I am an alien
in a world without words
weighed down by the quiet
staring blankly into the obscure
As light breaks the cordon of vagueness
and a radiant blood bathes ice--capped summits
crowned with dangling cloud-tufts
I search for syllables
The careless breeze
the flutter of a pheasant passing overhead
the chime of a distant monastery gong
pronounces the lull
A monk opens his thoughtful eyes
A poet starts scripting his verse
under unsullied azure
The bloody idiot asks
If you had been to the grocers’
lately you must have noticed how
mutely he taps the keys of his laptop
Have you observed
the way his wrinkles get pronounced
the way his lips curve with an eagerness
to grasp the lilt and cadence of a threadbare life
At times he takes off his glasses
stares once to the left then once to the right
and then sighs and takes a deep breath
before resuming his quest
He goes on entwining his whims
while his brother a lean fellow with a leaden look
looks after worldly dealings with such robotic
accuracy that makes me doubt
Whether his younger kin is close to being
a two state device brimmed with curt ‘yes’s and ‘no’s
and who could only identify credits and debentures
Together they appear as if a pair of pigeons
one aged and bespectacled munching words for food
and the other a thinned down excuse of living
who doesn’t take his eyes off from his grains
Do you feel either of the two
can appreciate
the meaning of being alive
lately you must have noticed how
mutely he taps the keys of his laptop
Have you observed
the way his wrinkles get pronounced
the way his lips curve with an eagerness
to grasp the lilt and cadence of a threadbare life
At times he takes off his glasses
stares once to the left then once to the right
and then sighs and takes a deep breath
before resuming his quest
He goes on entwining his whims
while his brother a lean fellow with a leaden look
looks after worldly dealings with such robotic
accuracy that makes me doubt
Whether his younger kin is close to being
a two state device brimmed with curt ‘yes’s and ‘no’s
and who could only identify credits and debentures
Together they appear as if a pair of pigeons
one aged and bespectacled munching words for food
and the other a thinned down excuse of living
who doesn’t take his eyes off from his grains
Do you feel either of the two
can appreciate
the meaning of being alive
Latent
this dream that buds in me
billows like smoke column of joss sticks
i watch it soar and blend into the haze
dew-laden florets enthuse a silent choir
with their perfume
that’s when broken whispers weave melodies
that's how rehearsals commence
in my inattention
often a sitar starts to hum and guides
immigrant plots to reach inviting homes
yet the verve fizzes out
the heart beat softens
those sitar thrums tone down
and i revert back to ant-watching
billows like smoke column of joss sticks
i watch it soar and blend into the haze
dew-laden florets enthuse a silent choir
with their perfume
that’s when broken whispers weave melodies
that's how rehearsals commence
in my inattention
often a sitar starts to hum and guides
immigrant plots to reach inviting homes
yet the verve fizzes out
the heart beat softens
those sitar thrums tone down
and i revert back to ant-watching
Chiseled form
on a rare whim
you usher in a hesitant winter
he recounts the soundless
surrounds of glaciers and shows you fossils
the eventual destiny of bizarre leaves
he had unearthed
naively you play to the tune of icy winds
view the residual spring flaking off
you fabricate the sketch of a castle made of ether
before you realize the wise guest has left
and in secret he has taken with him
your cherished greens
you resemble a chiseled stone sculpture now
a grotesque décor fit for shipshape rooms
you usher in a hesitant winter
he recounts the soundless
surrounds of glaciers and shows you fossils
the eventual destiny of bizarre leaves
he had unearthed
naively you play to the tune of icy winds
view the residual spring flaking off
you fabricate the sketch of a castle made of ether
before you realize the wise guest has left
and in secret he has taken with him
your cherished greens
you resemble a chiseled stone sculpture now
a grotesque décor fit for shipshape rooms
Winter
it’s much better this way
that i’ve become accustomed
to the nerveless feel
of a porcelain bowl
with its ivory white purity
its saint-like shine
as if it had never been kissed by you
since its making
and will never be
again
that i’ve become accustomed
to the nerveless feel
of a porcelain bowl
with its ivory white purity
its saint-like shine
as if it had never been kissed by you
since its making
and will never be
again
Prayer
I have set sail in a dinghy
under a downcast sky
under furrowed gaze of clouds
Their low deep rumbles portend
impending perils
Sinister waves build up
heedfully contrive their misdeeds
before they lash against the hull
You the Omnipresent
the one who rules over lilt and rhythm
who delivers precepts to my unlearned muse
The seed of my invincible beliefs
Guide me
Guide me through this murk
I'm loaded with thinned words
and morsels of a brittle life
You the Omnipotent
make my oar relentless
under a downcast sky
under furrowed gaze of clouds
Their low deep rumbles portend
impending perils
Sinister waves build up
heedfully contrive their misdeeds
before they lash against the hull
You the Omnipresent
the one who rules over lilt and rhythm
who delivers precepts to my unlearned muse
The seed of my invincible beliefs
Guide me
Guide me through this murk
I'm loaded with thinned words
and morsels of a brittle life
You the Omnipotent
make my oar relentless
Home
I observe her today
pretty different she appears
A worn-out face
with a speck of spring
stuck in one corner
of her left eye
Her smile dull
like dusted leaves of a Gulmohar
by the road
And her voice cold and metallic
as if she has imbibed the hardiness
from rusted scraps in junkyard
As she stares into my bewilderment
I envision a verdant morning
taking its birth in the hollow
around her eyelids
pretty different she appears
A worn-out face
with a speck of spring
stuck in one corner
of her left eye
Her smile dull
like dusted leaves of a Gulmohar
by the road
And her voice cold and metallic
as if she has imbibed the hardiness
from rusted scraps in junkyard
As she stares into my bewilderment
I envision a verdant morning
taking its birth in the hollow
around her eyelids
My pen-friend
His letters paint pictures
of his autumn. Though he never tells
how big or how small his house is,
he lovingly mentions a narrow corridor,
the interplay of light and shades over guava
trees in his garden.
