Friday, June 30, 2017

ওহে বনলতা

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ওহে বনলতা
তোমাকে স্বাগত জানায় দেখ
তোমারি কলকাতা
ছোট্ট শিশুটি ফুটফুটে শ্বাস
নিয়েছিল যে মাটির বুকে
রূদ্ধ রা 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 আদূরেআহ্লাদি মেয়ে তার বহু পূরাতন শহরে ফিরছে তার এই ফেরার আনন্দে কবিতাটি লেখা

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

Wednesday, June 28, 2017

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


Friday, June 23, 2017

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.

Saturday, June 17, 2017

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.


Sunday, June 11, 2017

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.

Tuesday, June 6, 2017

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.

Friday, June 2, 2017

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.

Thursday, June 1, 2017

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.