Job 's done? Please, move on!

Your job is done, you should move on to the next.
That's how life moves. It is a flow, you quench the thirst of others and move on to quench some more. Do we need to prepare ourself for the next journey?

We need to "row, row, row the boat;
gently down the stream."

We need to make the passage, make way for each passenger in our life, until there is no one left.

And "merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily
life is but a dream."

A dream some have lived, some discarded, some dare not dream
because "existence is but an illusion."

DIL SE !

It started as a journey toward an end, and to begin with thereafter. Staged on the backdrop of terrorism, center–state discrepancy, urban–rural inequality … a story knocks for permission. A narrative of love-hate! Oxymoron? Is it? No, we can only hate the people whom we love. Too strong words, isn’t it? One might find it tormenting, but when pain is a muse, when sacrifice determines living, how will you overlook it? I could not for years.

When we lend our ears to music there are two things we listen to: one, lyrics and the other, melody. They are meant to be together. One is word, subtle, sunken, silent; and the other is lively, jovial, carefree. Melody has his own triviality that attracts all, but word is seldom heard. I would describe Meghna as word … left out, misused, thrown out of character. Yet melody falls for the words, his words, dances, looks at her as a reflection of his soul. The words turn jealous of the vigor, stupefied by simplicity. She denied herself because of her ideal. Is it humanely possible – to bottle one’s feelings? Is it humanely possible to carry on with same intensity sans reciprocity? What is more trying?

Her tranquility turned his madness more acute. His mind moved back and forth, to accept and deny her existence within him. He moved relentlessly, after a noah’s arch. The more he was covering his part, the more alien he became to the people who knew him. She, on the other part, was deprived from the light of life. Caged, distrustful, detested with darkness – she misinterpreted the darkness as her light, until she finally felt the taste of light.

Her eyes couldn’t acknowledge the existence of light. Her misery, her failure, her abundance of nothing was revealed. So, to retain her existence she had to conceal, pretend, and act. He was more driven by her closure, he wanted to explore, re-explore … like a fanatic.

She was his deity, his devotion … a meaning for an erudite, who waited till this time. I do not have words to translate anymore, every time I return to this part, it gives me more. Baffled by its abundance, proficiency I come back to assure myself that the narrator lost his words, but he went on … “dil se!”

Am so sorry, Shy! I have let you down

As words come back to me, I smile and realise.

A friendship you call it? I call it shame.

Thanks, and thanks some more

as i take it as a pinch of salt

love you lot,

a friend no more or more and more

to remind me what i have done to myself :)

An ode to shore

The ship has sailed
for its shore
carrying gold and silver
and something more
the mast was high
kissing my sky
it sailed for years
with my king Lear
The ship saw people
on some shore
waking and sleeping from lore to lore
as buyers left and sellers came
to watch the beauty of this dame
the ship looked for its shore
and craved on for something more
days go by
and nights fall
wind pour in their bawl
summers went and fall came
to see the journey of this dame
Thousand stars weep on its deck
as the dame foresees a reck
pirates came, and pirates left
seeking shelter in the dame's deck
the dame went on
with resolve drawn
from sea to sea
to anchor free
in its shore
the distance increased
as the night freezed
the dame was old
forlone and cold
yet, the shore allured her eyes
to carry on, and walk the tries
The shore didn’t want the ship to come
Or to breathe a life, in its humdrum
The shore was young
The shore was fair
The dame knew this, but couldn’t bear
The dame dropped mast
Waiting the days to last
Last and live,
A journey brief
Not for shore, but for sea
To carry the journey
To set her soul free

All discourse or more (I)

From the vocabulary of Orientalism to Occidental culture, from the rapid growth of comprador bourgeoisie to imperial economy, from dichotomy to sustainable development, life has sowed the seeds of innumerable trade offs. Elections, campaigns, manifestoes, pamphlets, and glo-cal referendums topped with vested interests have perpetually survived in the political plate. Self-respect in the form of certain egoist discipline had been a feudal lord from time immemorial.

This phase of anarchy is powered by religious dementors, who seek strength in destruction. This imbecile hope of the fanatics has led them to form a clean slate, wherein they challenge to build an impeccable system. These one-track mind men overturn the present order. Well, geniuses confine themselves to a limited field! They do not explore a newer world – the redundant appeals them more.

History cannot be seen, measured, or logically deduced where it will flow. It leaves a mark on its path and we are here to follow the trace. They proclaim to usher enlightenment to the society, encouraging salvation, and ceasing destitution. In the process, they bring hatred, encourage loot, and riot – symbolizing failure.

Failure looms hard on them. They seek escaped in the veil of democracy, twisting and turning connotations to suit their own concern. A mature society imbibes these fallacies, but human race fails, knowledge fails, and justice is defeated. Egalitarian is not plethora, it cannot be imposed from without; it has to grow from within. The penalty of kalapani can be imposed on all – be the defenders or persecutors.