He sends me photographs of rare florets
with odd looking beetles exploring their skin,
And he says in his native land such flowers
often get self pollinated.
He rues a lot for his old walking stick,
his most dependable companion
of more than a decade, which he lost
in a cab earlier this month.
The newer one is yet to get acquainted
to his whims. It screeches and grumbles
whenever he etches out a name
on the ground with its edge,
sitting alone on a garden chair
in a fading twilight.
of his autumn. Though he never tells
how big or how small his house is,
he lovingly mentions a narrow corridor,
the interplay of light and shades over guava
trees in his garden.
He sends me photographs of rare florets
with odd looking beetles exploring their skin,
And he says in his native land such flowers
often get self pollinated.
He rues a lot for his old walking stick,
his most dependable companion
of more than a decade, which he lost
in a cab earlier this month.
The newer one is yet to get acquainted
to his whims. It screeches and grumbles
whenever he etches out a name
on the ground with its edge,
sitting alone on a garden chair
in a fading twilight.
Inequation
This is the time of the year
when you begin to add up
how much you've earned
and how much you've lost.
How much pain you've been able to
imbibe, how much blood you had to shed.
This is the time of the year
to recall that summer evening
when the sky bled from its raw wound,
And you were also bleeding profusely,
nails being pierced into your sentience -
Do you remember the crossing
where you forgot your destination,
where you had asked a crippled man
about the way to the nearest inn
And the way his wise eyes had glittered
as he told you to retrace your steps?
And do you remember how you felt
in that roadside coffee shop
when you discovered there wasn't enough money
left in your pocket?
Did you, at that very moment, think of Gregory
and his million pound note, and his mumbled words,
being unable to produce ‘anything smaller’!
The credits and debentures hang
in either side of a weighing machine,
Do you not realize
you have yet again
stubbornly tried to balance
a simple inequation.
when you begin to add up
how much you've earned
and how much you've lost.
How much pain you've been able to
imbibe, how much blood you had to shed.
This is the time of the year
to recall that summer evening
when the sky bled from its raw wound,
And you were also bleeding profusely,
nails being pierced into your sentience -
Do you remember the crossing
where you forgot your destination,
where you had asked a crippled man
about the way to the nearest inn
And the way his wise eyes had glittered
as he told you to retrace your steps?
And do you remember how you felt
in that roadside coffee shop
when you discovered there wasn't enough money
left in your pocket?
Did you, at that very moment, think of Gregory
and his million pound note, and his mumbled words,
being unable to produce ‘anything smaller’!
The credits and debentures hang
in either side of a weighing machine,
Do you not realize
you have yet again
stubbornly tried to balance
a simple inequation.
An old road (Tanka)
I stroll past
the plumeria tree
after a decade--
pauper stirs up
from his midday dream
clouds
hanging low
make me strain my eyes --
the pauper collects
withered petals
the plumeria tree
after a decade--
pauper stirs up
from his midday dream
clouds
hanging low
make me strain my eyes --
the pauper collects
withered petals
Festival-end Gogyokha
smell of crackers
hang loosely
as daylight seeps in
between one chapter
and the next
hang loosely
as daylight seeps in
between one chapter
and the next
Three verses for an affair
we remain silent
until a rare flute
startles us
you put on your glasses
and become distant
your voice
sounds stone cold
as you break the calm—
from now on we follow
parallel lanes
I have a weakness
for the dark hemisphere
you’re somewhere in the sun
waiting for that old flute
that strange twilight
until a rare flute
startles us
you put on your glasses
and become distant
your voice
sounds stone cold
as you break the calm—
from now on we follow
parallel lanes
I have a weakness
for the dark hemisphere
you’re somewhere in the sun
waiting for that old flute
that strange twilight
Kolkata diary
Kolkata diary
[ 2.9.2010 ]
When the sky clears after a downpour,
potholes reflect diamond shine.
Hand-pulled rickshaw
rambles in lane with its dull tinkle
And passes by a few carefree children,
their wet bodies naked to the waist.
Playing with rainbows in a cooled afternoon.
[ 3.9.2010 ]
On the roadside
the old man with unshaven beard
and his same ragged outfit
distributes crumbs of stale cookies
to a bunch of raucous crows
and a sickly mongrel.
A tramp joins the party.
[ 4.9.2010 ]
The morning shrinks under
the cover of an umbrella
in this incessant rain.
