Eco-Poetry

Tale of a Numb Planet



Once upon a time
There was a nice young girl
She used to be a
Beautiful
Stunning
Gorgeous planet

She was so cute
That
Comets were driven crazy after her
Shooting stars would tease her
Every night
Even the distant galaxies would
Gaze her possessively
Stars would fight with each other
To marry her
And aliens tried in vain
To kidnap her



She is getting old now-a-days
Getting dry
Getting dull

She is
About to die



Numb she was

She was
Raped by
A mad star
During an obsessive epoch
Of hunger and thirst


Oxygen-

-Water-

-Amino acid-



l-i-f-e





Prodigal sons of Sun
Today
Loiter around wittily
In search of
Nirvana
Sucking the blood
Of illegitimate mother planet

She
Doesn’t shed tears
Nor she cries aloud



She is neither hungry today
Nor thirsty
She has nothing to get
Only to give
And give
And to give away all

She still gives
To her prodigal offspring
What she holds
Inside her
Pale body



When she was a charming girl
Planet had posted
A letter
About her dreams
Stamped with love
To a distant planet

She still sees
That alien planet
In her dreams



Every evening
Her prodigal sons
Return home drunk

It’s cheap and common-
Every home sells
Toxic wine of civilization
Served with
Snacks of blind development



Old deserted planet-
She has nothing to win
Only to lose

She is brave
She has nothing to worry about

She is comfortably numb

Eyespeak

Eyespeak

You speak
With
Your Eyes

Don’t stare at me
Like that

I can listen
To your voice
Through
Your eyes

I
Feel
You
Inside me

Even though
You have
Never
Spoke
To me

Full Stops

Full Stops

Dreams are never stopped
By full stops

As to why
There is always
A new sentence to come
Carrying a new story

Have you just stumbled
By a full stop
Of your life?

Dreams are like
Roads

Dreamers walk
On the road of dream
To emerge
As another road

Dreams are not destinations
Rather
They are wombs
Containing destinations

We shouldn’t be afraid of
Full stops

Full stop
Is
A sun of evening

Just wait
Wait for the morning

If

If

What shall you do
If all the doors are closed
Wherever you go for one night shelter?

What shall you do
If the land below your feet
Start slipping?

What shall you do
If all the rivers have dried up
And you are dying thirsty?

What shall one do
If sincerity is out of demand

With hollow commitments?

What shall one wait for
If all the rays of hope
Are nibbled by dark assurances?


It’s simple
Never give up
Never give up
Never give up

White Holes

White Holes

There are holes
In the air

Small holes
Big holes
The most confused
And the most fatal
Medium sized holes

The holes are white
As white as
Her lost handkerchief

Their divorce paper
Is white
Just as the hole in the sky

There are holes
In the air

Uncle likes to keep
White moustache
He never puts on anything
To blacken moustache
But
Always white do not mean
Peace
It may also indicate
Some deadly wars
Without red bloodsheds

Wars are planned
In White House of America

Awful white thoughts of status-quo
Always keep on embedding our living minds
Like the white cloth covers the dead body

There are holes
In the wholes

Holes
In fragments

So whole is never a whole
Of something

Fragment is
Always
Subject to much more
Much more fragmentations

Holes in the space
Pave the path
To the most awaited
Times to come
Which never come
In reality

There are holes
In the air

Love Poem

Dialectical Love

I love you
Sometimes

I hate you
Sometimes


O honey
Forgive me-
I can’t love you all the times


If I do so
I shall have to
Hate you all the times

Mind of Graphity

Mind of Graphity

Let my mirror
Be destroyed
At a time when
Moon seems like
A maiden demon

Religion spirals
The villages
Like a gigantic serpent

Can you wipe out
The bloodstains
On the cloth of time
Where arrow means
Feathers of pigeon

Where frustrations fill
The gaps of desires

Silent prayers are being made
For infeasible wants

You speak high
When others are deaf

Sunflower sings
Song of sorrow

O reader
Gaze me
And
Read me
My image
Destroys
Itself
While you go on
Reading me
Letter by letter
Word by word

Poems of Darjeeling

Darjeeling Dreams

How can
Non-homogeneous scrawls
Of landslide
Be their epitaph?

And now
When History inside the uterus of struggle
Crawls like a-would-be-extinct
Volcano

You may not know
What do you want
To see
To mean
Exactly



Each eye sees dreams
No matter
How much feasible
The dreams are

Emancipation of sweat
And liberty of profit
Are juxtaposed
By the rulers

Dream-
Lazy fogs over
A dried up cascade

Hope that there is a well
In the desert

Real trusts are still alive
They can’t be burnt
By burning their effigy




Dreams
Are quite simple here
In steep hills of Darjeeling

Rhododendron is Rhododendron here
Though it may mean a lot of things in itself

Hollow pride
And concrete prejudices
Of prowess
Throw chilly powder
In the eyes of history

Songs of sting
Clatter across slogans

Clothes are flags
Now

Fingers plucking tea leaves
Are not trembling
But are screaming silently

World sips their tart scream
With bed tea
Each morn

They pluck their dreams
With each plucked tea leaf

They burn their lean desires
With the coal they throw inside
The engine of Toy Train

Pains are sang by
Alcoholic winds of waiting

Children are going school
Only to unlearn the menace
Known popularly as
Democracy

Dreams are seen
Here
Through
The eyes of
Burning belly

Destination Darjeeling



Destination is crystal clear today
To reach
The land of thunderbolt

Hills embraced by clouds

Skies as blue as our childhood imagination

Song of ambiguity
Is now blowing in the wind
When the policemen march
On the roads
Of silent explosions



Destination is very clear today
To reach the land of
Heritage train
And
Heritage hearts

Land of folklores
And
Innocent ecstasy

To reach
Land of Tea
And
Tears



Destination is clear today
As we head toward cloudy dreams

Where the primitive wishes
Become suburban Cocktail parties

Destination is very clear today
Open your cameras
Your notebooks

What you shall enjoy most
Is the aching joys
Of hills

Come on
Get ready
Sirs
Madams

Poems on Reflection

Alien

We can see others

Effortlessly

We can see-
Stars
Rivers
Villages
Cities
Rocks
Oceans
Ants
Peoples
With our own eyes

We can see
Our virtual ‘I’-s
Only by borrowing
The eyes of an inanimate mirror

But we seldom are able to visualize our real 'I'-s

One is far away from oneself

Pity on Us
Pity on Us
Pity on Us

Instead of an I-Pod

Bird of life, come and sing me a song…
I’m searching for a patch of blue
Just like you. (1)


Guillotined were the buds-innocent
-Before the minuscule Quarks
Turned into the giant Universes
-Before the infinitesimal seconds
Transformed into the infinite Histories
-Before the tiny thoughts
Materialised into the massive Revolutions.

