The blackout

None spoke a word that dusk

none shrieked- out fearing arrest

none braved to sing a love song

none did, what they liked best!

Ah that evening – there was silence

beyond repair there was darkness

with all pens and keyboards confiscated

blackout evolved with threatening finesse

And as caricatures of predators roamed

to shut off lamps that dared to glow –

none questioned the deafening silence

all were gagged and kneeling low!

Dear Idiot.

Dear Idiot, 
Long live you…
May your daughter live in peace.
Your friends have killed the creature
Called Binayak Sen,
Throw on my face some grease …
‘cause I call you a bloody idiot.
A senseless piece of life on earth.
You and your family will be killed soon –
And your memories burnt on hearth.

You and your mother didn’t know what to do,
When Tenzin Tsundue screamed aloud.

Dear Idiot,
Is your job going fine ?
And increments happening too?

Very soon you’ll be dead and dry
And your uncle behind bars…
You’ll blame for all calamities
Mr. Ifthikar Gillani from Mars.

But Idiot,
Who will ever forgive you?
And your government that rules
They have made the country a playground,
For Ajmal Kasabs and mules.

Let them not let you go…
Safe and unhurt
Let them make you hear the song
They play when you depart.

Dear Idiot!
Are you ready to be killed?

‘No Camera, No!’

Don’t be the boulder that knocks

the flow of my dreams

slow!

It took years to build

an empire that made sense-

with unfolding garden-full of

faces – known and funny.

Don’t spoil it all.

‘No Camera, No.’

Too much locked in

droplets of fading memories-

with distorted spheroid full of

lanes and by lanes and trespassers

that was once familiar –

Don’t unlock.

When the bubbles burst-

they will be lost

underneath a meshed survival strategy,

killed by successors.

That’s simple like words

those follow one another

in a note kept aside-

unattended for ages.

That’s where my dreams and memoires

survive together.

Don’t mess .

‘No Camera, No!’

A face hidden by Adverts (translation)

This is a modest attempt by me to portray the  maturity of Bengali Poetry to readers foreign to the language.

Following is a translation of the immortal poem : "Mukh dheke jay biggapone" (1984)by revered Bengali poet Sankha Ghosh. Incase you like it I believe my purpose is successful, incase you don't the fault lies solely with the translator.

Note: To maintain the rhythm of the original masterpiece I am forced to use the word advert (the Brit informal shortform)instead of advertisement.

Do comment honestly.

A Face hidden by Adverts.

Standing alone waiting for you

where the road bends, diverts.

Waiting to show my face to you-

smacked hidden by adverts.

A couple of simple exchanges

of secret glances between us

burn out bright -loudly intense-

fired by advertised ruckus!

In what light one sees another

isn’t easy to estimate.

Pardon me my native land

whatever I exaggerate.

All the glances of our eyes are sold

everything between you and me-

The neon glow is ready to sell,

A life kept safe personally.

My words for you stand alone

where the road bends, diverts.

Only that tired mask of mine-

dangle down, from the adverts.

For every one who understands Bengali , here is a recitation of the original piece  by the poet himself:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2TMIPKvy9Dc 

The Pendant

They Killed her -

because she wore a pendant

that they hated.

When her corpse dried ,

and the stench overwhelmed

all the curse 

her tiny life carried ;

they debated - 

whether to shift the shit elsewhere.

They hated her for the pendant she wore-

they tore it away-

while making love with the flesh

whose owner they hated.

They sold the pendant. Weighed it first.

The metal was mighty -

and the money they got

was put to use

selfless use.

Two more bells at their place of worship.

They sought blessings from god - 

and a sort of permit

to convert all such pendants

to bells-

to convert all curses

to pious furniture.

To seek more blessings

they hated her pendant.

They hated her for the pendant she wore

they had nothing against her flesh-

they made love with it,

to prove the point.

They hated her-

because she didn't moan,

she bit her lips-

and clenched the pendant instead.

The pendant that they hated.

As her body dried

and the stench got denser

bells rang loud

and they passed the scene

with blessings and handkerchiefs.

There was no more Pendant

left on her to hate,

There was no more flesh

left on her to love.

Here I rest my case.

Excerpts from an unsent letter

If only I could be the dream

That mesmerizes you within-

Like the leather hanging loud

From the shoulders of a mannequin.