I see to it
that the waters do not dampen
her spirits.
Yet the parched walls of a rickety city
need monsoon, need succulence.
They urge me:
Pull off the covers,
let us get drenched together.
[5.9.2010]
Through the camera's viewfinder
I observe you,
try to bring your face in focus,
'specially your polite eyes,
They demand a lot more attention.
Passersby look at me peculiarly,
as if I'm a culprit,
and watching you is an offense.
I never mind, for finding out
a white rose as you is a rarity.
A rose untouched
by the whims of seasons,
Flourishing in the dingiest
corner of a metropolis.
[10.09.10]
Trudging barefoot, the two men
pull a handcart packed with cement bags
Keeping to one side of the road, the side
they have been following for so many summers.
One daft beggar makes them halt
and inquires about his lost child.
[ 2.9.2010 ]
When the sky clears after a downpour,
potholes reflect diamond shine.
Hand-pulled rickshaw
rambles in lane with its dull tinkle
And passes by a few carefree children,
their wet bodies naked to the waist.
Playing with rainbows in a cooled afternoon.
[ 3.9.2010 ]
On the roadside
the old man with unshaven beard
and his same ragged outfit
distributes crumbs of stale cookies
to a bunch of raucous crows
and a sickly mongrel.
A tramp joins the party.
[ 4.9.2010 ]
The morning shrinks under
the cover of an umbrella
in this incessant rain.
I see to it
that the waters do not dampen
her spirits.
Yet the parched walls of a rickety city
need monsoon, need succulence.
They urge me:
Pull off the covers,
let us get drenched together.
[5.9.2010]
Through the camera's viewfinder
I observe you,
try to bring your face in focus,
'specially your polite eyes,
They demand a lot more attention.
Passersby look at me peculiarly,
as if I'm a culprit,
and watching you is an offense.
I never mind, for finding out
a white rose as you is a rarity.
A rose untouched
by the whims of seasons,
Flourishing in the dingiest
corner of a metropolis.
[10.09.10]
Trudging barefoot, the two men
pull a handcart packed with cement bags
Keeping to one side of the road, the side
they have been following for so many summers.
One daft beggar makes them halt
and inquires about his lost child.
The Fruit-Seller
I detest the monotony
of peeling off rinds of yesterdays
with a hope of procuring
cherished seeds.
You get up early, rush to the wholesalers,
load your van and spend an entire day arguing
with people in quest of bargain. Shylocks, all!
Take it or leave it, Sirs, the price
cannot be made cheaper.
Lord knows how shall I repay the loan,
how shall I recover my home from mortgage.
One polished gentleman with a camera in hand
asks me to pose beside the apple-pyramid.
I burst out laughing.
of peeling off rinds of yesterdays
with a hope of procuring
cherished seeds.
You get up early, rush to the wholesalers,
load your van and spend an entire day arguing
with people in quest of bargain. Shylocks, all!
Take it or leave it, Sirs, the price
cannot be made cheaper.
Lord knows how shall I repay the loan,
how shall I recover my home from mortgage.
One polished gentleman with a camera in hand
asks me to pose beside the apple-pyramid.
I burst out laughing.
A feather at sundown
As one chapter closes,
a set of images linger...
linger like rain over mint leaves.
Clouds take their own time
for changing orientations,
ripples on a lake
distort their faces.
A rainbow hangs on the edge of a cliff,
one blue heron crosses me
on its way home.
Near the night’s shore
a careless breeze
plays with grass-tips.
a set of images linger...
linger like rain over mint leaves.
Clouds take their own time
for changing orientations,
ripples on a lake
distort their faces.
A rainbow hangs on the edge of a cliff,
one blue heron crosses me
on its way home.
Near the night’s shore
a careless breeze
plays with grass-tips.
Moist air
Moist air
The lure of fog
lies in its hesitancy.
Its delicate presence
softly dissolves
a hedge of rhododendrons.
Did she leave her smiles
sprinkled over drowsy shrubs?
Will I get to see
that green caterpillar again,
or find a silken cocoon instead,
by the time sunshine returns?
Passerines echo half-asleep whispers
in an indistinct morning.
The lure of fog
lies in its hesitancy.
Its delicate presence
softly dissolves
a hedge of rhododendrons.
Did she leave her smiles
sprinkled over drowsy shrubs?
Will I get to see
that green caterpillar again,
or find a silken cocoon instead,
by the time sunshine returns?
Passerines echo half-asleep whispers
in an indistinct morning.
Ageing (Haiku)
two parakeets
in cozy chat
last spring
the trees empty--
another silver hair
on my left brow
in cozy chat
last spring
the trees empty--
another silver hair
on my left brow
Radiance - II
Like a candle flame
he’d been working through the night.
He needs the quiet luxury of a beedi
that’d recede his throbbing headache.
He scrutinizes his sculpture,
reminisces the greener days,
A young pair of hands busily crafting
one idol frame…
Since then it’s been a tale of flickering
fortunes; a journey in search of brightness.
He coughs severely, even the beedi’s smell
seems to let him down.