Hanged were the dreams pregnant
In the Savage Gardens
By savage gentlemen
It was a dusky dawn.
Doomed doors- half open.
Enlightened eyes- half closed.

We watched cinema that hot afternoon.
Returned home forgetting images seen on the screen
-and slept to get up the next morn.
We forgot the images of our own reality.
We forgot the reality of our own illusions.

Thus we forget. And live. And forget.
We live quantum by quantum.
Of discreet lives in discreet memoirs.

“It’s getting dark, too dark to see” (2)

The sandy moments, still, just suspend
On the liquid sorrows.
Everyone bowing “Yes”
For the accepted way that there exists
No way except to keep aside
The way less traveled.

It rains for forty centuries-and-thus for long
-Long exhausted forty years-
forty seconds in this cold blooded hot space.


A drunken question hovers hazily
Over a red eyed vacuum – full of
Absolute abundance:
When’ll this planet of winners
Become a home for all losers?

Ruined sensibility blinks the dusty eyes
To the call of Kamikaze wanderings.

The waste land metamorphoses
in each fragment of Time-Space.
In faces fossilised.
Light ray bends lightly
Entering through monstrous hoardings
Which lead to the dead retinas.

Octopus of globalised tyranny is taught
In the classrooms in the blank chapters of global moral.

Blind faiths are counted.
They wage wars on the wake of freedom abstract.
Wage wars on the bowing heads.
Wage wars in the name of the god unborn.

Our present presents itself
Like teeth of a fox-deadly.

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests
I’ll dig with it. (3)

… I’ll dig.

I’ll dig the time, the space
The villages, the metros
The people, the rulers
I’ll dig the beliefs
I’ll dig Romes, Americas, Bharats, and Darjeelings.

Dig others. Dig myself.
Through the unseen abyss
The unexplored caves of
Homo Sapiens Sapiens dreams.

I dig. I search. I find.
I bury. I plant. I spit.
… Yes, I’m here. Preparing tea
For an outcast and me.
Did the flower bloom this year
Which you planted last season?
How’s your asthma? Still suffering?
Instead of an I-Pod, bought guitar?
________________________________
1- Steve Young, २- Bob Dylan, ३-Seamus Heaney [Digging]

Poem on Singur

Singur Saturday

That Saturday,
Creeping through the naked sky
Terror eclipsed sun
Blindly commits suicide.

Blue tongue
Hang on shamefully between
Shameless eunuch jaws.
□

Morning begins
With Protest Blossoms and
Wordy eruptions.
Morning matures with
Lathis and rifles.
And slangs
-“…suworer bacchha saalaa, aay…”

Mourning morn
Disappears in melancholy
With tears, cries and bloods.

□

A child looks
Into a vacant patch of loaded sky
Desperately with pale eyes
For something else
Perhaps for a football, a slate
or his slain future

He’s standing
On the ruin of democracy.

□

The cat walk of justice
On the ramp of “Communism”
Simulates erotic sense of Tatas, Ambanis, Bennis…

□

There, the tyrants are writing epitaph
For dying people
And writing welcome graphity
For corporate tycoons.

But singers of soil
Are tearing off the glamorous mask
Out of the vulgar face of Development-
Development at the gunpoint!

□

SEZ-
Special Eviction Zone
Social Eradication Zoo
Soul Erasing Zygote

SEZ’s are being created for
The creators of people’s car.

The other day farmer’s little son would ask
To his father flatly-
“Would you buy that car for me, baba?”
The answerless farmer would answer-
“My dear, I can’t buy back even our life bought by them”

□

Political power runs by
Rifles and cartridges
And power empowers powerful.
Power is yet to become power of powerless.
Its F … A … R …
That little innocent boy
When he grows up
Then one day he would learn this reality
From his school of life.

□

A hard evening falls
On the faint furious fields
Of Singur.

Doomed are the people.
Their dim eyes
Stretch wider
And wider
With darkness deepening.

Sounds of Silence

Keep Silence




Don’t spit
Words
From burnt mouth

Our faces
Are broken
Into fragments

Our faces
Are
Broken mirror

O friend
Where shall you go now?

Our eyes
Are punched
By advertisement tags

Don’t vomit
Words
Else you may be
Vomited out instead

Perhaps you know that
You are a human bomb

Our minds are stabbed with
Knife of uncertainty
O friend
What shall you do now?

War & Peace

Beware of Peace

No World War
No Cold War
No Gulf War

No war at all

Everywhere
Peace

Really,
We are bored of this
Dead era

We are living in dry times
Without wars

Wars
To be fought for rulers
By and against human being

No topic to talk about

Nothing to worry about

Warless we live
In ghost like peace

Even though
We may observe
So many warfronts
In so many places
In so many minds
In so many worlds

Silent wars crawl
From one corner of the thought to the other

Virus of power game
Keep on expanding their empire
Inside the minds of Warlords

War is in fact
More prominent now
In this peace like peace

War has always been
A bargain play
For power poles

You can see
War everywhere

You can see war
In trees
Roads
Dams
Schools
Hospitals
Loaves

War is made
To shine
In our psyche'

Unseen wars are lethal
As much dangerous
Undiagnosed disease happens to be

So
In order to be aware of wars
Beware of Peace

Basic Facts

Dialectics

I love you so much
I doubt you so much

Bright face of moon
Is ornamented by dark spot

You always fight with the enemy within

Your foe
Is your real friend
As you are always motivated
By your foe

Birds can sing so soothingly
As they feed themselves with insects

Beautiful pond
Gathers mosses

You have
As much loathes
As likings

Bread which fills our belly
Is made up of yeast

Moontalk

Sky has switched off the sun

Now
Moon is on

Let’s talk
Moon

Simple Answers

-Which is the most powerful country
In the world?

-Simply, America

-Which is the most vulnerable country
In the world?

