haiku

waves

on the canvas

sound in my ears

A nameless game without rules

Clouds playing in the blue field;

Cirrus! Stratus! Who cares for their names!

They were clouds up there

hanging from everywhere

inviting me into the game.

Are you ready, they asked

Yes, I said and stretched my hands,

closed my eyes

joined them.

I cried, I don't know the rules

There aren't any, said the dudes.

I was turning, turning, turning and turning around

until I fell flat on the ground,

they were giggling from up there

to see me spin and fall in panting despair

but I smiled and stood up again

to be in this unseen game.

I saw clouds from my brain

bubbling out

leaving me light and sound

I was maybe playing chain-chain with them

or would be a kind of lock and key?

Hoosh they said, no name, no name.

In the end they showered a huge hug on me

there wasn't a thing I could see 

I was laughter-covered without words

they spoke in a strange language unheard,

falling waters sounded in ears

I was waiting to hear for years

I asked them about the score

They couldn’t answer,

for they weren’t clouds anymore.

But I know they'll all come back

On the points, I wondered if I'd need

to keep a track?

Ah, I am again in the same old

name-rule, win-lose trap

I need to be in the innocuous gap

There I am drenched in the endless fun

We must have all lost, must have all won.

Lines on the leaves

I write my lines on the leaves.

Green unhurried serene

I have painted a new world

I recognize, accept, respond

to everyone the same way,

open, I don't have a special corner

for winners and losers.

Everyone can write their stories,

with, without honour

like flowers, fruits.

blooming at ease, for some time

then

I live

failing, falling with brown leaves

all inclusive

with the same calm I learned from the Sun,

I rise again, in every budding  moment

anew afresh, with the evergreen breeze

no words, awards, judgements

as I draw the lines on the leaves.

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.

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

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

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.  

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.

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.

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 হ’য়ে গেছে

নীচে ধূলো, বালি, গর্ত

ওপরে তাকাও ত তার আর আকাশ বন্ধ করা অট্টালিকা

আমরা এসব সহ্য, অগ্রাহ্য করতে শিখেছি যুগযুগ ধ’রে

ঠিক খাবার দোকানের সামনে

ফ্যালফ্যাল ক’রে তাকিয়ে থাকা

খুদে চোখ আর হাতগুলির মত

তাই বোধহয় আমরা কেউ কেউ ডেস্কটপে

দিনরাত মুখ গুঁজে ব’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

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