In the making

In the making

She tells me a lot of bitter sweet things,

Our likes, dislikes have cut the strings,
Calls me names, in most of her games,
The knot loosens to crack the frames.

It’s so wholesome this mouthful act,

Feeling still this lovely weight,
Words make up, no time to wait,
Wit is jammed in the traffic of fact.

In ways that look for a place to rest,

Let us will this warm release,
Good and bad please stand at ease,
Days are here with wings to nest.

moving

moving

I am moving forward to the days that went,
A little while ago as done and spent,
Deeper the night closer is the day,
What is ahead was following the way,
Eager to appear as fresh unknown,
Eyes do not look for the scene that was shown.

O my name!

Ever since I shifted from my hometown Kolkata, in 2003, I realized how difficult it was to write or pronounce my name!

Back in Kolkata, it was easy because the word has a bengaliness to it. Besides, ‘su’ means good, and ‘pratik’ means symbol. So I thought I was a good symbol until I went to Kerala. From Sabarnika to Sampritik to Supratick to Sampriya it has travelled a lot with variations like Sputnik, Samptik in Chennai, Banglaore, to some shockers like Mrs. Supratika, Suptratik Ma’am in Hyderabad.  

It was just at a time when I was beginning to generalize this as a South-Indian challenge that the real shocker came to me from Delhi. I went there with my colleague to give a two-day training on marketing skills to a group of workforce of my client organization. My colleague handed me the hotel bill and said, with a grin, Supratik, I think it’s for you! I saw my name spelt as Suprabrick, and this was their second attempt you know…the first one, the one I saw with a scratch had a ‘d’ in place of ‘br’!

For my friends, this is Supratik with which you may or may not add a Mr.!

Cheers!

The car always stops to flirt

The car always stops to flirt

Whenever the car sees a lady crossing the road,

Irrespective of her age, the busy ness,

It stops.

Watches the lady cross with a frown or a grin,

With a renewed gas, it starts sometimes honks imagine!

When a beggar is crossing the road,

The car stops and lets the beggar pass,

Sometimes it begs and drags him into the class,

A broad smile a sexy invite, come aboard,

He sits relaxed; the car gets its alms of sin

With a renewed gas, it starts sometimes honks imagine!

I drive my car without a car,

Where I flirt with not a bar,

The car always loses in race,

Withdraws within, without a trace!


There is so much one can do with what one has or hasn't...where is the time to fight...just planting a thought.

The unafraid matter

The unafraid matter

My softest flower,

How did you make yourself so perfect?

I wonder

How it doesn’t matter to you a bit,

If you stayed or went,

Trampled or nursed by the wind!

Clarity! Please be with me,

Let me behold this defenseless beauty,

While you are there… let my eyes and ears,

Help my being to be erect

In wonder…

The storms, the waves,

With their sounds and moves,

Not to bend

The unafraid matter!

Doubt

Doubt

Doubt…

If it’s page or a canvas,

Or just a pond;

Peripheral workers moving around the stage,

Beyond some impending hours;

The travail is done.

Waiting now, to enter through the outside

A passing traveller;

In the holding kiss of lovers in the garden,

The fruit is found hanging…

Drapes clear

White clots of nothings, ready to wash,

Or would it be to drain;

Doubt…

Echo

Echo

It’s ringing to death O hell,

The bell doesn’t ring a bell.

My written notes are placed on the piano,

A matter of silence makes the tune glow;
I am and I am doesn’t catch the wind,
I haven’t never ever I haven’t ever winged.

It is not the people it is you in guise,

Calling them in vain dressing a scene you like;
My airplane is taking off without any sound,
It is beyond the glass of finite shape and form.

I haven’t taken the onus of playing other’s role,

Creatures all alike are echoing in the whole.

Doha from an outcast

I love terrorists and I bless them with all my heart

Want to kiss them on their hands, in their minds with all my art …

thought of an outcast

thought of an outcast

Patriotism is barbarism

Poisoned and imprisoned
With scores of inflated and bonsai ism

Kindness to ugliness, a doha

Let me drink a little ugliness

While beauty sleeps in the glass of her partner poetess