He imagines his wife’s blank stare,
the sour smile of his disabled son …
This studio is such a muggy room,
the window no better than a pigeon-hole…
He watches his rejected works,
mutilated forms stacked in a corner.
The candle gasps. The eastern sky
calmly lightens up. Goddess smiles benign.
he’d been working through the night.
He needs the quiet luxury of a beedi
that’d recede his throbbing headache.
He scrutinizes his sculpture,
reminisces the greener days,
A young pair of hands busily crafting
one idol frame…
Since then it’s been a tale of flickering
fortunes; a journey in search of brightness.
He coughs severely, even the beedi’s smell
seems to let him down.
He imagines his wife’s blank stare,
the sour smile of his disabled son …
This studio is such a muggy room,
the window no better than a pigeon-hole…
He watches his rejected works,
mutilated forms stacked in a corner.
The candle gasps. The eastern sky
calmly lightens up. Goddess smiles benign.
Poet - III
Poet – III
“The verse-writer lives by the river,
Your Majesty, in a ramshackle hut.”
“I’m inclined to believe
that such creatures form a rare breed.
Let summons be served to him at once!”
Summons were issued, the ‘creature’, a frail
short individual, was brought before the King:
“So you write poems a lot, don’t you?”
The thinned man, with eyes fixed to nothingness,
meekly replied, “Just as buds bloom into florets,
florets bear fruits, my muse inherently paints
with an untamed brush.”
“You speak well, but let this be known
that henceforth no one in my kingdom
could be allowed to misuse his own life
by scripting valueless rhymes, or influence
others for doing so.”
“Your Lordship, it grieves me to say
that you’re yet to become the absolute ruler
of a poet’s instincts.”
“What will become of your wretched
poetry, if my men behead you
this very moment?”
“That very moment, my blood
would seep beneath the earth and nourish
the flowering shrubs that I’ve planted.”
“Take this ignoble worm out of my sight!”
Imprison him, he mustn’t see sunshine again.”
“My cursed life would merge with soil & ether,
yet these chrysanthemums would remind you
Your Majesty, that they are mere prisoners
in a land where pride slaughters verses.”
“The verse-writer lives by the river,
Your Majesty, in a ramshackle hut.”
“I’m inclined to believe
that such creatures form a rare breed.
Let summons be served to him at once!”
Summons were issued, the ‘creature’, a frail
short individual, was brought before the King:
“So you write poems a lot, don’t you?”
The thinned man, with eyes fixed to nothingness,
meekly replied, “Just as buds bloom into florets,
florets bear fruits, my muse inherently paints
with an untamed brush.”
“You speak well, but let this be known
that henceforth no one in my kingdom
could be allowed to misuse his own life
by scripting valueless rhymes, or influence
others for doing so.”
“Your Lordship, it grieves me to say
that you’re yet to become the absolute ruler
of a poet’s instincts.”
“What will become of your wretched
poetry, if my men behead you
this very moment?”
“That very moment, my blood
would seep beneath the earth and nourish
the flowering shrubs that I’ve planted.”
“Take this ignoble worm out of my sight!”
Imprison him, he mustn’t see sunshine again.”
“My cursed life would merge with soil & ether,
yet these chrysanthemums would remind you
Your Majesty, that they are mere prisoners
in a land where pride slaughters verses.”
Earthen lamp
You are the shine on our path,
your tapering crown glows bright,
rouses the ‘heart chakra’,
the perfect unison of Shiva and Shakti.
Twelve vermillion petals bloom,
we feel a universal rhythm
emanating within the kernel.
We are no longer perturbed
by the obscurity that lingers
underneath your pedestal.
We are embraced with
swirling luminous waves.
We flow like turbulent streams
pouring ourselves into the sea.
your tapering crown glows bright,
rouses the ‘heart chakra’,
the perfect unison of Shiva and Shakti.
Twelve vermillion petals bloom,
we feel a universal rhythm
emanating within the kernel.
We are no longer perturbed
by the obscurity that lingers
underneath your pedestal.
We are embraced with
swirling luminous waves.
We flow like turbulent streams
pouring ourselves into the sea.
Poet - II
After harrowing hours
hoping to see the day, you arrive
at the end of a tunnel, and find
a misty twilight.
You watch a dying sun,
bloody wounds on firmament
and glittering streetlights.
Yet on you trudge,
for the road shines ahead
and you’re not bothered
by the nagging shadow.
hoping to see the day, you arrive
at the end of a tunnel, and find
a misty twilight.
You watch a dying sun,
bloody wounds on firmament
and glittering streetlights.
Yet on you trudge,
for the road shines ahead
and you’re not bothered
by the nagging shadow.
Poet - 1
You must have observed
the way sugar cane sap
gets drawn out in a juice machine,
You must have seen
fibrous stalks getting compressed
wringed and mashed
by squeaking rollers; a syrupy
liquid collecting at one end,
and coarse refuse on the other.
Poet, you’re no better
than those sugared stems.
the way sugar cane sap
gets drawn out in a juice machine,
You must have seen
fibrous stalks getting compressed
wringed and mashed
by squeaking rollers; a syrupy
liquid collecting at one end,
and coarse refuse on the other.
Poet, you’re no better
than those sugared stems.