-Very simply, America

On Freedom

Metanarrative of Freedom

Just believe it
"Freedom for all"
And mind it
"Freedom is not partial"

'Haves'
Are free to have so many

'Have-Nots'
Are free to have nothing

You are free to have food
If you have

Free to have sex
Even if you don’t want

Free to sleep
If you really can

Free to enjoy
If you can do so

Free to take drug
If you can buy

Free to be educated
If you can invest

Free to do hooliganism
If you have that guts

Free to sparkle riots
If you have that 'charisma'

Free to exploit oppressed
Even if you are yourself oppressed

Free to enslave freedom
Of others
Even your own

You are
Free to free constraints
But you aren't free to free freedom from compulsions

So freedom is not that bullshit
Which is taught in bloody classrooms

It’s something which teaches us
Instead -

How to remain bold
In a fearful condition
How to feel shining
Even in darkness
How to feel certain
In unsure times
You learn to grow
Without growing

You know what
You are always given options
But not the right to choose

Personal life is free
To exercise the right
Of being controlled by
Hidden terms and cunning conditions of freedom

Freedom is decided by market
Bigger the market
Bigger the freedom
Bigger the compulsions

All are free
Free to sell
And to be sold

You deserve freedom of speech
but not freedom of thought

This is the General Theory of Freedom

You are free
Your country is free
Government is free
Patriotism is free
The only thing that is not free
Is your freedom

Quark Poems

Quarks-I

[I]

It has already started
To rain
When
I’ve just started
To learn
Alphabets of Rain

[II]

I keep on feeling
That I think
Something
Thought by all

My outcast thought
Joins
The caravan of thoughts

Caravan
Doesn’t know
Where to adjourn

[III]

Even time contracts
Sometimes

Honey
Aren’t the skew streets of life
Too stretched and too boring to walk?

[IV]

Can you join
The pieces
Of your emotion

It seems just like
A jigsaw puzzle

Have patience
O passionate man!

[V]

I just called
In your cell
To say
I hate you

[VI]

You may visit my blog
And send response
Sir!

I’ve posted
An appealing article
On something
Which may really
Irritate you

Irritate others
And let be irritated


Quarks-II


[I]

Ruined were the friendly oases

This time
Enemy Mirages
Treated us sincerely

Mirages simply told us that
Mirages should not be confused
With water

[II]

Solemn wishes
Were shot to dead

Curfew and blackout ruled
In the village of justice

Nobody knows now
How exactly should a rational behave?

[III]

Today that I walk straight
On circumference of a circle

Let time
Shrink on my still palms

[IV]

Order came
And they opened fire

Bloods drop on the soil
Like Dews

The last sigh
Became
Song of the road

[V]

Nasty efforts
Cannot compel
My story to be faded into oblivion

I could never forget myself
For
I’m not to be
Defeated again and again

Existential Touch

Climbing
A big mountain
Mysterious blue sky
An awful infinite...

I start climbing
I don’t and can’t see my own footprints
On the giddy white snow
Because I have already left them
Below me. Below my being
They may look like my epitaphs.

Hawks hover around me.
I’m about to hug zenith.

A sudden sound
The mountain explodes

I wake up from my dream

Now
It’s
Reality

Again-
A big mountain
Mysterious blue sky
An awful infinite...

I start climbing…

Of Hypercracy

Hypersimplicity
Of hypercomplex lifestyle
Hypernormalcy
Of hyper abnormal mind
Hyperplane
Of hyper zigzag world

Kills you
Kills me
Kills us


Let’s search our life

Friends
We are lost
In something which is supposed to be
Our enemy’s life

Poems on Gyration

Lone Pine Tree & Her Dazzling Embroidery on Table Cloth

Lone pine tree noiselessly stands on awkward shoulder of uneven northern hill. Old eunuch sun puts on her cosmetics of curvy young clouds.

Last time when I saw you and talked with you (might be, without your willingness), what I found was a totally different you. I sincerely discovered that time; I was not the same person who used to be once before that. So, you are no more that simple girl. Even I am not that simple guy.

Reference frames have shifted for both of us now. And with no doubts, frames shall be continuously shifting and changing for all of us.

I thought for a while that we are now gentle puzzles. Who will solve us, I never know.

Blood rush inside curved veins. Attitudes, too. Reflection and refraction of motion search for equilibrium of something which ought to be always unstable.

I was talking to her in a rainy evening. I was just simply drawn mad seeing her dazzling embroidery done on her white table cloth. As if that whiteness of table cloth is aperture of faint hope as well as down memory lanes. So many easy straights mix up together to generate tough arcs of feelings and emotions. Stories. The show must go on - this unawkward and stereotype slogan seldom measures the radius of curvature of small things.

Straight droplets of water strike slant on the bare forehead only to remind your skew existence. Intercourse of straights produce locus for gyrations.

We are bound to admit- Nothing is straight in the world. Even straight lines aren’t straight.

Trees, roads, houses. Thoughts, feelings, words. They are gyrated. All are gyrated.

We are the lost wanderers of patterns of her embroidery. Technology has simplified our lifestyle. But not life. Economy kidnaps all and all are made prisoners of system. Poison may taste sweet. Alcohol of gossips liberate semiconscious minds. But what about reality of hyper impulses while in normalcy?

Lost Centre of Gravity

A curvy bird
Rests on a twisted trunk
And sings
An irregular song

Skew are the thoughts

Everything is tilted
Table, chair, bed, dishes, shoes, books, TV, PC

Ups and downs are there in every road
Of the world

Steep are the hills
Gyrated the experiences

Feelings are toppled
Nothing is unputdownable
Here

Topsy turvy words
Mischievous eyes

One leg hangs from the sky
Another sprout from soil

One-eyed dog is made to bark
To the microphone
In the recording studio of
An irritating band
For a song of rabies

One cannot stand alone
Falls down
If others don’t let their shoulders
To keep the hand there

Scientific Meaning of Quark

Quark :
A quark is any of a group of subatomic particles believed to be among the fundamental constituents of matter. In much the same way that protons and neutrons make up atomic nuclei, these particles themselves are thought to consist of quarks. Quarks constitute all hadrons (baryons and mesons)--i.e., all particles that interact by means of the strong force, the force that binds the components of the nucleus.

According to prevailing theory, quarks have mass and exhibit a spin (i.e., type of intrinsic angular momentum corresponding to a rotation around an axis through the particle). Quarks appear to be truly fundamental. They have no apparent structure; that is, they cannot be resolved into something smaller. Quarks always seem to occur in combination with other quarks or antiquarks, never alone. For years physicists have attempted to knock a quark out of a baryon in experiments with particle accelerators to observe it in a free state but have not yet succeeded in doing so.

Throughout the 1960s theoretical physicists, trying to account for the ever-growing number of subatomic particles observed in experiments, considered the possibility that protons and neutrons were composed of smaller units of matter. In 1961 two physicists, Murray Gell-Mann of the United States and Yuval Ne`eman of Israel, proposed a particle classification scheme called the Eightfold Way, based on the mathematical symmetry group SU(3), that described strongly interacting particles in terms of building blocks. In 1964 Gell-Mann introduced the concept of quarks as a physical basis for the scheme, adopting the fanciful term from a passage in James Joyce's novel Finnegans Wake. (The American physicist George Zweig developed a similar theory independently that same year and called his fundamental particles "aces.") Gell-Mann's model provided a simple picture in which all mesons are shown as consisting of a quark and an antiquark and all baryons as composed of three quarks. It postulated the existence of three types of quarks, distinguished by distinctive "flavours." These three quark types are now commonly designated as "up" (u), "down" (d), and "strange" (s). Each carries a fractional electric charge (i.e., a charge less than that of the electron). The up and down quarks are thought to make up protons and neutrons and are thus the ones observed in ordinary matter. Strange quarks occur as components of K mesons and various other extremely short-lived subatomic particles that were first observed in cosmic rays but that play no part in ordinary matter.