Dristikon

Amer bagan, nujjhum ratey

Megher dak ar hawar sathey

Diner alo, dighir parey

Hajar akhi, neshar bharey

Hariye-pherar sopno diye

Bechey thakey shartho niye

Shiter akash, diner sheshey

Amer oi baganey meshey

Nodir ek-ekta bakey

Kobi shriti lukhiye rakhey

Aka-baka rashta meley
Ekta mather kalnto dharey
Puimacha ar paner boroj
Bazaar monda, barchey khoroch
Tobuo achey,
Tobuo achey
Nathakatar diner majhey
Barir uthon, sondha prodeep
bachiye rakher chesta sojib

Tai rater katar, somaptitey
Ektu bachar ichey jagey
Ek shiter golpo shuney
Ar ek shiter shuchona boney

Pujo maney hariye phela
Ekakitey loker mela
Pujo maney onek pawa
Ektu shriti tuley newa
Pujor shajey matey matey
Kash fuleder hashi photey
pujor neel akasher hatey
meghdooteyra sphurti lotey

After a recession of four long years, I discarded my shell to come out, bask, shimmer, smile and see. Tried walking on the dividers, let go a part with the ebb and flow, lending ear to the resonance of life and helium balloons ... Life, where did I leave it? I am grateful to the last four years … they taught me, revealed faces, helped and most significantly have moved on. Thanks Ma, for making me to take this step forward. Luv ya, your daughter.

O Whisper !
hush! let the whisper settle deep
hush! make the whisper loud
hush! make it a careless whisper
hush! will the whisper be heard
hush! listen to realize
hush! a smile to acknowledge
hush! cuddle the whisper
its a life
a moment
now!

Memory
How should I define you? You are a wave that touches my feet when loneliness embraces me. You are my shadow following me closely, mocking, rebuking, and at last making me cry. My headphones, guitar strings betray me when you knock the door. I sit on my chair with air of stubbornness, not letting you in. You find your way. Make me fall on my knees. I beg you to stay away; nevertheless, my words deceive me. And I turn voiceless.

Your voice don’t drown even in daylight. No commotion, nothing can give me freedom. And when you fail to make a mark in my consciousness, you creep into my subconscious state. You come in my dreams, bringing waves of doldrums. You are an avalanche that comes down without forewarning. I am no innocent, but my price has been paid. You became an adamant wall, which keeps on growing inch by inch. Your appeasement policy with metaphysics, won you my defeat, my failure, and my silence.

Characters

I,
I am that calling echo
Reminding bone to bone
A consciousness—an inward one
To sleep, digest, live
For insomnia, indigestion, and death

You,
You are my reality
The vicious cycle called life
Unconscious hope
Pursuing the parity
Of existence

We,
The dying illusion
In the arms of staccato
Preparing for its decay

They,
The words those pass
From banter to banter
Bought and sold at a price

I,
Again retrieve the words
To make you the echo
For the we to trespass
The bone, the tissue of our death.

Lets be specific

The curtain of day prepares to come down
Tormenting life within
I wait, still wait
To see a pair of sleeping eyes

Stare outside, to look at nothing
Believe its going to be morning
Open hands out to hold rain
Sleep, deep sleep
Sleep on

The hands of clock moves fast
Moves slow
Flowing in its pace and row
Blood stained first string
A broken ankle

Sleep, deep sleep
Sleep on

Once a nymphet, once a crush
Or even a pre-lady Chatterley
Where did my soothsayer leave me?
A creased mind is punctuated by ellipses of hope

Sleep, deep sleep
Sleep on

A wish – stop beating
Stop reacting, be numb
My
heart
My knowledge killed me
This furor is prolonging

Sleep, deep sleep
Sleep on

Words, sentences, phrases
Emotions, no, not emotion
No tears
Now, I want them
I want to get this out

I try, try on, try again, try later
Where are my tears?
Sleep, deep sleep
Sleep on

I am trying, go
Leave me
I want to live
I want to live to die
No peace
No smokes

Only sleep, deep sleep
Sleep on

To my anxiety

Sopno niye sopno dekha,
Hariye phela tukro lekha
Phele dewa mukhgulokey
Alor akhi cheye dekhey

Dristi diye, dristi khuji
Sobdo niye, sobdo bujhi
Khomar jonno, bechey thaka
Ekta sopno bachiye rakha

Suji on leaving a city I hate, hate to stay, and hate to belong

And yet a departure
Of comfort and separation
To forego another hand
Another silence, another passé

New places,
New faces

And yet, you leave
For comfort and separation
I let go, I let free
I let another relation

New poems,
Novel dames

And yet, there will be August
For rains and summer
And we will miss July
For pains,
Our rains
And watch the hopes
Spread their wings in veins

O Shillong! Again

O Shillong again, I want to sleep in your arms, get drenched in your tepid tears. I want to leaf through the verses of your thought. I can see your pensive eyes in search of a life. A life, surpassing the smoky rings of thoughts. I watch you composing them and burying them in your dark grey clouds. Shillong is one of the briefest tales written with a misty desire. And you write, and you paint, and narrate and your lips go dry, still you narrate until sleep takes all your strength. Then you dream of Shillong, a meandering curve – you peep down and it’s green, it greener every day. You render your heart, and it takes you to solitude. And there you stand lonely, defying your existence, you walk spell bound down to the stream. The madness of the drizzle makes you wet. I stood there grateful at last to this bountiful earth.

