The Agony Of A Fallen Star (Sonnet Sequence) Poem by Dipankar Sadhukhan

I. The Marketplace of Flesh

Not temple gates, nor mosque, nor hallowed dome,
But crowded walls where lustful footsteps tread;
No saintly hymn, no prayer's sacred tome,
But bargains struck for flesh instead of bread.

No incense drifts to consecrate the skies,
Yet smoke of greed pollutes the poisoned air;
The buyer's gaze is cold as serpent's eyes,
And every cry is chained to grim despair.

The painted mask conceals the soul inside,
The rouge of sin, the crimson lips of pain;
Yet still they smile, though death stands at their side,
For hunger binds them tighter than a chain.

Here love lies slain, yet lust forever thrives,
And souls are sold to keep the flesh alive.


II. The First Night

At sixteen years I crossed the iron door,
A trembling lamb within the butcher's lair;
The night was black, and stars returned no more,
When fate consigned my youth to dark despair.

Some demons came with laughter fierce and wild,
Their breath was fire, their kisses burned my skin;
They crushed the hope that crowned a tender child,
And drew my soul into the pit of sin.

O cruel hour! That hour will never flee,
It haunts my bed and chains my shivering breath;
The first caress was like a viper's plea,
It sucked my soul and sealed a living death.

Yet still I live, though every dawn I die,
And curse the night that taught my lips to lie.


III. The Brutal Bargain

With thousand coins they buy a two-hour sin,
Or pour their gold to claim the whole night's stay;
Each touch a theft, each kiss a ruthless grin,
Each whispered vow a dagger in its play.

No love abides within these curtained walls,
No gentle arms, no heart that calls my name;
But iron grips where brutish passion mauls,
And beasts that gorge upon my trembling frame.

They crush my breasts as men would press the grape,
They drink my tears as though they were a wine;
No sigh of joy, no sacred human shape,
But tides of lust that drown this soul of mine.

O God! If heaven hears a harlot's cry,
Then let me weep, or grant me leave to die.


IV. The Broken Soul

Each dawn I dream to flee this hateful den,
Yet chains of gold are heavier than stone;
I long to cast away the clutch of men,
But shame erects a throne I dare not own.

Society, that saint with painted face,
Would spit and scourge my name with holy spite;
No gentle hand would grant a fallen grace,
But fling me stones to crown my endless night.

Thus still I pine within this cage of woe,
A bird that lost the sky and forest green;
I sing of love, yet none will hear me so,
For gold has bound me where my soul has been.

O fate, why bind my breath with such a chain,
Where life is death and pleasure turns to pain?


V. The Cry Unheard

They call me whore, yet never hear my wail,
My grief that beats against the stony air;
No ear attends this solitary tale,
For gold has crushed the voice of my despair.

By night I burn like torches through the storm,
Consumed by hands that turn my blood to fire;
By day I walk, bereft of human form,
With hollow eyes that mock my dead desire.

No tender arms to soothe my aching breast,
No sacred flame to make my spirit whole;
But only lust that breaks my dream of rest,
And coins that rule the ruin of my soul.

Yet still I pray, though prayers are vain as breath,
For love to bloom within this bed of death.


By Dipankar Sadhukhan
Kolkata, India..
Copyrights@June29,2025.