The two slum dwellers

Two slum dwellers.
In life, they became
successful, for as children,
they decided to go to school.

Now they work in the
MNCs during the day,
in the evenings, teach
the eager children of
their neighborhood, and
offer them healthy food. 

As it were

I grew up giving up
on a wide range of things;
my favourite pillow,
crawling, being fed,
applauded for doing
the littlest of things,
being dressed by my
parents, occupying
the window-seat of all
vehicles I thought I owned.

I do remember a sudden,
silent voice resisting,
talking back to time,
whispering in the air,
asking it to stay, 
as it were.

Retired from work,
I looked askance at the
state of affairs; severed
from life, I feel numb;
oftentimes, I have the
urge of asking a child, or
an adult if they were my
age and imagine a strange
expression on their face.

I can still walk, eat, watch
TV, stay connected with
the world, mostly with
the virtual world, do my
chores by myself.

But very soon, this time
will disappear, like camphor,
I will have to give up on
these as well; return to my
childhood for good, albeit
with the experience of an
adolescent, mature life;
I find it rather comical
that I will still not have
learned the art of giving
up; I can clearly listen
to the voice screeching 
everywhere on my behalf,
as it were.

The fish

A fish
caught in the net.

I suffocate on the
stage, look for the
exit gate, the red light
attracts me, but I get
trapped in the play.

Yearning to escape 
like the fish,
the net gain.

A bird's eye view

 

As I was cleaning my home,

my eyes glanced at a folded

piece of paper. I opened it.

A Map. Of the world,

in my hand. I made it lie,

in front of me.

Index, colour codes,

other clues.

An old one; that, which

helped me learn my lessons

of history and geography;

it felt strange, irrelevant lands, painful stories, ancient sadness,

thoughtless madness, 

enduring hues.

Numerous scratches and scars,

bruised the world; countries,

with borders, boundaries.

What have we done, I mused,

I imagined homes; many homes,

gardens, giggles, dreams,

demolished, scarlet screams

of families smashed to smithereens

to fulfil the greed

of the few.

Truths unfolded before me,

in time, the piece of land we

call world had developed

scores of added divisions,

newer dissensions; I was a little

bemused, for my thought

as a pupil didn't change much;

even then, it was much easier to

memorize the names of the

mountains, the oceans, the

forests, and the rivers than 

to cram those man-made 

pack of lies, those territories

violated, abused.

I folded the map of the world,

back in its place, the old world, 

I just saw with a bird's

eye view. 

হরি, আমায় ভালোবাসো

হরি আমার কাছে এসো 

আমার পাশে বসো 

আমার সাথে কথা বলো, 

আমায় ভালোবাসো।  

বল কি করিলে তোমাকে পাই 

খালি তোমায় খুঁজে বেড়াই, 

দাওনা ধরা অঝোরে তাই 

কেঁদেই দিবানিশি কাটাই।  

এই ব্যথা মোর কাটবে যবে 

তোমার সাথে দেখা হবে, 

তোমার হাতে হাতটা ধরে 

আনন্দে মন উঠবে ভরে, 

মাতব তোমার আলোর টানে

খুশির জোয়ার আসবে প্রাণে 

হরিবোলের জাদুর গুণে। 

ও হে হরি, বল না কি করি 

তোমায় ছাড়া সবই বৃথা 

আমার মনের গভীর ব্যথা 

কাউকে কি আর বলতে পারি? 

আমায় জড়িয়ে ধরো 

ঠাকুর, আমার যত গর্ব 

গরল, ভিতর থেকে খর্ব 

করে, নতুন ভাবে গড়।  

শত সহস্র পাপের বোঝা 

করো আমার হ্রাস

তোমার কোলে টেনে আমার

পুরাও অভিলাষ।

ও হে হরি মরি মরি

আমার কাছে এসো, 

আমার পাশে বসো 

আমার সাথে কথা বলো, 

আমায় ভালোবাসো।

The harbingers

Carrying the boulder for good
goes the accursed Sisyphus,
carrying his own cross for
crucifixion goes the accused
Jesus; a strikingly similar image
that had gone beyond 
time and space.

One was punished for cheating
death, for violating xenia,
killing guests, while the other,
for blasphemy; destroying
a set of lifeless dogmas.
One was punished by God Zeus,
the other by the humans, the
Romans, Pilate Pontius.

…

Who knew that Sisyphus, known
as the cunning ruler, would one day
become the symbol of human dignity,
one who was seen to be carrying
the stone for eternity was also
enjoying his taste of success, by
placing the rock on top of the
mountain, to experience and
renew momentary happiness?

Who knew that those who killed
the supreme symbol of sacrifice
and innocence that ever walked
on earth, would become his
earnest disciples?

The disproportionate punishment
of the accused, the accursed had
over the years made them the
heroes; Sisyphus, who carried the
burden of the underworld to represent
the humans, by combatting death and
their monotonous condition of life, and
Jesus, who carried the weight of the world,
with the sovereign sacrifice of his own life,
to represent God; the two became symbols
of love and sublimity.

Everybody cannot be wrong

When I was young,
I'd be horrified if I
couldn’t fit in, if I

wouldn’t gel with

my peers.

A group, a team,

a gang of untrained

bullies, important,

to be humored

all the time; it was

a game I wasn’t ever

good at.

I slowly became

a loner, then a loser.

As days went by,

my capabilities were

tarnished, I was defamed

by every single friend;

they were all speaking

the same language,

selling the single story

about me.

It was tragic, not any less

than being violated

in public.

As a child, I recall,

I’d go into depression

if my perfumed eraser

was snatched away from

my school bag. Now, it is

laughable, no longer

relevant.

Everybody was

a scary machine in all

my working days;

much later, I realized,

it was nobody.

Everybody was

as needy as I was,

like them, I also had

a family to feed.

Thrown out in the open,

none heard my voice,

my version, no ombudsmen,

my savings burnt my fingers

because my unaccommodated

disability, lack of people

skill made me a prey,

an interesting kill.

Right or wrong,

old or young,

loner, loser, or lover,

now I know that

everybody matters

as little as nobody. 

The position

The position

I will write on the
bellies of the starved,
I will put words in
the mouths of the
famished;
not one word of
disgrace in my thought
to be used against the
unfortunate wealth, my mind
will not blame oppression,
injustice, it would, like a
singing bard, whisper in
the ears of the achievers
on what real acquisition is,
the eyes of the rich will
suddenly open up and feel
the poignance of walking
over the poor, the stalwarts
will redesign the market
trends; the world, devoid
of disparity, will see its place.

Until then, my love for
the rich and the poor
will continue to enrich the floor,
until growth and development
delivers equality, until the
time new theories of economies
are written, until the pleasures
of the absence of depravity
come into fruition, will I
safeguard my relentless,
tireless position, seated on
the bellies of the famished,
inside the mouths of the starved.

Standing its ground

The world
absurd.
many skies
rich, poor;
many grounds
sliced into pieces,
colours of rainbow
tarnished,
horrific melange
of dark shades,
power to grab
the lion’s share,
the pie of the red
innocuous fruit
made sinful selling
packs of irrelevant
stories.

Grim heaven,
sunless, moonless,
a stone on the
shoulders of
the cursed survivors,
glorified soldiers;
bright firmament,
shining stars,
an umbrella on
the blessed dwellers.

The residents of
the world,
divided, dispersed
caste, creed, colours, race
spitting scarlet words,
splitting the skies and
the grounds in
holes and parts;

The world, way too
unseparated in its
orbit to fly off
to a distant time
and space.
It needs one ground,
one sky to stand
in its moving place.