Apocalyptic in Emerald City
[ COLLABORATION WITH SERGIO ORTIZ ]
The drunken clock is broken
the hour crowds; the room shrinks
on top of its universal ashes,
a wide eyed magpie at the window
grumbles: “you say
light harms me
and close the window.”
String marionettes hang on the wall
stare at each other. They’ve been drooping
this way ever since my father brought them.
Rush hour traffic jostles outside,
the magpie keeps complaining,
crowds swell, room shrinks further.
I hear the sound of a sugarcane juice-machine,
fibrous woody grass getting pressed
squeezed and crushed,
it refuses to be thrown away
like used-up memories.
A stray dog timidly walks away
with a piece of husk.
I gaze at a distant high-rise, feel
my pulse and know
I need a heart.
I've lost my virginity ......... lost it to you
my "half crucified
fully naked god.” You nail me
to a hymn about
a rainbow yet won't give up
an ounce of your pride
to write me an apology.
Yet, it is I who needs to find
the pieces of an inflorescence
strewn on the ground; I
who bears the burden
of hunting them out.
I who needs to see
that they never make a cluster
of individual you's
for fear of losing.
The drunken clock is broken
the hour crowds; the room shrinks
on top of its universal ashes,
a wide eyed magpie at the window
grumbles: “you say
light harms me
and close the window.”
String marionettes hang on the wall
stare at each other. They’ve been drooping
this way ever since my father brought them.
Rush hour traffic jostles outside,
the magpie keeps complaining,
crowds swell, room shrinks further.
I hear the sound of a sugarcane juice-machine,
fibrous woody grass getting pressed
squeezed and crushed,
it refuses to be thrown away
like used-up memories.
A stray dog timidly walks away
with a piece of husk.
I gaze at a distant high-rise, feel
my pulse and know
I need a heart.
I've lost my virginity ......... lost it to you
my "half crucified
fully naked god.” You nail me
to a hymn about
a rainbow yet won't give up
an ounce of your pride
to write me an apology.
Yet, it is I who needs to find
the pieces of an inflorescence
strewn on the ground; I
who bears the burden
of hunting them out.
I who needs to see
that they never make a cluster
of individual you's
for fear of losing.
Radiance - I
Candle flickers in a dingy room.
As he strains his eyes, his wrinkles deepen.
He takes another close look of the idol:
damp clay fragrance fills his lungs.
The lotus eyes of Durga are to be painted
by tonight. He trembles while mixing colours.
The fever hasn’t subsided. It's been three days
since he was last able to work. As he clears
his throat, another bout of obstinate cough
burns his chest. He has noticed blood
in his phlegm. And this is not the first time.
Year after year, he’s grown a habit of living
with fever, with blood stained sputum, with his
handicapped child, with stranded rain waters
and mosquitoes, under one corrugated roof speckled
with holes, allowing moon beams and sun rays to enter
at will. He knows he must complete his work
by tonight. He knows his brush never betrays.
With bold strokes he’d usher in brightness.
As he strains his eyes, his wrinkles deepen.
He takes another close look of the idol:
damp clay fragrance fills his lungs.
The lotus eyes of Durga are to be painted
by tonight. He trembles while mixing colours.
The fever hasn’t subsided. It's been three days
since he was last able to work. As he clears
his throat, another bout of obstinate cough
burns his chest. He has noticed blood
in his phlegm. And this is not the first time.
Year after year, he’s grown a habit of living
with fever, with blood stained sputum, with his
handicapped child, with stranded rain waters
and mosquitoes, under one corrugated roof speckled
with holes, allowing moon beams and sun rays to enter
at will. He knows he must complete his work
by tonight. He knows his brush never betrays.
With bold strokes he’d usher in brightness.
monsoon haiku - II
pine leaves
lose patience
rain plops
plopping sounds
build a chorus
the path bends
path bends
near a bungalow
a milestone
the milestone
where sun had died
years ago
years ago
a young July
brought me here
here I stand
a rope bridge sways
above a stream
the stream
doggedly cleans
bloodied rocks
lose patience
rain plops
plopping sounds
build a chorus
the path bends
path bends
near a bungalow
a milestone
the milestone
where sun had died
years ago
years ago
a young July
brought me here
here I stand
a rope bridge sways
above a stream
the stream
doggedly cleans
bloodied rocks
schizoid July
[ Tanka]
I.
careless rain
her amusement
in gray-headed morn
a butterfly escapes
from its confines
II.
desperate to open
stubborn windows
she struggles
her door bell rings
intermittently
III.
she finds
a bunch of tiger lilies
beside her door
fiery red pigments
stain the murk
I.
careless rain
her amusement
in gray-headed morn
a butterfly escapes
from its confines
II.
desperate to open
stubborn windows
she struggles
her door bell rings
intermittently
III.
she finds
a bunch of tiger lilies
beside her door
fiery red pigments
stain the murk
Mid July Haiku
I.
taciturn woods
eerie wind
chases butterfly
II.
butterfly chooses
my flower
my afternoon
III.
the afternoon
fades
eagle in sky
IV.
your sky
your own cloud
cracked in middle
taciturn woods
eerie wind
chases butterfly
II.
