Monday, May 8, 2017

Watching moments

I have a watch.
But I don't have time.
My tired eyes look around
day and night
One field
Blades of grasses
Ticking moments
I am ripped apart
Two sides
Two points
Two options
Taking away
Taking me away
I don't have sleep,
But I know how to dream.

Sunday, May 7, 2017

Stealing time












My parents and siblings,
servants I'd call with 'da'*, 'didi'*
in the end
Bunny and Buddy,
even that little me
left for good
the place we'd call home
some time ago.
Years later I stole in,
predicted by my aunt.
You know David’s Mrs. Murdstone*?
Or when David re-incarnated as Harry*
with the magic wand, had aunt Petunia*?
Well my aunt is worse than those
on whom Lumos maxima* wouldn’t work for sure.
She predicted I will be a thief one day because I took
a broken eye-brow pencil from her purse
to draw an impressive mustache on my face,
that I’d be a popper begging for love because
I didn’t accept her mouth-to-mouth kiss,
that this house, where I am standing now,
will be time-shut before me.

The garden and the kitchen smelt just the same,
trees with the same flowers and leaves,
then who turned the page
the neighborhood hasn't much changed
but the nib with which our story was written
has been time-broken.

Who could be there now I wondered
will I ring the bell and see
suddenly
I heard my mom calling my name out loud... Sona!*
But it can't be me
it's another mom calling another kid
but who could they be
are they ghosts or hosts
for a moment I saw myself dead and alive
no, no, I can't enter
and be a guest in my home
wait, did I hear Bunny and Buddy
I can’t see them, but I distinctly knew
they were approaching me
somewhere from the walls, sure they can smell me
are they coming to welcome me
if I’d come after ten minutes they’d greet me
as though I came after ten long years
or are they coming to shoo me away,
surreptitiously I disappeared.

It's the same home
the same story is being written again
only the nib has changed
I left the place, it had lost its relevance
once my permanent address
that’s how permanent things are, I thought.
But even today it carries the same name,
it cannot not be home.

For a moment, no for quite some time
I went back in time
thanks to this home
whose every corner still oozes
affection and warmth, never to lose congruity.

Everything is just the same
I went back to my car,
Stole away just the way I stole in.

​​​​​​​Note:

1. da, didi – used at the end for elder bro or sis to show respect, e.g. John da or Joan di
2. David, Mrs. Murdstone – David and her crooked aunt from David Copperfield
3. Harry, Aunt Petunia – Harry Potter and her aunt Petunia from Harry Potter
4. Lumos maxima – is a spell used by Harry on his aunt to make her bloat and fly
5. Sona - It's a very common name for boys and girls in Bengali households, like John. Bengalis have two names, one is used for the outside of the professional world, and the other for the personal world which would be used by immediate and extended family member. 


Nominated by UKAuthors for UK Anthology 2016-2017

Friday, May 5, 2017

The fav bevs

When your head is empty
There's nothing like coffee or tea
Every sip you take
Evenings or when your day breaks
You feel encore you're on
Until the gloom is gone

When your head is empty
There's nothing like coffee or tea

When you are reading Joyce, Woolf, or Shaw
Your brain is without a claw
When you’re with Bohm, Senge or Hofstede
Their takes do not enter your head
Have a sip of coffee or tea
Their thoughts will enter easy you’ll see
You talk, walk again your ideas sprout
You feel quite up and about

When your head is empty
There's nothing like coffee or tea

Whether it's in the morning or dead at night
The bevs a'ways set things right
You feel light as you can be
No more a zombie
With a cup of coffee or tea
You become your own or most anyone's buddy

Ee hee hee hee hee
Just a mug of coff fehee or tee hee hee
Smiley smiley c'mon everybody smiley
Maybe black or white
You'll for sure feel light and bright
Anytime's a good time
For a sip of co co co co co cupo cofee ti ti ti ti ti ti cupo tea
You go all around hee hee hee hee
With a cupo hot
Of you know what sets you free
Smiley
Smiley c'mon everybody smiley



Note: No, I did not factor their cold versions, I am sorry

Joyce - James Joyce; Woolf - Virginia Woolf; Shaw - Bernard ShawBohm - David Bohm; Senge - Peter Senge; Hofstede - Geert Hofstede

Tuesday, May 2, 2017

Caught in camera in the breakout area









Photo: Supratik Sen

Animals also break rules
To be friends with foes
Like simple fools,
While brainy, intelligent men, women
Smartly use, abuse rules
Making and breaking them
Every now and then.


Note: While the photo on the left was taken by me in my neighborhood, the one on the right was taken immediately after a managers' huddle in one breakout area.  


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.

Reversible style:
I have been writing in reversible style since quite some time in three language, viz. English, French and in Bengali. This style occurred to me while I was having coffee in my balcony in Hyderabad, India. Although water-logging has become rare, but occasionally we do get to be in it, especially after a heavy downpour. Looking down I could see the clear sky, as clear as it really was after a good shower, through the not-so-clean waters. My first poem in this style was 'Reflection', which I posted here sometime ago. 
Language has many barriers, rules, prescriptions, proscriptions. Besides, grammar, even the movement of language is condemned to follow a certain order, either from left to right, viz. English, French, Hindi, Bengali, etc. or from right to left, viz. Arabic, Hebrew, Urdu, etc. However, all languages obediently gravitate downwards, they are condemned to fall,. While it may not possible in prose, I thought of making a very modest attempt of letting some poems also move upwards, even in form, because in terms of content, many move upwards, especially those which talk about transcendentalism. 
This form has only two rules, 1) Content and coherence is at the helm of things. It should make sense when it is moving against the convention and 2) Obedience, respect, submission needs to be followed first, hence it should first flow conventionally.

I admit that this form might raise more criticism than acceptance because it threatens us to really think out of the box. However, I am looking for some poets and writers who could take this up to the next level and do much better than what I tried here. I promise to keep on trying in the days to come.

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

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