Most problems with quarks were resolved by the introduction of the concept of color, as formulated in quantum chromodynamics (QCD). In this theory of strong interactions, developed in 1977, the term color has nothing to do with the colors of the everyday world but rather represents a special quantum property of quarks. The colors red, green, and blue are ascribed to quarks, and their opposites, minus-red, minus-green, and minus-blue, to antiquarks. According to QCD, all combinations of quarks must contain equal mixtures of these imaginary colors so that they will cancel out one another, with the resulting particle having no net color. A baryon, for example, always consists of a combination of one red, one green, and one blue quark. The property of color in strong interactions plays a role analogous to an electric charge in electromagnetic interactions. Charge implies the exchange of photons between charged particles. Similarly, color involves the exchange of massless particles called gluons among quarks. Just as photons carry electromagnetic force, gluons transmit the forces that bind quarks together. Quarks change their color as they emit and absorb gluons, and the exchange of gluons maintains proper quark color distribution.
[Coutesy: Britannica Encyclopedia]

On Time

Time Dies Slowly

Who the hell knocks
Continuously on the windows?

Who injects venom
In the veins of time-
Of this mighty time?

Time dies slowly
But nobody sees time dying

Time weeps behind the moons
Hides in the books
Mingles with the foods
Sleeps inside the boots
Changes with the moods
Time dies slowly

Time crawls beneath the houses
Burns with the cigarettes
Blossoms upon epitaphs
Lies on the streets
Jumps between the gaps
Time dies slowly

Time dies slowly
But you never know-
How slow is it?

You can never measure-
How long does it go?

Time reborn fast
How fast
You can never experience

It’s also true that
Time dies silently
Like sea gulls sailing in the sea
And I ask one question
To none other than me
Who injects venom
In the veins of time

Is it really a crime?
An hour slips unseen
Inside our vanity

It’s 1 ‘O’ Clock at night
A century dies of AIDS
In the bed of dirty history

It’s time to bid farewell
To the time fading slowly

Get up from the graveyard
Nightmares are madly crowding

Who the hell knocks
Continuously on the doors?


Timely Questions


1 O’ clock: What’s the time now?

2 O’ clock: Whose time is this?

3 O’ clock: Have your time come?

4 O’ clock: Can you hold this storm like time?

5 O’ clock: Time bends time- is it so?

6 O’ clock: Are you simply killing time by killing nothing?

7 O’ clock: Have you decided your time to go?

8 O’ clock: Do the time stops itself sometimes?

9 O’ clock: Which time shall you come back?

10 O’ clock: Aren’t you time?




-Time is asking
These
To you

Wake up dear
Its already 11 O’clock now
You are too late
Get up, stand up
And
Answer her-


Just now!

On Fear

Afraid

A wet man is not afraid of rain
But he may be feeling so

There are confusions
All around the hometown
All around the nation
All around the globe

And there is clarity, too

It’s just like this

Zigzags
Everywhere
In feelings
And ideas

This is only the clue

The road of life
Is like a rope
Either you fall down yourself
Or you may be the champion of the show

This is not the last time
That you are hoping for the fine
This is not the first time
That you are feeling worse

It’s still not too late
Realise own mistakes
Before the dawn begins

Before the dawn behaves a task
Start digging on the road you would walk

Start joining your broken wings
Before the scattered dreams
Go far away from one another

Look at the flowers blooming inside you
And inside others
Believe it or not
I’m not telling an ugly truth

Every strength has got
A limit of its own

You can’t guess
Everything every time
Anything may happen any time

A dead man is not afraid of death
But he may be feeling so

Poem on Siliguri

Siliguri is Changing

The Sunday sun
Steps down slowly
On the limbs of Siliguri

Some of the shops are closed
When I walk
On the sweat drenched streets of Siliguri

Peoples are gossiping in crowd
Smoking biri in a busy cha-dokan
Preparing themselves for a new challenge
Of a new morning

Crows crew on top of a garbage heap
Desperate hawkers, balloon sellers, cloth sellers
All and all shout –
“Lijiye lijiye sasta hai!”
But their lives might be cheaper than their goods

I can touch
The hunger
Almost all over the body
Of this juvenile city

A motorcycle wishes me a methane smile
And shows its hurry by its reckless speed: “Hurry!”
This slogan is dispersed with the smoke of bike
On the sky, quite densely

O old Siliguri
Catchword tagged to you now is-
“Siliguri is Changing”
You are assuming perhaps
A commercial maturity
But as you are growing
Your crisis also grows
Bit by bit!

Of course, you are changing-
-You are inviting communal riots
-You are uprooting tea gardens
To establish big apartments
-You are acquiring lands of farmers

Of course
Siliguri has seen so many new happenings
And has shown so much new difficulties

Do you know my 'changing' Siliguri?
That you live in streets
In the bare streets barely
Where urgent lives leave
The marks of struggles
Their urgent struggles

Some of shops are opened
When I walk
On the question drenched streets of Siliguri
And one question followed me like my shadow
-"Siliguri is changing"
But towards which way?

On Confusion

Cannibal Times

Come
I’ll eat you all

See
World has become
So much religious
(Even physics!)
And living so much expensive

You all are gods
Gods of your own world
I want to listen to your
Frustrations first
And
Wish to see
Masturbating
Before your own porno self

Go and
Sleep with the capitalists
In a city of communal riots

Class struggle
Demonstrates itself in
Class adjustments

All are violent and disturbed
In this risky
Peaceful co-existence

Democracy is
What people earn
Just as a bonded labour earns his privileges

Come
And
I’ll eat you all

I see me
In all of you

I see nothing
While I look at myself
Though I see
A lot

My mirror
These days
Scare me

I can’t keep gazing sky

Keep away that sky from me
The sky falls
On me


Cyborgs in Stone Age

The world has lost its art
History
Culture
Language
And real smile

The world has abundantly
Made sophisticated weapons
To kill and to be killed
But
Fewer medicines to save life

The world has its machines
Equipments, gadgets
For more efficiency and much effectivity
And for entertainment

The head is still there
But the world has lost its heart

‘Cyborgs’ -
Half human-Half machine
-Live in Stone Age
Where they hunt for profits
In everything
In love, in charity
Even in relationships

Emotion was stabbed to death
With Intellect-knife

Nobody is bare
Nothing uncovered
Even air and water are not transparent
Everything is covered with
Clear confusions

Fugitive

Fear of self
Is much deeper than
Fear of known enemies

We are running away from us

Shooting stars
Go away from planet

Run
Run
Run

It’s very difficult to face self
It’s hard to deny verdict of own mind

It’s easy to decieve self
But tough to escape punishment

Search of joy
Disrupts us at
All directions

A call comes
Continuously
From unseen abyss
Of self

One runs away from that call
There is no looking back

When eye opens
Everything seems to be devastated
You try to pick your belongings
But ash comes into your hand

Others are running
Everybody is running
One should run
Run away
From
Others
From self

Who’ll Bell the Cat?

