ওহে বনলতা

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ওহে বনলতা

তোমাকে স্বাগত জানায় দেখ

তোমারি কলকাতা

ছোট্ট শিশুটি ফুটফুটে শ্বাস

নিয়েছিল যে মাটির বুকে

রূদ্ধ করা সংসারের গ্রাস

চাপা ছিল এতদিন অন্ধকারে, 

নিদারুণ দুঃখে

তোমার শহর থেকে কাল হরণ করেছিল তোমায়

তার ক্ষুদ্র হিংসুটে প্রয়োজনে

আজ তোমারি জন্যে

সেই মহাকাল, হার মেনে
ফিরিয়ে দিচ্ছে দেখ, 

তোমারি আদরের আলয়ে

সমুদ্রের ঢেউয়ের মত পূর্ণ সচেতনে

তোমার অতি পরিচিত মহানগরের আলোয়

প্রাণ খোলা আকাশে, বাতাসে বিশ্বাস নিয়ে

তাই উন্মুক্ত কর নতুন সবুজ পাতা
লেখ এবার তোমার নবজন্মের কবিতা
ওহে মহিয়সী, ওহে বিদূষী, ওহে মেয়ে

ওহে কালজয়ী নাটরের আহ্লাদি বনলতা

তোমাকে স্বাগত জানায় দেখ

তোমারি সতেজ, প্রাণবন্ত কলকাতা

অনেক বছর পর, একটি আদূরে, আহ্লাদি মেয়ে তার বহু পূরাতন শহরে ফিরছে। তার এই ফেরার আনন্দে কবিতাটি লেখা হ’ল।

No it is not strange

Strange.

People who talk of kindness

only talk

get accolades for placing the words

like jewels, ornaments

but kindness smirks at them for sure

gift them with ego
remaining beyond the reach
from users of words so kind and rich.

On the other hand

there are these Janes and Johns

slogging and sweating it out, off and on

for days and nights, like dalits*

without any act of kindness 
from people who talk about it.

Strange.

There are these people 
who never talk of unkindness.

Note: 

dalits* (in the traditional Indian caste system), dalits are members of the lowest Indian caste. They are even lower than the shudras, considered as untouchables. For a long time, in India, toilets were manually cleaned by them, and they had to, under strict instructions, wear a bell around their necks, like cattle, so that Brahmins and other upper castes could keep safe distance from them. It was considered a sin to touch them, even their shadows, therefore the bells.

offering

I have happily come to realize

that I have no specialty

nothing to offer to the world

that is of any worth

friends here succeed

but I have no regret

I do have my tears to support,

to take me to a far off land

where 
I could here the fulfilling murmurs

I could weep to my heart’s content

merge my salty pearls within you
I have borne the sorrow of the entire race

let me moan into the ever accepting blue

on behalf of all my friends

the wealth of losses has made me stand out

they my stepping stares

to reach unto you
they my scattered shells on the beach

to weave a necklace for you

the goldfish and the sun

how is this possible

a goldfish unable to swim

a sun struggling to shine

there must be a pond

or a sky

somewhere

where

with open arms

waters befriend the born swimmer

sky succors the star not to succumb

the sun-flower smirking at the sun

the sand molesting the fish

even in their blues

the golden creatures in me

keep glowing

in the hope

of a patient ocean

catapulting a pleasing sky

the goldfish and the sun

waiting to be

Flash

Google images

Flash

I was seeing my eyes

In thousands of those blinking stars

In an instant they become candles

Inside me

Eyes closed
clouds prepared to fall in love
with the peacock dancing

Glint of colors
silvers and yellows

Glow

Every little life flowing outside

Burning senselessly

With great care

Destroying pure desires into smokes, ashes

Prosecuting hosts as intruders
Myriad eyes

With inextinguishable flames

Gushing ceaseless drops

Soften the embers

As fillings in the holes

For a split second they turn into eyes

Like bubbles, and become blind again

My eyes have the strength to push the rock
relentlessly, relive the mirthful moments
in those flashes

Memories

It will not wither

It's not a newspaper

Like a novel it's to stay

Not disappear in yesterday.

It will not burn

It’s not a candle

Like the sun it's to flame and remain

Light up your dark space again.

It will not come and go

It’s not a sporadic rainbow

Like a canvas with its glow and hues

It’s sure to rest inside you.

It will not sing only in Noël*

It’s not a carol by a seasonal Koel*  

Like the daily chirps whistling into years

It will ring and nest in your ears.

Memories murmuring moments

Mellow, merge, misunderstand, marry

Meanings, moods meander, mock, melt
Moving minds, mingle, mar, make merry.