butterfly chooses
my flower
my afternoon
III.
the afternoon
fades
eagle in sky
IV.
your sky
your own cloud
cracked in middle
monsoon haiku
pine leaves
lose patience
rain plops
plopping sounds
build a chorus
the path bends
path bends
near a bungalow
a milestone
the milestone
where sun had died
years ago
years ago
a young July
brought me here
here I stand
a rope bridge sways
above a stream
the stream
doggedly cleans
bloodied rocks
lose patience
rain plops
plopping sounds
build a chorus
the path bends
path bends
near a bungalow
a milestone
the milestone
where sun had died
years ago
years ago
a young July
brought me here
here I stand
a rope bridge sways
above a stream
the stream
doggedly cleans
bloodied rocks
All that cannot be left behind
loosened
dandelion tufts
sail in the breeze
my wife’s wheelchair
makes a creaking sound
**
the room
devoid of words
carpeted with dust
it's still ten past nine
behind a plastic bouquet
**
rain brings
known scent
of freshened earth
on a pond surface
circles overlap, and fade
**
[ Title inspired from U2's "All that you can't leave behind"]
dandelion tufts
sail in the breeze
my wife’s wheelchair
makes a creaking sound
**
the room
devoid of words
carpeted with dust
it's still ten past nine
behind a plastic bouquet
**
rain brings
known scent
of freshened earth
on a pond surface
circles overlap, and fade
**
[ Title inspired from U2's "All that you can't leave behind"]
Storm Tanka
(TANKA)
I.
cover the path
with red petals
beside my window
your unbridled hair
rustles through branches
II.
your tears
bathe the earth
fill up potholes
not the darkened corner
in your eye
III.
you breathe your last
i get consumed
in silence
electron-arcs
rip shadows apart
I.
cover the path
with red petals
beside my window
your unbridled hair
rustles through branches
II.
your tears
bathe the earth
fill up potholes
not the darkened corner
in your eye
III.
you breathe your last
i get consumed
in silence
electron-arcs
rip shadows apart
Fade out
A nagging drizzle
bathes pinnate leaves,
I enjoy the luxury
to loiter with my beliefs
as I listen to the verbal opulence
of raindrops
that gather inside an earthen pot.
A melancholy flute
guides me to a little flower shop,
the wind informs
about a plane crash in Mangalore,
over a hundred voices
going silent in the haze,
over a hundred vessels
getting emptied in the rain.
bathes pinnate leaves,
I enjoy the luxury
to loiter with my beliefs
as I listen to the verbal opulence
of raindrops
that gather inside an earthen pot.
A melancholy flute
guides me to a little flower shop,
the wind informs
about a plane crash in Mangalore,
over a hundred voices
going silent in the haze,
over a hundred vessels
getting emptied in the rain.
the impasse
Had Jesse Owens tried his hand
as a sharecropper when at high school,
he might have ended up
being a landlord himself.
Instead, he chose the track as his lifeline.
Within forty-five minutes
his soaring resolve
made him a monarch.
Had I joined the service of a clerical staff
years ago, I might have been
by now, the head of a blissful family
with weepy kids and a beaming wife.
Owens didn’t take long to perceive
his ‘inner potential’.
Neither did Dylan.
Nor did Neruda.
Only, the literary journals
where I send essays, poems & short stories
do not seem to care
to reply.
as a sharecropper when at high school,
he might have ended up
being a landlord himself.
Instead, he chose the track as his lifeline.
Within forty-five minutes
his soaring resolve
made him a monarch.
Had I joined the service of a clerical staff
years ago, I might have been
by now, the head of a blissful family
with weepy kids and a beaming wife.
Owens didn’t take long to perceive
his ‘inner potential’.
Neither did Dylan.
Nor did Neruda.
Only, the literary journals
where I send essays, poems & short stories
do not seem to care
to reply.
When words are not enough
Brother, all my life
I’ve painted sunflowers, irises, wheat fields
rooftops, potato-eaters and the like.
But see, what the world has given me in return -
one scorching bullet-wound in my chest!
Watch the blood, so real, so down-to-earth
like the filthy woman in the old brothel ...
I can sense the curtain coming down,
a gargantuan shadow eclipsing my view.
I needed to die in an open field
free from the people lurking within
your half-lit bylanes.
Let it be then, brother, let it be.
Though the sadness of severing my ties
from these meadows glittering in July,
the cypress, the orchards
the green fairy absinthe,
Will last forever.
I’ve painted sunflowers, irises, wheat fields
rooftops, potato-eaters and the like.
But see, what the world has given me in return -
one scorching bullet-wound in my chest!
Watch the blood, so real, so down-to-earth
like the filthy woman in the old brothel ...
I can sense the curtain coming down,
a gargantuan shadow eclipsing my view.
I needed to die in an open field
free from the people lurking within
your half-lit bylanes.
Let it be then, brother, let it be.
Though the sadness of severing my ties
from these meadows glittering in July,
the cypress, the orchards
the green fairy absinthe,
Will last forever.