Everybody is correct
Everyone justified
All is well
All intentions are pure

All are feeling
That
Life has become
Hell with complexities
Hypocrisy
And much show offs

We all know that
We wear our personalities
All around in society
We see
Masks after masks
Masks below masks
Masks above masks

I’m scared of my hidden self
I hide myself behind this mask

We are safe
We are masks

They’re just returning
From rally
Shouting slogans

It’s raining
They’re getting wet

The fascist cat is roaring like
A tiger

All are aware
All are convinced
That they’re
The ultimate prey

The question is-
Who’ll bell the cat?

Poems on Darjeeling

Darjeeling deja’ vu

Silent roofs
Curl up inside
Purple fumes of uncertainty.

Courage-flags
T-r-e-m-b-l-e
Within cold tremor
On the bare breasts of
Old colonial streets.

All of a sudden,
Twenty one years of terror and tyranny
Fall down
Like a rotten egg.

Cool celebration
Rocks
Sleeping Stones
Static Dynamisms
And
A Still Storm.

End of political eclipse
Defame
‘Apolitical’ stands
Famous till now.

People start talking
Moving
Loving
And living politics
For once again.

And now
Who can stop them?
They are in festive mood
Enjoying
In their gala of struggle.

Numb air
Breaths in oxygen
When protest blows in the wind
Just like a reckless hip-hop song.

They’ve cracked again
The forgotten password
To log in the world of dignity.

‘Land of Mystic Thunderbolt’
Is roaring
Punk slogans of justice and equality:

“We don’t need no education
We don’t need no thought control.”

Colonial Transitions

They said
Colonial transition
Will bring in the freedom for all.

Colony still exists
In the disguise of freedom.

So, this freedom
Seems to be a mask
For freedom itself.

Tourists may feel emancipated by seeing
The sunrise from Tiger Hill.

But Darjeeling itself
Starves
seriously
For
Emancipation.

Sometimes
Face becomes more important
Than bread.

Blending of bloods and tears
Yielded
World class aroma
Of
‘Darjeeling Tea’
for more than two hundred dry years.

Faceless Darjeeling fights for its
Face
Lost under colonial annals.

A history
Covered by imperial ruins
Waits
To be explored
In the riverbed of The Teesta.

Darjeeling Torso

Tea
Tourism
Timber
Toy Train
And
Tear

Smile! Smile!
See the ghost of glory
Behold the spectre of dignity

A live torso
Lies discriminated
And deserted on the floor
Of democratic nation

They love and serve the nation
They tune in to patriotic songs
Searching their heads
To live in pride and peace
And searching their legs to stand and walk firm:
They tell a spade a spade

They are taught family planning
And communal fraternity

By nation they mean
Rivers and mountains and deserts
What else more?

What they know
Is
The nation is deaf and dumb


People Cried


People cried
For water

-They got corruption.

People cried
For freedom

-They were labeled separatists.

People cried
For identity

-They were hit by lathis and bullets.


And now
What should they cry for?

Darjeeling Metamorphosis

The stretched silence was a womb
For a rebel tornado

Winds stumble against
Anti wave currents

Dry cough of hills
Relapse
Unknowingly

Confusions start growing
Again In the farming terrains

Hospitalised
Cinchona plant
Waits for its nutritious breakfast and medicine

Colonial tea plants
Sneak
On the creeping democratic land

World famous flora and fauna
Join laughing club
To learn the art of laughing

The storm
Stare
From behind
The shoulders of Kanchenjunga

Journey
Still remains to be covered

Houses
Are in fear of losing roofs
In the storm which is moving
Inside the rooms

Moods & Tunes

Tears

We Die

But

w
e

n
e
v
e
r

d
i
e


Our eyes
Are filled
With
Tears

Our tear
Lives with us

The art
Of weeping
Saves
Civilization of emotions
Till date

We prescribe
Tears
For the age old wound
Of your
Die hard heart

We live
To weep

Our eyes
Are decorated
With
Tears


The Enemy

I realised
This morning
That I slept with my enemy

Friendly enemy
Loves you
More than your friend
Loves you

One learns
How to win over oneself
When
Others start defeating you

The Leaning Moon

Sky was
Empty
As empty as
A blank monitor

The moon
Was
Leaning
Against
The dark wall
Of a deserted house

That night
Moon had
Came to see
Sobbing old door

Somebody
Jumped out
Like a fox
From
Dark bush behind
And
Whispered

-Go back
You are obstacle for us!

A bird
Flew
Silently
Over the quiet roof
In that silent night

Moon
Was
Still
Leaning


Undoing Boredom

You may copy
A file of Happiness
From internet or others

And paste that easily
On your eyes and lips

You may still remain
Bored
Feel monotonous

It is others
And you
Who bore you
Cruelly

Copied file of happiness
Is not your own

We are seldom
Programmed by ourselves
Because others write our
Programming codes

I think
That we should
Think of unthinking
Futile thoughts

Life becomes a puzzle
Of pretending to live

Who else is relaxed
Today to be cool
And think hot

Creativity should be created
Not borrowed

Better to remain
Armature
To unlearn learnt
And save all what we learn finally

We may or may not delete
Useless messy doubts
Animate each moment
With multimedia dreams

We may or may not
Fight virus of complexes
Kill them
Before they grow
In our mind

Have own mind
So, don’t borrow

One should not rule over
One’s ‘self’

Enjoy defeats
Liberate liberty
Let songs sing
With their
Own voice for us

Let birds of vision
Search their own vistas

More speedy, more efficient
More accurate
Upgraded version of
Our follower would
Lead us

Passionately!

Vacuums

Wet eyes
In dry times

Moments freeze themselves
While glorious defeats
Start telling stories
Of unseen nightmares.

Footprints
On the road
Less traveled

-Alien?

-No that’s you!

So many things
To tell
So many
To see
So many
To live


So many things
Hold so many things
So many things
Give birth to
So many things

So many things
In this world
filled with
Vacuums.

Walking on the Edge

Wound knows
How to pain.
And
They say-
Time knows
How to heal.

Roads
Sometimes
May lead nowhere.

Words
Always
Don’t mean anything.

Every spring
Can’t ensure
Blossoms every year.

