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The journey of a poet

Image credit: Google images I understand who I am through the records of my life I land in sound, silence some hear...

Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Losing sketch of days and nights


Days lose in days,
nights, in nights
travelling all around
for ages
silent and sound.

I can see them moving
Yet, more voiceless
than my feeling heartbeats.

All of a sudden, out of nowhere,
with my mind
I’m standing beside seashore.
Its vastness on one hand,
my being, like a speck of dust,
on the other.
The sky is there, as it were.

Occasional clouds and waves roar
liquid fragrance and the sound
beckons me,
peeking stars from above, blink;
it is this mind again
which links me with my college days,
just when my grandchildren recount theirs;
quick, slow, sudden, on, off
all at the same time.

Album of dead nights and days shine
in the starry sky,
jewels in the crown
live in the veins and in the spine
as guests, friends, healers.
a hug or a shake, with an are-you-there,
a cold bubble striving upwards falls
like a shooting star,
the touch or the tone pelts a rubber stone
its perfume I liked and stored in the  
cupboard, with my scrap book,
the hollow gleaming object drops,
bursts, disturbs, shivers
robs moments inside the liquid ball, ready to fly
the concern here, becomes the killer.

I can do nothing but eat
the sound of memories, stuffed with silence
as though I am relishing a burger
I would at one favorite joint
as a gallivanting teenager.
This is also painted there
I distinctly remember
but here
my eyes don’t see the folded skin
they smell the leftover times.
Being alive in the other being.
In the middle of this momentary encounter
lounge, where I sit becomes the boat
dwindling in the sea
risk of sinking is exciting
emptiness, also fulfilling.

I have no reason
to be one with the overcast blue
but I do,
I become my own shelter
witness nights and days,
raining beneath my umbrella
whose losing I sense
standing ashore.
In the quicksand of clouds,
I get drowned in the shore-less sky
but I also become it
slowly, more and more.
Since I didn’t have different blue pastels
there, nice and bright
I left the sky white
else my drawing teacher would get
confused I know and frown
could even look at the book upside down.

Azure openness above, beneath
flaunting waters
my tears merge in the company
no different colors
how’d I explain this to the teacher
I wonder,
even if I painted the waters white
would anyone sense the act
with colors in the palate so feather light
can I reveal or conceal fiction from fact;
but sadness disappears instantly
it has no place, as far as moist eyes could see
trembling, dancing, laughing, colorless waters.

Suddenly I see a coffin
full of breathing nights and days,
I refuse to recognize this time and space.
A huge tongue pops out from there
I would draw to scare
my bro, my sis and my granny dear
it licks and then slaps me
affectionately
reminding me of my karma, draws me in.
I am inside.
In a minute, it stands as a lifeboat
and kept afloat
my heartbeat bells
I wish I had leverage
to nothing I could hold
I start to sail, there’s no shore
layers of sameness
folding and losing, manifold.

I am in the middle,
little yellow sands fade away
lighthouses show up
nights pouring in days
days, in nights
running into pages
losing, wandering around
I float, I float, I float
silent and sound.

Monday, April 24, 2017

Union



Union is at ease.
Inclusiveness is in the air
Here, all is one with the Supreme Being
Without judgement
Light showers
Tension ceases.
You wander on the ground, looking up
You feel light, ready to take off.
Anger leaves the premises
Smilingly, willingly
With other unnatural beliefs.
Surface from deep within,
Happiness, peace, power
Love, purity
Knowingness, bliss
Original beliefs emerge.
In a moment of consciousness
You experience fullness and begin to express in wonder
Nothing is lost
All is won here with the Supreme Being
Union is at ease.


Note: This is in reversible style. However, it has one dependency; while reading from top to bottom, ‘nothing is lost’ needs to be read as 'Nothing’s lost, while moving upward, as 'Nothing, is lost. Thank you.