As we walk through rainy dusks-

Of deeds undone and dispatched woes,

Some raindrops rest against the heart

Some yesteryear’s anecdotes.

With noisy intent as pages turn-

Revealing words -hollow as life,

Somewhere somehow it can be heard-

The cries of a wanton strife!

The sacrifice of tears and smiles

Bringing together lost chagrin-

If only you could be the dream

That mesmerizes me within!

Mumbai had a Blast!

A subtle judgment of error

reverberates as terror –

and crystals of hate:

gather on every plate!

If only I could kill,

I’d surely have my fill-

and give it back aloud,

(am a face in the crowd).

With no corner left to hide,

spreading our arms wide-

we take it on our face:

a deadly embrace!

The old-men form Jury

while we burn in fury -

amazed to say the least -

being served at a devil’s feast!

Looking around for faces,

with familiar specs and braces,

we stumble on ourselves-

in a crowd of fellow elves.

Faces marred with stains,

give birth to personal pains –

and voices get dumb and still ,

( vultures have their fill!)

Familiar roads turn funny-

“I am Safe, honey.”

and million other chores-

from thousand helpless pores.

Which song to hear tonight?

To distract my selfish sight –

From words that run fast:

“Mumbai had a blast!”

Facebook

Let’s face it now.
When some revolutions later,
we sit down
to settle all bills –
there will be nothing left to say!

Nothing at all to ask each other.
No testimony remaining,
mystique enough
to hide with pride-
“How much do I have to pay?”

It`s all there on the walls.
Etched and scribbled,
with time-less ink
to remain forever –
spooning anonymity out of the way!

We will recognize each other.
Even though our faces,
slapped by time
have changed beyond repair-
“You were looking good last Saturday!”

We will refrain from all inquiry.
It will be all known,
with thousand perspectives
and approvals of adoration-
The status of our ordinary days.

Let’s face it now.
Nothing remains to amuse us,
or confuse any subtle sense
and so when we meet again
Nothing will be left to say!

Suggestions ...

Never mind what’s right what’s wrong...
As long as you are a part of a song.
And like I claimed all along...
It makes sense to ding and dong.

As you grow old, as you go white
As you imagine blinding light,
Amidst the wrecks of a night –
Broken bottles and a torn kite.

Once and for all call it a day,
Buy a drink and forget to pay...
Before its late lose your way,
Before its late- learn to play.

Coming of Age

Talking, talking – all the while,
She and me, we walked a mile.
A little closer, to somewhere unknown –
Like aimless feathers riding the blown!

Over the years, we locked our lives:
Imprisoned safe, in our own hives.
From morning tea to midnight snack
Leaving no space for a perilous crack!

All voices that made the world so damned
All ethics and styles that we faithfully crammed
All eyes that accounted every breath and sigh-
It’s time to forego – before evening s die.

Locking ourselves in our comfort zones
Bringing closer our funny bones
We walk on slow for our steps to match
Reading all stories, those wait to hatch.

Talking, talking – about our lives,
Bout husbands, children, friends and wives –
Bout glasses of wines and cigarette smoke
And the discontent that made us choke!

One last time – all cars that stand,
(Like birds of prey locked in the sand)
Bid adieu, to the shadows that stray
Down broken roads to faraway!

Swallowing a Promise

its tough.

takes time and

an immense amount of water...

to shove it all in,

its painful,

and chokes with determination

and reminds you of your tonsils

embedded deep within.

Some Peculiar Allegations

Had I been your child, would you let me go wild,
Wouldn’t you teach me to be sober and mild?
Wouldn`t you tell me what’s wrong, what’s right-
When I stood ready to head for the fight?
You taught me to curse you taught me to hate
You better be sorry before it’s late!

I have been growing amidst all the ashes...
Of broken promises- torn eyelashes!
You taught me to smile when I should`ve cried
You told me to love shadows that sighed...
You taught me to suffer, you taught me to wait
You better be sorry before it’s late!

Had you let me, I would whither in peace
Wouldn’t take the trouble of being a disease
I would have believed everyone is right
Everybody someday would see the light,
You taught me to judge, you taught me to rate...
You better be sorry before it’s late

Just another love story

How about it?
Amidst the chaotic sessions of feverish promises
Comes a void called indecisiveness:
Playing with fingers on backyard benches –
Thinking about a world of complicated people!