You will grow cold, your heart at loss of words, and your finger numb and at last your face turned; turned not to look at me but for the distant blind and blabbering laughter. The shades of day passed from one boat to another to fetch the catch of the day. Who said the Queen’s England is a beauty? Shillong lived above the worth of time. This is where my passions clasped with a secret joy. Shillong will smile even beyond a golden afternoon. I want to sleep again in your arms, wear your perfume and dance in your tune. I want to live as a wandering cloud in your sky – Shillong.

SHILLONG
My relation with this place goes back to the days of my pa's childhood. He was born in hills, his adolescent pranks, love, emotions, and memories are hidden somewhere in these hills. In the light of Jadavpur, I remember, some friends took me to Shillong. Shillong in rains is amazing. I retire at times to "last poem", where Amit started a novel episode of his life, where his roads took him away rationally from Lavanya. Some of the best things in life are never complete - they have a mystery in them, they leave a juncture for us - so that the lesser mortals can choose their path.

Shillong and morning, the lazy morning opens its eyes with rains, soft winds, colorful umbrellas, steaming coffee, no work, an idle mind, and silent streams of water. You window curtains are ready to jive in the soft tender winds defying the mechanical power of their hinges. There you walk and talk to the unknown, to the unseen and realise the mysterious and uncapturable bliss. Your eyes look for the glen, the roads, the streams where the words of "last poem" stopped, breathed, nurtured, matured, sighed, and desired for more.

Tagore, how many times I have read these pages and how long I have been to this place I do not know.
Shillong to me is undecipherable. Its more like...
"Shundor, tumi chokhkhu bhoriya
eneycho oshrujol !
Eneycho tomar bokhkhey dhoriya
dushoho homanol
...
e tapey shashiya utey bikoshiya
bichedsotodol"

Shillong is the beginning and end of all poems, dreams, and songs.

Haves and Have knots

Have i ever stood in wild rain and felt your hands in mine?

yes , I have

Can i still want to sit in a dark room hiding ?

yes, i can

Are my words still look for their meaning in your color?

yes, they are

Will your words torment my life forever?

yes, they will

What i have ?

i dunno

When did i lose?

i dont desire to know

Where did it go?

i dont want to speak

Have i ever let your thought cross my mind ?

i believe not

Have knots been so frail that this departure was inevitable?

i dont think so

Still when i work late, i can feel you sitting somewhere narrating a poem in your own original manner.

You are a wild flower, I dont want to pluck, you have your own beauty untouched and undiscovered.

