Is Not the world, charming?

I watch luscious watermelon lips
on weekend tv shows. I admit my getting
weak-on-the-knees whenever her eyes encounter
mine. They tell you HD is a sensation; each pixel
of a petal may invite you back to your spring even though
you are a long-time loner. I admit I find this third part
of the life more hideous than the days when I was awakened

by the sound of ewes. Speaking of warmth, is not
the touch of her pashmina tantalizing? You may reason
that the essence of a season is in its passing; that birds are losing
more feathers and poets are getting loonier in quest of eternity-
why don’t I share memories with the glass case clock?

I’m unsure of the cock rising up again, I’m pissed off and I’m broke.
Yet the tide returns with the moon that casts a dream on a sleepless night,
can’t you see me flooded in my unlit room?

Scent of mahogany

He is a man of many autumns
a man who weeps for his dead roses
His roses died from an epidemic
while other trees were in flowers
You can see the sad scene looking at his
modest eyes as he looks through you
with the sagging skin that folds his grief
beneath his chin

I'm in search for my roses he declares
the Red ones remind me of faces
lost in the outbreak every time i whisper
my agonies their shoulders start drooping
white butterflies appear from nowhere
and foretell death looming for my velvety kins

A reproaching wind carries a faint smell of mahogany
He sighs and tells you about the fragrant seeds
he has kept treasured in his valise

He is a man of many autumns
a man who still weeps for his roses

Midlife

Autumn has arrived. With a look
as bewildered as a caged bear, a vision filled
with angry maples, he looks around himself.
He’s accustomed to coldness of the concrete floor
and the dry wind that brings in memories.
Of late he’s been more of a poet thriving upon
the flame colour of forest. Animals and fire
have a strange magnetism. Why must you
fear the blaze when you feel
dreams are all scalded
peppered and decaying in the mist?

Autumn has arrived a bit earlier. Some leaves
are yet to be parched. He rubs his stubble and plays
cross-word puzzles. There are more white boxes
than dark ones, and the clues poke at him like a neighbour
tapping on shoulders. The bear twinkles
and passes time with the sun that is no more a fire
in the noon.

Circles

two paths once met
in a noon glow of autumn

i have an obsession
of drawing rings
that intersect or encircle nothing

it is possibly a mind-gamble without a deal
the alibi for casting off any real hope

raindrops warble
at the fag-end of monsoon

am i passed the age of wrapping myself
with concentric dreams

i just need one last tot
of elixir

fresh circles force older ones to fade

Grasshopper

late morning in an artist's studio
half-baked clay models looking back
blankly at him as he browses through
a pile of thoughts

life is a rusty iron door
with squeaky windows that greet light
through moth-holed curtains

in his share of skyscape
he can see rabbit clouds at play
which makes him envision
a youthful grasshopper
leaping with verve from autumn
to autumn

once in a summer's noon he indulged
the whims of an Aphrodite

a mocking smile reproaches him
and he returns to the doleful hour
as he swallows the bad taste in his mouth

no locust swarms
nothing more than a helpless gaze
of Hephaestus in the mirror
one who hears none but his own hammer
in the last tinge of spring

November haiku

looking into her eye--
two tigers at war
in a monsoon

early next morning
the prick of shards
under my feet

Haiku

9-11 again
two laser beams search
for phantoms

***********

smell of earth
a green butterfly flickers
beside the grave

October

1.

startled pigeons
stop their meal
and stare at us--
she did not wait
for a reply


2.

bubbles
keep forming
in my daydream...
your split-second laugh
good enough to burst them all


3.

my garden
is in shambles
since the storm--
her head drooping
like a wilted rose

September (Haiku)

back in her eyes
the radiance--
restoration work

*

will she...?
yes...no...yes...
fireflies

*

an opening breath
of jazz...
rising fog 

Made up of fog

At a time when there were no roads
no trees, no mountains, no You and I
whoever and whatever there were
were made of fog with our ancestors 
sauntering in the haze between death
and birth 

You remind me of fossils
the ruins of civilizations the Colosseum
surely they were not vapour you argue
No we are talking about alteration of forms
each of us though fed with same ideas
are made different akin to genetic alteration

You are a riddle you say
How can possibly you and your neighbor
who follows me through the tail of his eye
be made of same material Honey 
this is absurd 

Rivers meander and so do humans
fog grows as our words merge 
with cricket-chirp

August thoughts

Tanka

eyes bulging
as a giant mushroom
blooms in the sky--
pigeons flutter
on Hiroshima Day


shivering
in the autumn chill
a wind chime
...must all things merge
into ether


Haiku


seventh time
for the spider...
she still says 'no'


sunset--
her words breaking up
into bird sounds


plop...
once more the moon
regains her face


the imprints
on a fresh page
'I'm leaving '

The clown in autumn

Not much unlike others; he used to put on
his toothless smile, and blink to his soul
in the mirror, "I'm no bounder, but one

From a bunch of smart gamblers,betting our life
on the birth or fall of leaves.I love the brew
of dreams, a bath in the vapour of a hot spring
and the nostalgia of country wine.