There may be a dark crack
Even in your colourful smile-
Who knows?

Who can measure
The collateral damage
Of emotions even in
Times of constructions of civilizations?

Revolutions
Sometimes become
Escape means
For frustrated minds.

Dirty words are ejaculated
Even from the clean mouths
Of Histories.

At the end of the day
There are times but
When time
Would not know how to heal.

And there are times
When histories have to be
Rewritten again
In new and fresh language

Because
Hard times
Move hardly.


We


Our words-
Tall lampposts without bulbs
On the streets orphanised

Our promise-
Drug addict fly
That walks lazily
On the edge of knife

Our dreams-
Kiwi
In a flying competition

Our angers-
Crazy foam
Inside beer bottle

Our action-
Camera
Without lens


Yes

Yes
I’m not going to argue.

It’s OK
You won.

You won
Absolutely

You won
At the cost of
Your own triumph.

Prose Poems

Soliloquy Hall

My grammar is weak. I’m strong in slangs only, I beg your pardon. Name is name of name. May I know your name? Dialogue delivery is not being smooth. Handicapped music is just mocking madly stretched eyes. Mad eyes. What I think now is that I should erase my discreet mumbling phonetics. One seems smart talking without speaking. I’m stranger as you are. What’s this ‘name’?

By the way, what to call cat in words? Today is Black Day. It is democracy here. In democracy, as you know very well, a spade is never told a spade. Tie your tongues with golden chain. And learn to speak with limited vocabulary. Otherwise join a school of language learning, your accent shall get so polished that you may even get superb entry in a call centre. It’s too boring to talk too long, you know! All should know buying and selling but ought not to know to speak.

I cry aloud a beast word. Echo mimes me. Language has its cunning limbs. I get to know to have cunning hands, cunning feet, cunning teeth, cunning eyes, cunning ears, too. But a programmed brain runs limited softwares. I mime my echo. I feel embarrassed and scared when A reappears and B vanishes forever on and from the stage. Impasto strokes of your word don’t mean the meaning. They are painted on the air, with the colourless brush of our thoughts.

Capitalism or communism – which one you choose to have? We should speak crystal clear with our tied tongues and chocking larynx. Vanilla or Strawberry – ice cream is chilled! Tell fast. And don’t forget to remember that the hall is full of audiences. They may forget but will never forgive. They can watch the observed. Listen the heard. All around us. Yes, we are there. Sitting cross-legged.

The Nest

That may not happen next time. That was a rare opportunity to have a glimpse of me. What I saw with my own eyes was me being chewed as a tart tobacco from all around by my fragmented virtual images.

Nobody shall be there when you are about to perish: you can examine this fact immediately by calling all your friends and enemies before you kill yourself. Man is basically alone even inside a crowd: each egg is alone but hatches in groups. One may easily unlearn socializing. I’m that fool who’s assertive of being a witty man. Pity on this foolish wise! Nobody knows what to say to others and what one wants to hear exactly in terms of emotions, intelligence and so many hitherto unknown compound parameters.

My trouser of satisfaction is not fitting on my reduced hip. I was ill a few days back. What should I do? Should I go out nude in the market to buy another? I don’t know anything. You never understand the paradoxes of the kinds such as- Why you are crazy about own wishes? What do you need from your friends? Why can’t you love your enemy? Where is your song you wanted to sing? Why do you want to live?

The nest is waiting to greet you with warmth of unknown genre and species. It is fully empty now. Birds have left for somewhere else. You may wait for others to arrive at.

How to fly in void? I may need medium for that. I’ve not testified yet. I, just now, have caressed holding in my palm and kissed a broken feather lying on the ground. Evening is tending towards us. Can we touch it? That dropped feather may be me. And the nest must have seen me seeing the seen hills, seen trees, seen horizon. Nothing is unseen among things seen, persons seen and events seen. I don’t know to know. I know nothing.

Exodus

The eyelids of the village bidding farewell are not able to hold tears. They are going away from here. Far away. Or closer. For where, they don’t know. They only can guess from what they have modelled in mathematics and projected as future course of time and space.

Industrial smoke madly licks the navel of sleeping sky. The blushed sky is still blue. And village still injured.

The polluted minds are filled with physical love and lust. Bodies are wrapped with hollow happiness.

They are heading towards water. They always try to lie themselves with the mirage of mars. Red planet holds unknown storms which may replace central and displace marginal.

They like to sing short cantos. Pathos enclaves in villages as their old village desperately look at them from behind.

They have left behind their bag of story. Villages are in troubled water.

Their history is dead. Their authors dead. Their identity dead.

The path leads there where they had once left themselves and from where hey had started their journey.

City holds them, kisses them, sucks them and tears them into heterogeneous fragments of objects. They feel enliven and enlightened. They grow old and become pale.

They hate system to love it. System makes them run. They leave to reach somewhere they didn’t wish they would. They remember their small cottage in their small village. They can’t and don’t weep. City is not a place to shed tears, rather a place to hit and run, lose and win.

They leave in groups. They run in groups. They go in groups only to be alone. Lonely efficient groups work in togetherness for optimization of productivity.

They can only memorize their village. Faintly in cloudy minds. Cannot realise now.

Lone Pine Tree & Her Dazzling Embroidery on Table Cloth

Lone pine tree noiselessly stands on awkward shoulder of uneven northern hill. Old eunuch sun puts on her cosmetics of curvy young clouds.

Last time when I saw you and talked with you (might be, without your willingness), what I found was a totally different you. I sincerely discovered that time; I was not the same person who used to be once before that. So, you are no more that simple girl. Even I am not that simple guy.

Reference frames have shifted for both of us now. And with no doubts, frames shall be continuously shifting and changing for all of us.

I thought for a while that we are now gentle puzzles. Who will solve us, I never know.

Blood rush inside curved veins. Attitudes, too. Reflection and refraction of motion search for equilibrium of something which ought to be always unstable.

I was talking to her in a rainy evening. I was just simply drawn mad seeing her dazzling embroidery done on her white table cloth. As if that whiteness of table cloth is aperture of faint hope as well as down memory lanes. So many easy straights mix up together to generate tough arcs of feelings and emotions. Stories. The show must go on - this unawkward and stereotype slogan seldom measures the radius of curvature of small things.

Straight droplets of water strike slant on the bare forehead only to remind your skew existence. Intercourse of straights produce locus for gyrations.

We are bound to admit- Nothing is straight in the world. Even straight lines aren’t straight.

Trees, roads, houses. Thoughts, feelings, words. They are gyrated. All are gyrated.

We are the lost wanderers of patterns of her embroidery. Technology has simplified our lifestyle. But not life. Economy kidnaps all and all are made prisoners of system. Poison may taste sweet. Alcohol of gossips liberate semiconscious minds. But what about reality of hyper impulses while in normalcy?