you mean this life to me ,

but you wanted little

Some words remind us what we meant, some words take us to places less visited. Let these words be mine more than yours. I had treasured them and never thought to publish them. Now that my blog is mine, I will have them here.
Sujatha-to-Shayani> notun guidelines
Sujatha-to-Shayani> ekhon berote parchi na
Shayani-to-Sujatha> bhalo
Shayani-to-Sujatha> toke astey hobe na
Shayani-to-Sujatha> tui ekta ekdom bhalo nosh
Shayani-to-Sujatha> suji wer are you ?
Sujatha-to-Shayani> are ami ekhanei
Sujatha-to-Shayani> lets shift to bombay
Sujatha-to-Shayani> :D
Shayani-to-Sujatha>neither did u reply yesterday,
Shayani-to-Sujatha> and nw u are laughin at my state
Sujatha-to-Shayani> what crap
Sujatha-to-Shayani> i am nt laughing at ur state
Sujatha-to-Shayani> i am trying to cheer u up
Shayani-to-Sujatha> aha , wat a amazin way to cheer up
Sujatha-to-Shayani> acha lunch brk e ekta gaan pathachi that shud cheer u up
Shayani-to-Sujatha> ok
Shayani-to-Sujatha> bt we wont be able to c each other
Sujatha-to-Shayani> hmmm
Sujatha-to-Shayani> v will if v shift to bombay
Sujatha-to-Shayani> wanna do that ?
Shayani-to-Sujatha> after lunch you shud cum out with me
Sujatha-to-Shayani> ok
Sujatha-to-Shayani> i will
Shayani-to-Sujatha> yes , i will
Shayani-to-Sujatha> pray for me
Shayani-to-Sujatha> love you
Sujatha-to-Shayani> keno?
Shayani-to-Sujatha> emni
Shayani-to-Sujatha> do u need a reason to love
Sujatha-to-Shayani> yes
Sujatha-to-Shayani> i am done with loving without reason
Sujatha-to-Shayani> my emotions need to be tempered with rationale now
Sujatha-to-Shayani> by
Shayani-to-Sujatha> reason is dry where you wont find the tender hands of tears
Sujatha-to-Shayani> plz stop
Sujatha-to-Shayani> this insanity
Sujatha-to-Shayani> loneliness knows no reason
Shayani-to-Sujatha> they will not take you to cotton clouds
Shayani-to-Sujatha> they will make you dream
Sujatha-to-Shayani> i do not seek dreams now
Shayani-to-Sujatha> a dream which you can even c with open eyes
Shayani-to-Sujatha> love knws no boundaries
Shayani-to-Sujatha> they have no expectation
Shayani-to-Sujatha> bt it is still there .
Sujatha-to-Shayani> no longer russet sunsets will make me shed my precious tears
Sujatha-to-Shayani> no longer will i pine for your love
Sujatha-to-Shayani> no longer will i long for a touch
Sujatha-to-Shayani> for the gentle incline of my head on your chest
Sujatha-to-Shayani> adn seek to smell the summer sweat
Sujatha-to-Shayani> the
Shayani-to-Sujatha> see the words still exist
Sujatha-to-Shayani> no more will i shelter your sleep
Shayani-to-Sujatha> wat are these words if they are nt love
Shayani-to-Sujatha> mother
Sujatha-to-Shayani> from the blinding rays of a morning sun
Shayani-to-Sujatha> hw can you stop loving without reason
Shayani-to-Sujatha> hw can you nt love more, coz you are wounded more
Shayani-to-Sujatha> bruised more
Shayani-to-Sujatha> forgotten more
Shayani-to-Sujatha> drowned more
Sujatha-to-Shayani> forget I will
Sujatha-to-Shayani> i must
Shayani-to-Sujatha> love is panacea
Sujatha-to-Shayani> and drown in this desert sand
Sujatha-to-Shayani> called reason
Shayani-to-Sujatha> even they have love
Sujatha-to-Shayani> i will survive the motions of a soulless life
Shayani-to-Sujatha> life is never soul less
Shayani-to-Sujatha> u might refute
Shayani-to-Sujatha> but it still resides
Shayani-to-Sujatha> breathes
Shayani-to-Sujatha> suffers
Shayani-to-Sujatha> cries
Sujatha-to-Shayani> do not silence my cries honey
Sujatha-to-Shayani> with well crafted words
Sujatha-to-Shayani> coz they soothe not
Sujatha-to-Shayani> my bleeding wounds
Sujatha-to-Shayani> my aching soul
Sujatha-to-Shayani> my longing heart
Shayani-to-Sujatha> let the flies of monsoon feed on your open wounds
Sujatha-to-Shayani> my lonely life
Shayani-to-Sujatha> even then there will be love
Sujatha-to-Shayani> no
Sujatha-to-Shayani> not that love anymore
Sujatha-to-Shayani> not love again
Shayani-to-Sujatha> yes , there is in your smile
Sujatha-to-Shayani> why must i see dreams
Shayani-to-Sujatha> your bright intense eyes
Sujatha-to-Shayani> of that crimson morrow
Sujatha-to-Shayani> that will never come
Sujatha-to-Shayani> of a honey soaked word
Shayani-to-Sujatha> y do you expect things to come
Sujatha-to-Shayani> that i will never hear
Sujatha-to-Shayani> coz love for me
Sujatha-to-Shayani> is not only to love
Sujatha-to-Shayani> but to be loved back
Shayani-to-Sujatha> ok
Shayani-to-Sujatha> love for me is to lose
Shayani-to-Sujatha> to become
Shayani-to-Sujatha> nt expecting to b loved
Sujatha-to-Shayani> i do not expect to be loved back
Sujatha-to-Shayani> but i dream
Sujatha-to-Shayani> and my gauzy dreams
Sujatha-to-Shayani> like silken sunsets
Sujatha-to-Shayani> tear easy
Sujatha-to-Shayani> and i will love not
Sujatha-to-Shayani> again
Sujatha-to-Shayani> and yet again
Shayani-to-Sujatha> so you will love to not love again?
Shayani-to-Sujatha> isnt it
Shayani-to-Sujatha> suji
Shayani-to-Sujatha> the words r urs
Shayani-to-Sujatha> ididnt say nythin
Shayani-to-Sujatha> love you so much
Shayani-to-Sujatha> sujatha
Sujatha-to-Shayani> bol re
Shayani-to-Sujatha> na , just wanted to call you

last year the words were there, and today...

necessary betrayal

at midnight
drenched in light
a thought sits ajar
sawa pollca
indulging a murmur
a crippled body
howl, yell, cry, shout
yet no sound out
do i belong to you?
being real
being true

seized in obligation
an age went off
it was a dire need
they said,
to become a thing
to try a name
to drown in loathe
to swear an oath
ton'ght, i ask
to perfect a task
do i belong to you?
being real?
being true?

reaped a life
within your tribe
i pity!
as my eyes tonight
lost their sight
your face blurs
as
the truth incurs

envelop'd by
the sheets of past
down
where my temptation last
as one feet
follow'd another
o my child's father
lets undo
lets unmeet
you say
i'll stay
say, i'm yours
then why?
memory lures

(written on the 16th day of feb, 2006)

CREMATION!

to drink your words

then I shall stab you

to make you bleed

- for a lifetime

to hold your beating heart,

in my palm

to feed on your carcass

before you die

then and then, to wish for you

A LIFE!