Each day is a rattle on rails.Everyday every one
meanders. But not me. Am I not a laughing Buddha,
seasoned to echoes of frail applauds, they remind

the iciness of autumn.But never fear, my good chum,
each day is a step towards eternal gleam." That day,
his eyes had a strange fire. That day, there was
a strain of violin in the wind.They found him hanging,

One limp bay leaf in an autumn mist.

5 Haiku

1.

with eagerness
i open her letter-
a beggar calls nearby


2.

her sobs
dying out slowly
the rain


3.

bowing
to the trainer
highland susuki


4.

off and on
shines the hope--
fireflies


5.

supermoon...
her smile never looked
so big

hours fall ( Double Tanka)

hours fall
between me
and a butterfly--
how long will it take
for love to unfurl



when I started
counting minutes into hours
it was a chosen work...
now wax tears
have hardened 

Separated... (3 Tanka)

footfalls
in the corridor...
my dreams
open a door
to the past



peeling
a tangerine
by the window--
the emptiness grows
with each ripped segment



i built her a home
and a garden bedecked
with azaleas,
then i put a fence around
my separate life 

June haiku

1.

starry nights--
do you know how distant
we are




2.

at sea no more
the still eyes
of a marlin




3.

returning
to the nest...
the song she used to sing

Gloves

‘Doctor, I find nothing unusual
in a person roaming with his hands
hidden in gloves in this sticky month
of May; you should judge the outward
versus the inward feeling of passion,


One needs to nurture the warm within,
since the first time my path crossed with hers
My life had been a torture, dangling
in tenterhooks. Till the day I gathered
these gloves, these woolen ones - you like the color?


Last week an ant brigade terrorized
my woeful love- you can’t see them,
They don’t squirm on the surface, yet I
feel them piercing into me, and yes,
taking my gloves off are of no use,


I told you, they are stabbing into me,
All I want is some pesticide, you got it?
Its been a whole week of burn, and somehow
I’ve stopped short of ending my world
in some suicide forest, believe me,

...hey, what’s bitten you?

Losing my sleep

Its not the patter of rain
but murmurs throughout a journey.
Its not the warble of green frogs
but peevish sounds like wind scratching
dry leaves. Or the anguish of a tempest.

I’m no sailor to worry about storms
or whether the Great Bear is on its hunt
for a suitable winter refuge.

I’m ready to believe that we’re journeying
by bus, and it’s nighttime so we can forget
the petulant glances staring at our chuckles
and laughter.

Yet she’d surely disagree - it is rather
a waterfall narrating anecdotes
for so many eons…

feather breeze (3 haiku)

feather breeze
at the end of night
a bird call


obituary--
i owe him more
than i imagined


morning rain
merging with the ocean
my prayers


[ R.I.P, filmmaker Rituparno Ghosh ]

Ripple in the pond

Have you seen the moon
breaking up into ripples

my world broke
when you dropped a pebble
and said you'd be off
the day after

even now
i see moons disintegrating
into smaller ones
till the pain dies out
and mist rises

yet i no longer fear
for further dissolution
of my being

the 'plop' does not stir
my composure

i relish the fading away
of minor details
forms merging to formless

the moon hardly sounds
being split up to pieces

You (tanka)

following you
to that corner
of my mind--
is it the dream
that tells a lie?


your eyes
fail to notice me
consciously
… a humble bee flirts with
wobbly chrysanthemums


again the urge
to rekindle these embers...
with a soft smile
you stand arms akimbo,
in a vale of fire florets

Cinquain

someday
you will make out
the meaning of my smile:
now there's mist and clouds ruling
the dawn

Haiku in May

looking at you
without looking
... a bumble bee


blue dragonfly--
folding the sky
into its wings



reclining upon
dad's wooden armchair
wasn't there a bolster

Tanka

the rancor in your eyes
and in your boyfriend's--
how can I
get rid of the albatross
around my neck?



petals fall
in the soft glow
of paper lanterns
-sakura at night
or the dust of moon?

More haiku

our leisure talk...
a butterfly forming
within its pupa


a prayer-note
against a blizzard
butterfly wings

green Sunday--
when did last we count
the dragonflies

Haiku

a ruru calls...
how long will
the last leaf last



clouds pile up--
hoping against hope
for a glimpse



your soothing words...
sip by sip
the storm disappears



back home...
pots of chrysanthemums
waiting

3 Tanka

how does one
speak without words...
once again
the twinkle in your eyes
breaks our silence



making the pup
learn rock'n roll
Elvis
cries hoarse all through
Thanksgiving Day



the cat
roams around apples
on a table--
how long can we chat
about the weather?