'grip tightly'
don't let go
the lifeline
-my frantic appeals
meet with silence
I feel like standing alone
on the riverside
watching a night sky sans moon's nectar
Had I known
the language of water particles
I might have fathomed their needs
-do they speak
of small revolutions-in-wait,
the insignificant uprisings
that languish
inside a cul-de-sac of passive sighs?
A few words approach me,
scrutinize me
then recede
A petite shooting star
falls into my hand
and slips through my fingers
I curse my inability
to hold on
(c)Arunansu Banerjee
the lifeline
-my frantic appeals
meet with silence
I feel like standing alone
on the riverside
watching a night sky sans moon's nectar
Had I known
the language of water particles
I might have fathomed their needs
-do they speak
of small revolutions-in-wait,
the insignificant uprisings
that languish
inside a cul-de-sac of passive sighs?
A few words approach me,
scrutinize me
then recede
A petite shooting star
falls into my hand
and slips through my fingers
I curse my inability
to hold on
(c)Arunansu Banerjee
blossoms
[Tanka]
**
his parting words
hearts share loneliness
entice her
the fiery racemes
stab deep inside
**
croons the myna
amid parrot tree florets
unmindfully
she stitches garlands
with keel-shaped petals
**
**
his parting words
hearts share loneliness
entice her
the fiery racemes
stab deep inside
**
croons the myna
amid parrot tree florets
unmindfully
she stitches garlands
with keel-shaped petals
**
illusions
[Tanka]
**
watching
the unsullied dawn
her blushed smile
he gifts her
a red corundum
**
in starlight
she hunts all corners
for her lost coins
these alleys weren’t vague
last full moon night
**
differ
from the worldly-minded
silver sickle tells her
spinning dreamy threads
could be great occupation
**
(c)Arunansu Banerjee
**
watching
the unsullied dawn
her blushed smile
he gifts her
a red corundum
**
in starlight
she hunts all corners
for her lost coins
these alleys weren’t vague
last full moon night
**
differ
from the worldly-minded
silver sickle tells her
spinning dreamy threads
could be great occupation
**
(c)Arunansu Banerjee
the negatives
a predator
lurks near him
his shadow
*
for ever
the way is lost
towards the star
shining bright
in deathly gloom
*
pages
of memories
fade like autumn posy
the green turns auburn in meadows
too soon
**********
(c) Arunansu Banerjee
lurks near him
his shadow
*
for ever
the way is lost
towards the star
shining bright
in deathly gloom
*
pages
of memories
fade like autumn posy
the green turns auburn in meadows
too soon
**********
(c) Arunansu Banerjee
vignettes
[ Tanka ]
I.
arid river bed
in v-shaped valley
awaits monsoon
for the wind to rattle
her name
II.
meet you again
near the lantern shrub
she told the sun
he searches for a poem
every morning
III.
akin to
an oyster's pearl
fondled by waves
his chiseled verses
remain password protected
(c) Arunansu Banerjee
I.
arid river bed
in v-shaped valley
awaits monsoon
for the wind to rattle
her name
II.
meet you again
near the lantern shrub
she told the sun
he searches for a poem
every morning
III.
akin to
an oyster's pearl
fondled by waves
his chiseled verses
remain password protected
(c) Arunansu Banerjee
options
[Tanka]
to chose between
a daffodil and a daisy--
the obsessed Narcissus
or the ‘eye of a day’
walk
the lonely path
sighs an autumn
the poet finds
a new door, every hour
(c)Arunansu Banerjee
to chose between
a daffodil and a daisy--
the obsessed Narcissus
or the ‘eye of a day’
walk
the lonely path
sighs an autumn
the poet finds
a new door, every hour
(c)Arunansu Banerjee
frustration [ Senryu ]
try bad manners
urges the wine
to a poet
untamed lion
growls at the mirror
receives a sneer
(c)Arunansu Banerjee
urges the wine
to a poet
untamed lion
growls at the mirror
receives a sneer
(c)Arunansu Banerjee
Blackberries (Erasure Poem)
In its first year
a new stem
grows vigorously
arching or trailing along the ground
bearing large palmately leaves;
it does not produce any flowers.
In its second year,
the stem does not grow longer
but the flower buds break
a new stem
grows vigorously
arching or trailing along the ground
bearing large palmately leaves;
it does not produce any flowers.