- crippled in spirit

I shall bury you

in the catacomb of my thoughts

like a bare soul

you will lie there,

nourish your sorrows

in the rains

-of fall

no sun will walk to you

you will die

in the darkness of my heart

written on the 18th day of July, 2006

Some tattered letters, some tattered dreams
(I owe this text to Goethe and his “Gretchen at the Spinning Wheel”, your guitar, and the music filling the empty space of my room, while I was busy scribbling.)
“My poor head is turned; my poor mind is in pieces,
My peace is gone, my heart is heavy, I shall never find peace again, never any more
Where I look out of the window, I am looking out for you
When I leave the house, I am going to you”

Nourishing life, for a moment and then longing forever. Leave, let go, fly and never come back. I call it – Periyar. A sleepless Periyar listening to the silences of night, a pair of eyes wide opened to feed an experience. Periyar is a moon that lingers even in brightest daylight. The stillness of the night was interrupted by the monotonous sound of rain drops; one tempting the other to fall, to mingle in the jingle of the night. The fragrance of wild spring flowers, the innocence of purring words, the mystery of tree house and the mellifluous poetry of clouds enchanted the terrain of my thoughts. The divine hands conspired against my sanity. For once I wanted to sip the potion of “amor vivo”.

The raindrops ploughed a distant dream, some stolen memories, few conceits, and a world of verses. The blades of grass were merrily lost in the identity of bookmarks. Rubiyat must have filled his cup in one of these nights and lost in - the meandering Periyar. Suddenly, a streak of lightening ruptured the reverie of my ancient sulkings. In the midst of this rainy lullaby I saw the tree dancing in tune with the silent flakes of memories, while some of them were swimming in the creased water of Periyar. Drain them, drain them far, and free them from freedom. Open your hands let loose the fireflies, let them find their destiny – and find their Periyar.

Let this night be forever young, never dying in the mirror of dawn. Let the water of Periyar write this briefest-life with the perfume of ferns of an untravelled road. Some of the beauties are better concealed from the eyes of day. People call you Shangri-la, I believe you are – Periyar, a chalice - nurturing the fables of night.

Nile

That you regret death,
In your Sun and shade-
You love and embalm,
To heal my calm,

Nile, there you stand-
Holding life in my hand,

That you have devised storm,
In your every form-
You love the purring breeze;
To caress my endearing knees,

Nile, you divide us now-
To flow deep and wide in my brow,

That you brought this plenty wave.
In this pantheon cave,
You love the snowy bloom-
To create my poetry in thy loom,

Nile, you dream under this nurturing sky.
To speak with a glimpse of thy eye,

That you reap on flying clouds,
In your divine rout-
You love an autumn’s lonely fold,
To narrate tales never told-

Nile, you negate the echoing-mountain ground,
Lest we breathe hope, while we drowned,

That you hope to embrace-
Entwining faith to faith;
You love to wait,
To open my temple-gate,

Nile, you reside in my tepid tears.
Of a loving smile, in early years-

And now you move,
In my secret groove,
Lending ear to my wild and meandering cries,
To kill thy wisdom, and make me wise

Bye Jenny... from Calcutta

I remember that huge blue bag you used to carry, the songs we shared when others were busy cracking jokes, the childish pranks with colleagues, everything. But people move on, they leave you empty, and again you need to gather yourself. We are all here to tell a story, and now I know whether you are around or not I have to narrate.

Jenny on love

How will you live without a closure? A closure is important. You will do the same thing that your mother has done.

Jenny on food

Hey, I love grilled fish … Peter Cat. Let’s go wild today. Let’s have a chilled beer and ended up sipping strawberry blossom.

Jenny on leaving Calcutta

You plan to stay to here forever or what? Is it the city or parents? How will I tell you it’s more than just city or kinship?

Jenny on “get over it”

Yes, you are absolutely correct - I have. I have killed the beast that tempts me, I have got over it.

With loads of love,
Yours Shy

And this is life!

The seed of life was hidden,
Snow-ridden-
Secured in the arms of winter,
From thunder-
The curtains of night are so known;
So high-flown,
And this is life-
Bribing me each time

I lent mine to build yours,
This canvass stands yet,
Breathing a fate-
Watching where my life lay,
Parting silently from the play,
And this is life -
I imbibe.

I pour some more,
Till came down frost,
A flow-
Where I am lost,
And I blindly run,
To meet my dying sun,
And this is life-
Of my own tribe

No measured language will sleep.
Neither the guilt will creep.
This morning shower-
Altering every living hour-
To make way for a transient bower,
For this is life.
I will thrive…

From interpreter to the unaccustomed earth

The journey from attachment to the vine of desire was painstaking. In the unaccustomed earth, she traverses from commitment to betrayal. For the habit of having a companion we betray the past; for adventure we betray sanity; and for love we betray friendship. Above all these small closures of life, how death betrays living. However, taking cue from Khureishi’s "intimacy" some of the betrayal becomes necessary – to grow, to move on, and to learn.

Hema did not share a living with Kaushik, but he grew old in her, he suffered in her and died with her. The natural calamity was hand cuffed by a bond without burden. The only reason that tied them together was his mother who again was betrayed. The emptiness that made him reach to the shores of Hema, where they met their memoirs of togetherness.

From this narrative to the struggle a father made to open up to his daughter, but could not. This is also betrayal in its subtle form.

