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.
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
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