In its second year,
the stem does not grow longer
but the flower buds break
this iciness
**
bluebird hops
studies bare branches
a pauper’s song
**
croons
the weary traveler
tale of a torn leaf
**
till next fall
no bloodshed
promises a maple
**
your breath
in the filmy fog
disturbs a pond
**
(c)Arunansu Banerjee 2010
bluebird hops
studies bare branches
a pauper’s song
**
croons
the weary traveler
tale of a torn leaf
**
till next fall
no bloodshed
promises a maple
**
your breath
in the filmy fog
disturbs a pond
**
(c)Arunansu Banerjee 2010
Departure Cherita
my train sets off
the platform moves backward
i flip through a guidebook
sun follows me
behind a mangrove wall
i sip the morning
(c) Arunansu Banerjee, 2010
the platform moves backward
i flip through a guidebook
sun follows me
behind a mangrove wall
i sip the morning
(c) Arunansu Banerjee, 2010
the celestial body
[Tanka]
*
saunters
on an exoplanet
the verse-writer
magma stream oozes
from his depth
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
he resides
in a star's bright
light years away
distanced from dear earth
from clouds, from rain
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(c)Arunansu Banerjee
*
saunters
on an exoplanet
the verse-writer
magma stream oozes
from his depth
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
he resides
in a star's bright
light years away
distanced from dear earth
from clouds, from rain
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(c)Arunansu Banerjee
Musings... on early Jan
[Tanka]
*
hid her face
her wavy tresses
in nightly breeze
the moon vanished
from a poet's view
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
a lark sings
springtime tune
at dead hour
my toes explore
icy corners
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
newborn day
rests on windowsill
lips curved
a tint of smile
in obscureness
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(c)Arunansu Banerjee 2010
*
hid her face
her wavy tresses
in nightly breeze
the moon vanished
from a poet's view
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
a lark sings
springtime tune
at dead hour
my toes explore
icy corners
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
newborn day
rests on windowsill
lips curved
a tint of smile
in obscureness
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(c)Arunansu Banerjee 2010
'To go the way of the dodo'(Prose Poetry)
The Zoo Garden's Curator appeared helpless. The recent discovery, a grey-feathered dodo, probably the last living specimen of its kind, has stopped taking its food. Veterinary experts had been summoned, special diet-charts prepared - fruits, grains, insects, even other bird-meat were offered, yet all of those have politely been overlooked. One double-chinned Ornithologist thought that the shy bird must be missing its natural habitat and might be puzzled by the sight of so many overzealous onlookers. He didn't rule out the possibility of the dodo suffering from acute mental depression, being set-apart from its soul-mate, had there been one. The Curator nodded knowingly and added: a twelve member search team had been dispatched that very morning to the islands near Mauritius; an exploration to find out whether or not any more members of the rare clan could be found alive. "We will leave no stones unturned," asserted the crestfallen man, "Therefore-"
"Therefore, Ladies & Gentlemen," interrupted a lean bespectacled person, "Therefore, we MUST find a way to soothe the nerves of the loner. Watch its eyes, watch the dreamy glint... There, that's the philosopher's look!
O Angel of Love, thy grief shines beamingly, a candle glows through the darkest hours of Night. O Dove, have pity on the wretched human folk who hath dared to make thee a mere prisoner! Immerse thy sorrow within the nectar of rhymes, make thy life a saint's solitude. Let me offer thee my humble verses.” He flashed out a few torn pages from his pocket and flung them towards the bird. To the utter disbelief of the conglomeration, it slowly moved, crouched forward, picked up one poem and gulped it down its throat. Within the next fourteen minutes, fourteen more poems found their way to its stomach. A pandemonium followed.
Since last reported, law keepers have cordoned off the area, and public-viewing of the spectacle has been suspended indefinitely. In the meantime, the bird has gobbled up the entire notebook, enriched with poesy.
(c)Arunansu Banerjee 2010
"Therefore, Ladies & Gentlemen," interrupted a lean bespectacled person, "Therefore, we MUST find a way to soothe the nerves of the loner. Watch its eyes, watch the dreamy glint... There, that's the philosopher's look!
O Angel of Love, thy grief shines beamingly, a candle glows through the darkest hours of Night. O Dove, have pity on the wretched human folk who hath dared to make thee a mere prisoner! Immerse thy sorrow within the nectar of rhymes, make thy life a saint's solitude. Let me offer thee my humble verses.” He flashed out a few torn pages from his pocket and flung them towards the bird. To the utter disbelief of the conglomeration, it slowly moved, crouched forward, picked up one poem and gulped it down its throat. Within the next fourteen minutes, fourteen more poems found their way to its stomach. A pandemonium followed.
Since last reported, law keepers have cordoned off the area, and public-viewing of the spectacle has been suspended indefinitely. In the meantime, the bird has gobbled up the entire notebook, enriched with poesy.
(c)Arunansu Banerjee 2010
Feelings... on Jan 2
[Tanka ]
in the mist
Stars-of-Bethlehem
still look bright
pages of a year
I’ve just recited
*
the blue moon
being eroded
every night
I’m trying to live
on starlight alone
*
confetti hearts
scattered
on the floor
a lazy sunshine
crawls with shadows
***
[ Stars-of-Bethlehem : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ornithogalum ]
(c)Arunansu Banerjee
in the mist
Stars-of-Bethlehem
still look bright
pages of a year
I’ve just recited
*
the blue moon
being eroded
every night
I’m trying to live
on starlight alone
*
confetti hearts
scattered
on the floor
a lazy sunshine
crawls with shadows
***
[ Stars-of-Bethlehem : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ornithogalum ]
(c)Arunansu Banerjee
Feelings on Jan 1
[ Tanka ]
she grew quiet
as I recited
the poem
that took a lifetime
to sprout
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
her silence
her decade-old smile
warms me up
the morning coffee
fills a ten year void
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(c)Arunansu Banerjee 2010
she grew quiet
as I recited
the poem
that took a lifetime
to sprout
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
her silence
her decade-old smile
warms me up
the morning coffee
fills a ten year void
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(c)Arunansu Banerjee 2010
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