To my best mood!

neeler akash neeler sathey,

neeler chondo kobitatey

neel nder sphurti dekhey,

neel dekho hashtey sekhey

neeler bakko neeler kata,

ondhokarey medher chata

neeler moton taragulo o,

hawar taley hele berai
neel ke tai kokhono ki,

boddho ghorey lukono jai?

neeler chotto rupkothara,

haphiye othey helai phelai
neel to motto apon bhola ,

neeler dorja moshto khola

neeler mithey meghdutera,

shraboney deiy haathti chani
mathey mathey neeler abhash,

keno korish neel porihash?

neeler adhar neeler ontto,

neel je aaj boroi klanto

neeler bristi, neeler kada,

neeler hashir phuto chada

diner sheshey neeler deshey,

ghumer mashi asbey bheyshey

sopno niye neel chokheytey,

chaibey titash hariye jete

An Enclosure

Amende

Between the questions and answers resides this perplexity now. I tried it so many times, to write, to write letters. But the pen was more tempted to undo them. The heart felt words that purr even when I resolve to fail myself. I tried to be carefully careless. Yes, I have failed myself and moved on. Did I really move on? Do I really want to move on?

I laughed and smiled on triviality. I did not listen to the words spoken to me. Was I scared? I have no answers. Probably, the answers are so loud now that they leave me dead-frozen. This could not complete the crossword of this feeling. I do not know which words to pick, and from which lexicon.

I write and I cannot decipher the purport. My desolations are lost in the forest of reason. The bell of “image” rang so loudly that the sugar-coated utterances were misplaced. They were lost in translation, I have failed them, I have scorned them, I have defeated them … slaughtered, murdered, and buried. How ruthlessly I have washed my hands clean!

Are my hands really clean? They have stains of blood. Yes, I am guilty. Are there any courtrooms to convict me? I have no alibi. I am guilty of murder. I yell and there is no one to hear. I am preordained to live among the deaf. There are no words. I am jinxed! I am the Pandora’s Box, not to be opened…

Nothing can deliver my crippled soul…but the acceptance. Yes, I have accepted but only to ruin this soul.

As it goes without saying …“sorry seems to be the hardest word”.

To my favorite poet!

For every dine of ecstasy,
We’ll make the torture pay.
For every loving hour -
Indiscernible suffering of aeon,
Sharp distances -
And an undying fear.

And if ... revisited

And again if there is winter,
In my soul living far.
Where I reside in fallacy-
Denying your warm lea.
Promise me, to move on
With every dawn!

And if ...

And if I die,
With my lie.
Please bury me -
Beneath your wooden tree.
A place less frequented -
With an epitaph hardly read .

Hope

listen the noiselessness
to feel without
sleep to be awake
laugh with anxiety
freedom to be caged
heartbroken when you love
seek peace in restlessness
believe in a lie
deny the truth
silent when you talk the most
hide to reveal
conceal to flaunt
desire to forsake
love to part
live to die
face to escape
dream the rationale
reason the ideal
forget to remember forever
preserve to destroy
and undo the done
seek the unattainable

Mnemonics of night...

Ratri niye sobar chinta
Keu ki janey ratri kemon?
Ratri amar chotto nouka
Bristi bheja kotha
Nischinto ekta mon karap

Ratri amar dishey hara
Kothai bhabey debey pari
Sob je sekha, sob je jana
Tai ratri alokborsho
Amar ronger chabikati

Phirey aye ratri, tui
Chol palai nirudeshey!

Speaking to the mahogany of night

As the night traveled following the idle footsteps, I crawled out from a piggy bank secured for years, now. The monotony of the bubble was pricked long back. I will run, run away! It was only quarter to three in the morning, when I tiptoed downstairs. Some of the reasons are better not sought in life. Sans glasses, sans slippers … bare feet. The keys were cold, however, when I look back, it did not bring me back to my senses.

The door flung open, I walked out to be a part of the snow of this night. These days nothing scares me. While walking some of the stray dogs barked, some wagged and some didn’t care. It seems to me now that the senses were benumbed by words, life or living. My senses trespassed the set principles of this meandering and utterly claustrophobic soreness. I chose it, so I dare not complain. I saw myself coming back; the door was gaped inviting the unknown to my sleeping parents, who were not aware of this insanity!

Am I going mad? I locked the door from outside, still bare feet, I put off the street light, sat down on the grass ignoring innumerable mosquito bites, I sat down till the stars left for their tavern - drinking Kayyam. Even today I ask, why did I come back? My mind was like a blank slate. Nothing crossed the blanket of my mind, as it was doped till death. As I traversed back, breaking the uniformity of my bed, I slipped to the life that is pre-ordained. I kept on chanting Ithaca to punctuate my mind with strength! If this is life, this is inferno for me … bringing the curtain up and realizing a child’s chastity.

Words matter

Sabik, “You cannot tolerate immaturity, there will be a cold wall and then you will repent”.

Suji, “Do not fool yourself”.

A friend, “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

Me, “Can anyone think of me ?”

Sabik, “I am concerned”.

A friend, “What about the people who loves you?”

Me, “Isn’t it a sacrifice once again?”

