, Ibsen, Strindberg all are in my heart
I came here behind everyone to perform unaccompanied
But, Nabab, in your jeopardy, why didn’t you tell me once
The craftsman Nabab, lean his head down and be quite
Prince smiles and speak out in nawab’s voice
—Yes. Ho, ho! Oh, so you too, Nabab, get know
In the flow of time, the Nawab has gone far away!
Ages ago!