Tanka

concealed
between the cracks
my anguish
will the blizzard spare 
our prayer note

Spring Haiku

leaves in March
eye contact with my
new neighbour


still i
hang on to your thoughts
a broken dream-catcher

pale faced day

colours of Holi sticking

to your palm lines

Tanka

morning arrives
wrapped as a gift
tied with the charm
of your laughter:
"Happy All Fools Day!"


so easy
to deceive me
after a few drinks--
i always end up
on my side of the mirror


awestruck
the roadside fortune-teller
looks at me--
signals change
at the near bend

Easter haiku

nailed Jesus
so much of mist
covers the blue

flimsy clouds

after you left
spring is amid clusters
of hollow words

when the sky becomes golden
with expectations
I look out for seeds of rain

a blue chested bird
resumes its babble to its mate

Yet I'm no fruit-fly
to buzz around vines

I rather like the quiet pigeon
picking up days in its feeder

after you left
spring is amid sunsets
with flimsy clouds

a stack of turtles

seemingly stationary
like a stack of turtles
the evening clouds remind me

of the sea
the night after a season's first storm
a neem tree that looked naked

yet all seems to be not lost
as the stack of turtles slide
to let in

a half-dead light
and we start to search
for leaves missing

one two three
like infants we love to count
our happiness

how much rain could make a puddle
and how many puddles must coalesce
to make a river

our river
our sea

the neem sways its head
does it want an answer

turtles in the sky chase a dying sun

Must we cross the bridge

there was the old nodding head
with an odd query in his eyes
what will happen to them

who are they

the sunrises and sunsets
that we're leaving behind

I'd love to think of myself

yes yes the cat thinks so
it will find a cosy corner for sure
but what will happen to others

Can't you abandon your all

no no its not about all
only my worries stuffed inside
a mahogany case

and the soil of my land

haiku

that spring
to this one ...
a map of cherry bloom



will she say 'yes'...
leaves half-eaten
by locust



dream catcher
moonlight spinning its web
around us




eavesdropping...
the secrets shared
by autumn leaves

Tanka

our doctor
explains the use
of pacemakers--
my heart stops
thinking about you

napthalene smell

no more
the sun-bird's song
can she put off
the choking smell
of napthalene

zebra pattern

how soft a light
forming zebra pattern
by my window...
how many years did i pass
holed up amid stones

Shiva's dance

Shiva's dance
the approaching storm
on a summer day

Haiku

goodbye kiss
unsteady moon
in my glass



she savours
his agony with a smile--
shellfish curry


sickle-moon ...
carving demons and gods
out of stones


why 
the raspy crow
perched on a Y

Loneliness - Double Tanka

for a better view
he moves through the throng
of devotees--
the beggar keeps on singing
to get noticed



fog descends
along the slope
of a tea garden...
just the lone song
of a bulbul

Two haiku and a tanka

a new year
the koala yawns
from sleep


Paternoster--
dawn breaking through
a cloud wall


by the river
an elderly tree
standing alone
i'm no longer aware
when you come and go

Haiku - Tribute to Tagore

“Jibono Moroner Simana Chharaye Bondhu Je amar…”
(Beyond the realm of mortality, you reside…)


1.

starlight
how could I see you
without the dark

2.

tuberoses
the scent of your poems
lingering      

--------------------------------

‘Aaji Joto Taara tabo akaashe…’
( The constellation that manifests itself within me…)


3.

opening up
my windows to your light
the prayer hall


----------------------------------

‘Aamar hiyar maajhe lukiye chhile…’
( You remained  unnoticed, unknown, deep-seated in me….)

4.

beside my garden
a wildflower blooms
late autumn

----------------------------------

‘Amare tumi osesh korechho, emoni leela tabo….”
( Incessantly, you have filled me with verve, with vigour…)

5.

waterfall…
how would I script all your words
in my lifetime

-----------------------------------

‘Amar sesh paraaner kodi songe nilem, gaan kantha nilem…”
( In my travels to the unknown, I bank on the melody within …)


6.

homebound bird…
a  sailor’s song  floating
into the night

---------------------------------

‘Fhagun haoway haoway …’
( I lost my heart to the spring breeze…)


7.

Flame of the Forest--
a breeze carries off
the grounded

---------------------------------

‘Badol Baul bajay re ektara…’
(The wandering monsoon keeps playing its harp…)


8.

aimless breeze
the nonstop patter
of a minstrel

Haiku in the Christmas week

1.
Christmas Tree
losing colours to the fog
my childhood days

2.

first bite
on the plum cake
her apple cheeks

3.

yellow sky
in Jesus’s eyes the halo
of candles

4.
bright star
why should I mind the absence
of moon