Political Strokes

Singur Saturday

That Saturday,
Creeping through the naked sky
Terror eclipsed sun
Blindly commits suicide.

Blue tongue
Hang on shamefully between
Shameless eunuch jaws.
□

Morning begins
With Protest Blossoms and
Wordy eruptions.
Morning matures with
Lathis and rifles.
And slangs
-“…suworer bacchha saalaa, aay…”

Mourning morn
Disappears in melancholy
With tears, cries and bloods.

□

A child looks
Into a vacant patch of loaded sky
Desperately with pale eyes
For something else
Perhaps for a football, a slate
or his slain future

He’s standing
On the ruin of democracy.

□

The cat walk of justice
On the ramp of “Communism”
Simulates erotic sense of Tatas, Ambanis, Bennis…

□

There, the tyrants are writing epitaph
For dying people
And writing welcome graphity
For corporate tycoons.

But singers of soil
Are tearing off the glamorous mask
Out of the vulgar face of Development-
Development at the gunpoint!

□

SEZ-
Special Eviction Zone
Social Eradication Zoo
Soul Erasing Zygote

SEZ’s are being created for
The creators of people’s car.

The other day farmer’s little son would ask
To his father flatly-
“Would you buy that car for me, baba?”
The answerless farmer would answer-
“My dear, I can’t buy back even our life bought by them”
□

Political power runs by
Rifles and cartridges
And power empowers powerful.
Power is yet to become power of powerless.
Its F A R
That little innocent boy
When he grows up
Then one day he would learn this reality
From his school of life.

□

A hard evening
Falls hardly
On the faint furious fields
Of Singur.

Doomed are the people.
Their dim eyes
Stretch wider and wider
With darkness deepening.

Democracy

Tiger-
Eating grass.

Foxes hang around
In a busy city road.

Red flowers bloom in an old fern plant.

Eyes mimic
The blind.

Horns of a cat.

Liberal parody of czars.

Sunrise
At 5 P.M. to-day.


It Sounds Political

After all
Every question of the world
Boils down to the question of survival.

They say
They need to say so-
Love makes the difference.

But most of the times
They say only
Upside down of the things.

Who intoxicates
Our thoughts then
With sword like sweet words?

Their TV, their radio
Their media, their literature
They say
They badly need to say so
They are right
And our judgement should prove them right.

And when
We place some question
Forcing them to listen
They are irritated
And they say dizzily
-“You ain’t sound
That much political.”

Nano Level

Merely

We see
The visible

We hear
The audible

We touch
The tangible

[And this and that]

We live
Like this

When our life
Lives in us
When there is
Nothing to be seen
Nothing to be heard
Nothing to be touched

At that time, too
We see
We hear
We touch
Even invisible
Even inaudible
Even intangible

It’s because
Mere
Seeing
Hearing
Touching
Don’t ensure the truth
Don’t guarantee a pure living.

Nameless

No
Don’t blame
Don’t blame it
Merely for namesake.

Its ‘being’
Has no any name
At all.

Not to have any name
Not to have any face
Not to have any space
Not to have any colour

Is to have a lot of things

A lot of affairs
A lot of difficulties
A lot of reasons

Names are imposed
To nameless
As the punishment to the innocents

Faces are implanted
To faceless
As the ideology to emotional society

So
Don’t blame
Don’t blame it
For it is nameless

Pedagogy of Life

They took blood

They took sweats

-Gave tears


They took to-morrows

They took to-days

-Gave yesterdays

They took almost everything

Left nothing

Now that

This Nothingness
Is the capital
The sole weapon

We’ll fight back
We’ll come back

We are waking up
To the morn

Pedagogy of our life tells that
Light rays
Always don’t propagate
In straight lines.

Signs

Signs
Are always there
Everywhere
Of a new
Era
To be born.

But when-
Nobody knows
As because
Time only metmorphosises.

Time
Keeps record
Of our
Vicious Circle
Of dynamic narratives.

Social Transformations

A Lesson on Human Society

 Chapter: Human Society

It’s not that hard to define. Very simple.

It’s the same complex food chain effect found in nature.

… Butterfly being eaten by frog  Frog being eaten by snake  Snake being eaten by vulture …

In order that all those who are to be saved need these bloody rule of elimination badly.


 Activity:
Now draw a picture based on the above scene. You just need to replace the animals by various social classes, genders, cultures, religions, sects, bands, groups, political organizations such as governments, NGOs, Anarchists, Communists, Capitalists, Post Modernists, Artists, Naxalites, Corporate, Mafia, Management Guru, Marketing Consultants, Laymen, etc, etc, etc.

And when you finish drawing, colour the figures carefully.



Bankrupt Minds

Streets are
Moving
With
Moving cars

They too
Want to run
Run and win

Smokes
Coming out of chimneys
Disappear
And are seen again

Sky is not the limit for
The sky itself

In fact
Limit is something like
Godot
You wait in vain
Always

Everybody has to
Participate in
Cruel race
Of survival

If you stumble somewhere
Rests are bound to
Run past your body
Making you
Injured
And notorious enemy
Of game

Life is a game
With rules
To be broken
Each moment

You can win
You can lose
But
You can never leave


Black Hole Song


We said-
Let there be light!
And there was
Darkness everywhere

Light
Is a mask
Wore by worn darkness

This light alike light
Sheds light
On our dark existence
On the dark limb of
Milky Way

It’s our face
That
Sheds light
On our dark backs

In a hanged over morn
Universe brushing its teeth
With the paste of motion
Sees its drowsy face
On the glass
Painted by our blood

Hip-Hop ghosts of
Stars
Sing eerie songs
From within
Black Holes
Holed inside
Walls of complexes

Civilized Robot dances
With despaired heart
With all time silent cat
Of time-space

Robot knows
What is
‘Machinism’,
And how to pay respect to and
How to love it?

Machine
Loves us
We use them
And get used to them
Gradually
We become machine

Welcome!
Welcome my son!
Welcome to machine!


A Real He

He grabbed
The dust of
Primitive thoughts
With his
Blissful Techno-Palm.

He wanders
Gloomily
On that
Rush and aloof
Post-Modern road.

Time chews
Sour bubble gum
of Winds of Change,
F-r-a-g-m-e-n-t-e-d.

Blood drops from
Hypnotized eyes
Just as a song
Drops in
s-i-l-e-n-c-e.

His orphan dreams
Drag his future
On global market floor.

He walks.
He eats.
He drinks.
He runs.
He falls.
He flies.
He dies.

Inside a simulated
Audio-Visual lab
A student of class three
Was asking
A question
To her virtual guru-
Did he become the ‘He’
Which he wanted to be?
-A real He.

