To a Clam
You have no eyes, no ears, or head,
O’ Molluscs of the ocean bed;
No teeth to bite or nose to smell,
But gladly you in water dwell.
No arms with which food in mouth fills,
But Cilia across your gills;
Which traps when your siphon sucks on
The algae and the zooplankton.
In many hues atwix your shells,
A small lucific spheroid dwells—
Bright Gold, Cream Rose, Mauve, or Bronze,
Like a queen, sits amid your bivalved thrones.
To my father you are akin-
Who’s stiff outside but soft within;
Like proud you are for pearls inside,
So I too am my mother’s pride.
When in you goes, irritants, sands,
You turn them into pearls, like craftsman's hands.
I wish such work man understood;
With his wisdom did only good.
You, Filter Feeder, water clean;
And all marine lives have joy and sheen;
But man does only bad procure,
Too depraves a heart that is pure.
He craves after your gem’s shine,
And knows not his own soul’s divine.
He tries for only outer wealth,
Which cankers his life dealth by dealth.
To form a pearl, six months you take,
While man- his coups to easy make;
While you live to aid the world
Man’s helped by the world, when done, it’s hurled.
Shamik Banerjee is a poet and poetry reviewer from the North-Eastern belt of India. He loves taking long strolls and spending time with his family. His deep affection with Solitude and Poetry provides him happiness.