Suji, “love you hun, take care”

Me, “What else is there to be taken care of, dear?”

Prayer II

You are my apostle

Breeding April in me

where the lilacs feed on happniness

to turn the wasteland of time

into

a composition of holy chime

I offer my submission

to our creation

Brought to life by the summer sun

My apostle still stands

On the altar of my life

Defining pious homage

in ecclesiastical notes

my labour for the

spiritual chalice of devotion

my messiah with his bowl

taught me

the eloquent language -- of love.

Sun Day or Sunday!

To begin this piece I will steal the thoughts of one of my favorite poets, Tennyson.

“And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shallot”

My words are casually flying-by- night these days. In the dire turmoil of dilemma I went to the island where I found a Shallot inside me. Little Shallot! Brittle Shallot! The island is about couple of hours from Calcutta. This lea is not yet blessed by Addison’s invention. The sun was lazy, not rushing to swipe the attendance card in one of the glossy IT sector hearths. Even my day didn’t start with the maddening scientific terminology!

It was our Sunday. The banter revolved round sarcasm, criss-crossing words like innumerable snowflakes settling in the arms of time, to be trodden again, and with fagging from Wills classic to Goldflake. Some of the ashes decayed our darkness. Added to these was the great Indian loo to mention, without a lock, which makes you vulnerable and highly-dependent.

We reached in “jupkhali” near sandeshkhali in 24 south parganas. It was one of the most serene locales near Calcutta. The sweet smell of soil made us dizzy much before we prepared to booze. The tadpoles in the lazy green water of pond will bring an unconscious smile on your face. The innocent faces once we reached, reminded me the pages of Hungry Tide, especially Kanai, so similar!

The monotony of life without chicken dragging all of us mad came to an end when the aroma of tossed garlic trespassed our sanity. Thanks chinki for the treat! We followed our guide, who was well versed. The trivial photo sessions, and the warm sun nothing simply stopped us. We came back like a shepherd boy. Tired and hungry, our gluttony heightened to consume almost everything that was offered to us.

The boozing didn’t stop us from savoring the delight of climbing a tree. Each one of us in our own way - some got stuck and what a pictorial view it was! Thanks Golu for the entertainment!The most popular noon day siesta could not tempt us even with the cool breeze of her magic wand. Some of the old ladies looked at us, when we puffed our heaven in between two fingers. We laughed to say, “Let the soul rest in peace.”

While returning we desperately planned for the next trip. We were preparing to slam the door at the face of our cunning reality. As the sun went down, the souls returned back to the memories that haunt them day-in and day-out. The waves of time brought back all the forgotten faces, screaming to tear apart our momentary happiness and my face came back when I tried to rest back home, preparing for the week ahead!

Pshulinga tomar jonno!

Amar adhar boroi chena
Pothey hoy na deri
Prokash ar Alokbindu
Onekkal giyachey chari

Dear Sabik,

The night was long for me, but you slept. The words still echo in my ears. You talk a lot now! I looked at you with astonishment. A would-be -mother, sabik, I poured my glass of manna. My words fail me when I talk about you. I treasure them, not to part with a single one.

love , Shayani.

Take care, with love...

It is quite easy to be a dreamer, than to live up to the dreams, and then continuously follow them like a pathfinder follicle. Is it a tight ropewalk, to live like the way we want to live? To breathe like the way we want to breathe? To love someone we want to love? Thereby, denying all social ethics and mores. Why do we need to think so much before we actually fall for (the right age, the right person, the so called right bachelor) etc… frame as love is a rational decision!! Why can’t a person simply be in love without thinking of the consequences? Just be in it and yet live rationally without any expectation.

What is there to give and take in love? Why do people commercialize an ecstasy? Why do they always need something in return, as if attending a b’ day party with a return gift. If you like it, you treasure it or else throw it the next morning in the trash box. If thought with a little more prudence, then we’ll be able to shed some of the rational fallacies on the shoulder of love, because love brings in the alluvial coats of expectations with it. Yet, there are people who claim of sacrificing love on the altar of happiness of their partner. Ha! Why don’t people love the smile of his face or the twinkle of his eyes? Why can’t anyone live for that? Treasure it for a lifetime as if you live for a glimpse of those moments. By closing eyes you can feel the person right next to you, touch the fingers, and sleep like a bird in arms.

Precious as a child sheltered in your heart of hearts, yet there is no one to steal them away. But suddenly we are tempted; to acquire more- a selfish, egoist longing to possess a kiss or a night, where a blanket will hold the smell of his skin forever for me. Why can’t we suffice our selves by something small like just a concern? Is it too hard to satiate our heart which hovers on for something more. What is the yardstick of that saturation? Do we believe in that? Which part of our physical self will provide us that answer? A heart, a soul, or the somewhat reasonable mind? Being a rebel, life for me is a kangaroo court, defying every bit of it is not easy. It has always been an uphill climb. Yet the cup of coffee should be rushed through the throat, you like it or not, is simply a different story.