Confession Corner

I’m Normal This Way

Sometimes
I forget others
And only remember myself.

Sometimes
Its just opposite.
I remember
All the others
And flatly forget myself.

You all may accuse me
Of being abnormal.

But friends!
Believe me
I’m normal this way.


In Crossroads

I am
In
Crossroads
Today.

But
One day
I’ll be there-

By the bank of
That silent river.


Or


By the edge of
Your watery eyes.

Integrity

Let my sun catch cold
When my moon sneezes

Today that I weep
Not weeping
At all

Today that
I walk on a circle
Of straight thoughts

Let me live
My life
In integrity
With others
With myself


Is There Anybody There?

Is there anybody there?

I need a glass of water
A glass of normalcy
The day was full of anxiety
I wanted to have some talk
To feel relaxed

After all
This is a complex world-
No one needs to be complex
In asserting this

All of us live simply
In this chaotic earth

Anarchy is banned
Only in laws
Not in real life:
Celebrate anarchy
With uncomplicated complexes

One has to search for order
With disordered eyes
A child is born
With a brain of man
Who knows-
What is inside
The mind of catlike life?

Clarity is liked by all
But complexity attacks it like
A virus of computer
You dump that with antivirus software
In virus vault
Again a new virus assaults your PC
Need of new kind antivirus again.

These days
Nobody asks simple questions

How can the questions like-

Are you sure?
Do you feel glad?
Do you trust yourself?
Are you going back home?

-Be simple today?

Everyone feels bad
In goodness of times

All feel happy
Being sad

Nobody likes to be called bad
But goodness is not in demand

I’m badly in a need of an enemy,
Who can make me jealous of others
Even myself

Is there anybody there?

I
want
to
live
today.

Darjeeling deja’ vu

Silent roofs
Curl up inside
Purple fumes of uncertainty.

Courage-flags
T-r-e-m-b-l-e
Within cold tremor
On the bare breasts of
Old colonial streets.

All of a sudden,
Twenty one years of terror and tyranny
Fall down
Like a rotten egg.

Cool celebration
Rocks
Sleeping Stones
Static Dynamisms
And
A Still Storm.

End of political eclipse
Defame
‘Apolitical’ stands
Famous till now.

People start talking
Moving
Loving
And living politics
For once again.

And now,
Who can stop them?
They are in festive mood
Enjoying
Their gala of struggle.

Numb air
Breaths in oxygen
When protest blows in the wind
Just like a reckless hip-hop song.

They’ve cracked again
The forgotten password
To log in the world of dignity.

‘Land of Mystic Thunderbolt’
Is roaring
Punk slogans of justice and equality:

“We don’t need no education
We don’t need no thought control.”



Coloured

We are so -
So are our colours.

You are true Bhaskarda,
All of the colours
Agee
In
Darkness:
This is the religion
Of colours.

We name them
Colours.
[I don’t know
In fact
The name of colour.]

A rational
Never asks the questions like:
What colour you are-
Black or white?

But rational questions are coloured:
Coloured in several colours.
Several shades of colours:
Personality, psyche’, economy, genetics, milieu, culture…

As because
Nothing is colourless,
Even colour is not colourless.

Nobody knows
Your perception
Better than you.

So, I won’t ask you-
What do you perceive
By seeing me
Coloured?


Democracy

Tiger-
Eating grass.

Foxes hang around
In a busy city road.

Red flowers bloom in an old fern plant.

Eyes mimic
The blind.

Horns of a cat.

Liberal parody of czars.

Sunrise
At 5 P.M. to-day.



Dream Azure

Have you ever
Dreamt?

Now when the sky of emotion
Is about to vomit all out
-The droplets of silence

The dream seems
As gray
As the silent Teesta.

The words
Have another outlet
The pupils
The unspoken words
Flow through them
As the Teesta flows
-The grey Teesta
-The green Teesta
-The blue Teesta

Teesta
Says that
She has nothing to say
And starts gazing
The northern hills
The northern hills-
Where her anxiety for emancipation
Propels like a hawk.


Yes
I speak to you
O Teesta!
Close your eyes
For a microsecond
If you want to keep them open
It’s alright:
But see a dream
As you know that
The dream
Is the uterus
Of to-morrow.

An orphan flower
Like an orphaned time
Crawls on orphaned road.

Teesta!
You must reach the ocean
And for that
You should have dream
And your dreams may perhaps be
As azure as your smiles
As soothing as your unspoken whisper.



Fantastic God

Nietzsche says
God is dead.
It’s ok
But
God is still harmful
Even if it is not alive

Truth of illusions
Give birth to unreal God
‘The supreme power’-
So called ‘The Omnipotent’

Hypocrisy born
From living womb
Of illusive Goddess

Gentle Vikings
Earn their profits
From this unreal reality

God is after all
A mere hallucination
The matter is
We all get addicted
By opium of God
We are always hypnotized
By you religious people
We are seduced by
Porno goddesses.

God is mere imagination
Not more than that
And this has
Always been dangerous

Gods simply emanate
From our unending fear

God is illusory
And this fantasy is
Never radical
But always reactionary


Goodbye

At last
I was lost
In your last word
That was lost
In the lost world of your last words



Have Fresh Air

This is the time
for you to come.
For you to see and know.
To know and win.

Look
The tree of waiting
Is penetrating
the sky of ceaseless hope.

Come
and have fresh air
Have fresh talks
Have fresh dreams
Tell me something new
As much new as History is.

Tell me something untold.

Don’t ever stand against
The question of this desperate Time.
Instead, you search a fitting answer.

Let’s have our own vision
Own eyes to see.
Let’s have our own brain
Own thoughts to walk.

This is the turn
For you to come
For you to decide

Come
And have fresh air.

Tell me
Something new,
Truly new.

Fifth Corner

Contour Blues

Would you sing once
For this deaf?

Feel the greenish desert inside
Try hearing my dumb words
As someone is walking
On my eruptive road
While someone climbs
My eroded peaks

Smile please
And see my burnt face!

You said
You’ll erect upon
My trembling now
I think
I should kill
My killer complexes
Before my blank palms hold a storm

Who is not afraid of,
And possessive of
That Fugitive Future?

Nobody fights
To win over notorious victories
So that defeats may
Again mean
What they use to mean

Come
Show me Yourself
Show me Myself
Show me seen

Seen is only the face
Not the faceness

Come

Would you?



forum for art, literature & music (FALM): forum for art, literature & music

forum for art, literature & music (FALM): forum for art, literature & music

Thoughtbit

Asymptotes

We talk.
We don’t speak.

Even though
Uttered are the words- “Hello!”

The space in between
Is then flooded
With the Silent Words:

The words unspoken
Touch
Each other
At

I-n-f-i-n-i-t-y.