Friday, April 21, 2017

ঠিক আগের মত



ঘন নীল রাতের আকাশ
তাতে স্পষ্ট ফুটফুটে রূপালি চাঁদ
সোনালি সূর্যের আলো
ঠিকরে পরছে জলে
চারিদিক ঝলমল করছে
এসব ডেস্কটপে দেখে অদ্ভুত লাগে
বাইরের জগতটা ধূসর মলীন য়ে গেছে
নীচে ধূলো, বালি, গর্ত
ওপরে তাকাও তার আর আকাশ বন্ধ করা অট্টালিকা
আমরা এসব সহ্য, অগ্রাহ্য করতে শিখেছি যুগযুগ রে
ঠিক খাবার দোকানের সামনে
ফ্যালফ্যাল রে তাকিয়ে থাকা
খুদে চোখ আর হাতগুলির মত
তাই বোধহয় আমরা কেউ কেউ ডেস্কটপে
দিনরাত মুখ গুঁজে সে থাকি
সেখানে এখনও রাখাল দেখা যায়
গরুরা সব বড় বড় সবুজ ঘাস খাচ্ছে
দূষনহীন জল, বাতাসের আভাস
আমাদের সুন্দর মনের দরজায়
টোকা মেরে বলে সুমধুর
Cher ami, je suis là depuis toujours
O my perennial painter poet
I flow, I am not still, yet
In one undisturbed corner of your heart
I still dance, mon ami
আমি আছি, আজও আছি আমি

ঠিক আগের মত     

Sunday, April 16, 2017

লেখক



নতুনের মাঝে আমি এক অতি পূরাতন লেখক
সারাদিন পাতার সাথেই করি বকবক
বিড়ি সিগারেট ছাইপাস খাই
রি খকখক
যেদিকেই তাকাই
চারিপাসে শুধু বই খাতার ঝাউবন
আমার বাড়িতে না বাজে কলিং বেল
না মোবইলের টুংটাং রিংটোন
সকাল বিকেল
সমূদ্রে, পাহাড়ে ড়ে থাকে মন
নিজের খুশীতে লিখি
মাঝে মাঝে বুঝি, দেখি
চোখ করে ছলছল বা চকচক

কখন কুকুর, বেড়াল, কাক, শালিক, চড়ুই পাখী
এদের মুড়ি তরকারি দিয়ে ডাকি
আমি পড়ি
তবু এরাই আমার পাঠক
ঘাড়, গলা, লেজ নাড়িয়ে ওরা শোনে
একসাথে সে, একমনে
খোলা জালনা, উঠোন, দরজা দিয়ে করে আসা যাওয়া
সূ্র্য্য, চন্দ্র, তারা, অফুরন্ত হাওয়া
এখনের সাথে আমি, এক অতিতের লেখক



বর্তমান



বর্তমান সত্যস্থান
আছে চলাচল আছে প্রাণ
ভূত ভবিষ্যৎ
মিথ্যা, অষাড়, ভীত, অসৎ

যা দিয়ে জীবন কথা বলে
স্রোতের মত সহজে বয়ে চলে
আছে তা এখনেরি কবলে
বাকি সব শবের মত ঢাকা
অবিকল লেও অচল য়ে থাকা
কলরব হয় নীরব কঠিন আর ফাঁকা

চরাচর থাকে মলীন, ধূসর
যদি না তার সতসহস্র শিরার ভিতর
চলে রক্ত, মুক্ত, নির্ভীক বলীয়ান

রিনরিন, ঝনঝন, ক্ষনে ক্ষন বর্তমান

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

Being with the moon











My mind is brimming with moon tonight
A moaning I sense, without reason
Its light, like a soft cotton pin
Enters, surrounds me
A faint tune
With many brown leaves, falls
I am placed, flat on the muddy welcoming seat
The mourning plays, without meaning
A mesmerizing rhythm echoes in my beating heart,
I wonder if she’s with me
Meandering around, in delight
Perhaps this, I felt before, my body is lying I cannot lift
From this flowing silver grass
I cannot shift
If it’s boon or curse
Who knows, who cares
Who wants to keep a track
The moon smiles at me, I smile back


Friday, April 7, 2017

Tailor writerr


I write poems,
I can do nothing else.

I cut, add and thread those lying linen lines
so it looks all smart, sometimes divine.
Flat on the ground,
or anywhere around, I try
to measure the meters,
It irks me when I err;
For then, I’d need to do it again;
At times, I feel helpless,
For ideas and style
I look at the meadows and the sky.

Like a tailor, I stitch clothes of words
I write stories of my universe.
My needle is sharp, but also soft
I write tales of how we can gain
from what we have lost.

The gowns and the shirts
have magic wings and legs,
with them on, in pants and skirts
yes you can flirt,
not a bit of bother
even beyond the border
if you fasten your belts!
But they’re always made to order,
never readymade.

My texts hem from your mind
Loose or tight, they’re designed
To rock, you could walk or fly with thrills
To the oceans and the hills
At ease, without edgy peeping pins
Or those proudly peeking,
phony pocket pens.


However if I err
A little here and there
I do it free of cost
without feeling lost,
all over again
not a bit of grr...
for I write poems,
I can do nothing else.

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