Another tedious word is acceptance. It is the primordial ingredient of etymological liaison. Screamed again by the society or viewed through its skeptical glasses. It cannot consider the philosophy of “let it be” or “wait”. The extreme technicality of the contemporary tide has sucked away all our patience. If you don’t accept it you are a pariah. All Ulysses s have been tagged as escapists, Selkirk’s are welcomed here with open arms. The more you bask in the din and bustle, the more known you turn out to be. Every bit should be rehearsed and, thereby, reconsidered and reframed. Love and acceptance are two sides of the same coin.

One should grant the other space to portray a new vision. The two concepts could never be caged in a watertight compartment. With the growth of a liaison the meshing of the two becomes infallible. It keeps on forming mingle without giving the other a scope to form a distinct individuality. But to the why there cannot be an answer. If we really love someone, then why the ugly question of acceptance raises its head. Loving someone means loving everything about the person. The moment you start accepting, the rational seeds gets the shower of tagore’s “mene neoa (that you accept with reason) and mone neoya” (that you accept from heart). In case of love, mone neoya stages the main character; all other things take a back seat. But the moment duty calls upon; the innocence of the pristine bond evaporates delving in, a sense of insecurity and possession. To prove our love pure, we should let it go. Provide it all the freedom to mature, thereby also putting it in the test of time. Happiness could never be achieved by realizing, but in letting it. Even Donne was cautious of his love, so he took a break to come back to it again and again with more compassion and originality.

To give it a new name each time and add to it a vision of timelessness. I can live with only a small part of you forever, never intruding past through the whole of you. I dare proclaim, yes, I am happy as I can sense you always there around me, even if you are not visually present. Some fools think that when your love is physically around you, it ensures that he is psychologically there too. But, hey! All darlings, have you really shut your eyes wide open? Or else you have decided to reside mirthfully in the jungle of illusion. We make a divine drink of laxity, and offer it to all sensible beings around you. You desperately try to turn them tipsy. And still you are not happy. If they by any way refute you, then you resolve, to move firdaus with all your strength to portray the way you want it to look like. And still you are not happy!!!!!!!!! Why? Have you ever dared to ask yourself? What we are all scared of? Are we alarmed of the inner being or the outer being?

What’s there to lose when nothing is ours? That is all but love. It is the beholder of all trouble, and a dreamer who dreams even when awake. Sleep walking in the mind of mere morsels. It continuously repudiates reality to be free. Suffocates it in the dreams, yet, foresees nothing. So what needs to be taken care of? …The reality, the life within us, the insecurity that grows, or the pain of distancing our selves from the love. Often we think of denying love from our life; a vagueness that provides morality no scope to take a step forward. But again from somewhere we are love struck.

At the phase of fetus, we ignore it. If it ever agrees to overcast our life then, we try to manage some time to ponder on the fact whether it is authentic or just a delusion. Lastly when we think that, it might give a scope to an impossible relation we chuck it off. What makes us so timid? Is it the “us” or the “me”? Why a nameless relation is allowed to feel the heat of the sun? Why an epitaph has to be written even before it starts breathing? What is wrong in loving someone without hope?

I do not believe in wrapping a relation in a glassy sheet of paper keyed placidly in a box to be opened when, the hairs will be grey and fingers will tremble .Even if we tactfully perform that act our heart will not stop beating . It will cry out loud to say, “let me out”. And then things should be again taken care with love! What a mordant being we all are. Self denial is nothing divine. It is an unjustified coercion. So, the best thing for every being is to take care, with love...

Traversing relationships

The moonlight caressed the memoirs, when the train knew its abode. There were thoughts sheltered on one another. The lucid veil of feelings could not give me the warmth I sought. The sharp wind was scorning the unconscious whispers of my decision. I stood at the center of a world’s desire. It’s really cold in the suburbs. My mind lingered for your native lea.

To bid adieu,
That I can never do!

O winter! Stay, to freeze the time clock for me. Let me traverse my relationships. Not to fail this burgeoning life. The crickets of dusk must speak of reality. I stood twice to hear the humdrum of those noise-lings. It was well over ten at night, when the stray dogs were not fastened by the pangs of obligation to protect. I walked, passing by a fallen leaf to traverse relationships.

Why?

It rained from morning,
It poured like words,
Pitter- patting on your window.
To tell a tale,
When you are lost in thoughts,
In work and in harmony;

Twice lost from sight-
Here I found you again.
Memorizing the hands of time,
I have lied for so long now,
That “the true” scares me
When did the truth seeped in me?
I don’t know,

I am waiting for time
To mend the wall for me
To feed the “something” that never liked,
Our walls.

Today and Everyday

Everyday I open my eyes and feel a burden. The burdens of realization that make me guilty even today, and everyday. How unconsciously I have feed them? Now I feel I have intruded, clasped a sigh and groped for words, words, and words.

Constellation

From the Holy Mountains,
The sermons of life rained.
Creating consciousness,
Gifting us the power to confess,

Living was the pale horse,
Born as death,
Men are mere morsels.
Pre-ordained to reach for -
their constellation.

Mortal spirits flew away,
Drinking cider from,
An author’s Holy Grail,
Tainted on their return,

By the powerful persuaders;
Mere souls of decadent consumption,
Relish your illusion,
Now you are at pariah -
from the ethereal.