“With you I am peaceful.
With you I feel at home...
With you I can’t stop caring,
With you I am in love!”
That’s simple and immortal.

coming back

Almost like her bronchial infection
I keep coming back to her life
sometimes like a poet
sometimes unplanned...

somehow I feel
I am not un-welcome
into her comfort zone,
which the world mistakes to be dark!

We spent so many hours
fascinating - the merging of sleeplessness
even - when a prisoner
inside our tiny lives!

After years of sailing away
riding on winds that never face---
writing our stories
telling our stories
holding on to our stories...
We come across as understanding strangers
like ageing stars unaware of each other
like fine print letters joining hands to form words!

Julia`s Dream

Have you ever known how it feels to be...
a bagful of rejected clothes
lost amidst Julia`s thousand dreams?
Talking to clotheslines...
Walking down the alleys of hanging pyjamas
demystifying the voices out of noisy screams.
I still want to believe,
Every person on earth is right.
Every boy is worth his salt,
Every poem deserves a thought –
An understanding.
Every damn word has a million meanings
And every damn meaning is true.
Else it`s difficult to find your way out
Of Julia`s dream.
There are too many turns
And too many conspiring corners.
Where people sit and whisper
Whatever they think is right
Whatever to them makes sense.
Together the senses merge
To complicate affairs at the gateways
Of Julia`s dream.
Neither I nor you can figure out
a similar sense out of a dream.
So why try at all?

given a chance

given a chance,

i would let poetry flow-

from between the shimmering leaves

talking to the november night!

i would talk to myself

reassuring .

i would write and rewrite suicide notes

and throw them to dry ...

between prehistoric rocks.

given a chance,

i would be reborn as rain

and pour feverishly on the dried up world

to make them forget

all that had gone wrong

for my sins.

let her go

if she wants to
let her go...
don`t try too hard....
to hold on.
feed yourself
with nice long songs
that`ll tell you more
about whats gone wrong.
her crocodile eyes
her crocodile tears
may not be your`s
after all!
when evening will happen
and the roads will curl
beneath winters sheath
you`ll go on...
and inside a shack
and inside a discourse
you`ll decide...
its all the same...
when the night will breathe
and billboards will smile...
you`ll be back to the world with a smile.

a half-eaten moon and a lonely star

fever or just shiver?
a story about glory...

a poem that made sense...
other side of the fence!

a song that brought tears;
a packetful of fears...

nearing doomsday:
(or just another pay day?)

an overhyped jingle
two women who are single

a cat and her mistress
a damsel in distress.

an actor past his prime
a guidebook for crime:

my first loveletter
couldn`t get any better.

a stale half-eaten moon
an emotional afternoon

a speeding away car:
a single lonely star.

a mouthful of conversation:
A wife-swapping generation!

Lets Talk!!!

years have passed
and like a habit the world has grown old.
deep seated wrinkles,
scripted anecdotes of aging.
just like two forlorn strangers
we carried on inside our
comfort zones....

chance meetings.
exchange of greetings...
invitations:
"he will be away next week"
confessions:
" she doesnt know that i am a poet!"

why don`t we talk over coffee?
how old is your youngest kid!

i still love nescafe!

an entire world full of people are between us.
they whisper, we overhear :
" is she real?"
" was he ever there at all?"
" are they living ....
or is it all rumours?"

we need to sit down.
we need more coffee.
more sugar.
would you mind if i smoke?

how come you suddenly remember me?
lets shut the windows once...
once more we are face to face.
once more its a nescafe night.
once more we will ifight it out...

lets talk!

MEW !

if and only if i knew
world was for a select few
rest were powered just to sue
or whisper out a gentle mew!

the mewing doctor- mewing farmer
the mewing snake and the charmer
the gentle mew behind the Armour
only mews constructing murmur.

the better you mew the better it gets
a better chance for better bets
a simple mew none forgets
the polished mews of polite pets

in the past the mew was born
for sake of peace in a field of corn
loved by all who were torn
with painful pricking of the thorn!

since then as the days all rolled
the mew got louder the mew got bold
and as, some of the legends told
the young were taught by the old.

kings all loved it - grins got broader
a girl just mewed when rapists got her
and as the thoughtful chewed on fodder
mew became the new world order.

and till date it is just the trend
a mew will make all the amend
as the mewing streets will bend
with a mew the world will end!