Note:

1. Noël - Christmas

2. Koel - The Asian koel (Eudynamys scolopaceus)is a member of the cuckoo order of birds, the Cuculiformes. It is found in the Indian Subcontinent, China, and Southeast Asia. The Asian koel is a brood parasite that lays its eggs in the nests of crows and other hosts, who raise its young. They are unusual among the cuckoos in being largely frugivorous as adults. The name koel is echoic in origin with several language variants. The bird is a widely used symbol in Indian poetry.

Copycat

Google images

In this world of tit for tat

I am not a copy cat

If you hit me, do I hit back?

Ah no, for this I have no knack.

You press the anger button

Do I become angry?

Ah no, try me.
I am not a machine but a human

To negatives I don’t give entry.

I am good and light this way

I shoo all the disease-germs away

If you want you may also try that

For love of life we can be our copy cat.

Thoughts in the greenroom

One could sense the heat
in your eyes, on your face
though you leave a mild trace
perhaps your victory is in your defeat?

Then why do the thoughts
travel in silence, for ages
freeze in your minds,
mountains and icebergs
never come out
not even as mud, rivulets
on the waiting page;
who has fastened your mouth
covered your visage
what fear do you have
feelings bickering inside
burning in the kitchens
failing on beds,
bruised in the open market place
a mound in the womb
inside, never to see light?

The relegated volumes
could turn them
into a new chapter
if you unearthed some
from your cemented souls
sky could fall in your garden
looking for the shining stars
if the saplings came out from your greenroom
appeared on the stage.

Your not wanting to speak
rains in teardrops
inundating every home of the world,
still homes
you efface your own letters
before they could
form into words,
what could keep the thoughts
so long in prison.
The tired stretch of silence
tied for years
seems to loosen
appears to screech
tends to break apart
constantly simmers.

Your world

Minerve chassant les vices du jardin, painting by Boticelli - Google images

I have never felt so cheap

when you changed your pic

following my compliment

but hey it's your world

your thinking, your perception

your belief-system,

your reputation, your name

I have nothing to do with them.

I have never felt so disrespected

when you were hurt

by words that came from a pumping heart

when you were using suicide bombers

in the lines of your attractive texts

but hey it's your world

you know how you can tame

I have nothing to do with them.

I have never felt so unlike you

when you had the dagger of words

masked with kindness

pouring ego-bloods of shylock and pozzo

I wish I could let your ego

go, from your accolades and fame

I have nothing to do with them.

But hey it's your world

the knowledge you treasured

to write your lines

white lies

because in your world they sell

like madona's touch, gold as hell

why wouldn't I let them be

you also have the right to not be lke me

it's your world

your words

your stage, your game

I have but little to do with them.

But if ever you came

into my peaceful world

would welcome you

with open arms

to my charming golden garden

green with singing birds.

Bani’s children’s coping mechanism

Google images

There you see Kali

limping in public hee hee

this way she earns money

and gives it to Bani

and there is your bamboo,

we call him so he’s lambu

he sings all day with his broken voice

people look at his plucked eyes

he gets sympathy notes and coins

for the noise he makes in his lines;

but there, there can you see?

Pinky, Rashid and Rani

with severed legs they sing and dance

Bani is happy for the money

they get her every day, with their romance

and their jaw-dropping stance

I do everything; cleaning, performing, cooking

collecting dough from the earth

each day we spend laughing and roaming,

we are Bani’s children, right from our re-birth.

We have one whole meal every day

so what if we have severed our parts?

for good we are not here to stay

Bani is our savior, our mother clever and smart.

IN MY HIDDEN MAP

Two soft roads break by the brook I still know,

As a child I’d wonder as to where they’d go;

Stories of the place, about the lines that went,

I could feel even now, their sound and their scent.

Not a public place but I’d call it tavern,

I could hear it speak to me, although taciturn;

I’d imagine anything, pain was also fun,

Flirt with the moon, gold-dig with the sun.

The twin roads are full of flowers,

With precious jewels, rivulets;

Unheard birds and fruits,

Trees breezing leaves, hanging nests.

Every bit of the joint is vivid and clear,

It’s hidden in the map of my mind;

I came running in my form to see it from near,

Outside of me, I could never ever find.


Poem selected for Triveni

Universe understands

Universe

doesn’t understand your verse

kind or unkind,

complicated, meaningful

sublime words.

It understands feelings in those letters lifeless

affectionate, pure, blissful thoughts

chanting inside in the random words

to laugh from within first, then on the page

hug, embrace in the mind then take the pledge;

when words marry the thoughts

the vibration thus born corresponds,

all scribbling on the leaves

with feelings exactly the same

texts that are formed, prose or poem

universe understands,

responds to all of them.