Friday, June 27, 2008

Confession Corner

I’m Normal This Way

I forget others
And only remember myself.

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

One day
I’ll be there-

By the bank of
That silent river.


By the edge of
Your watery eyes.


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?

Darjeeling deja’ vu

Silent roofs
Curl up inside
Purple fumes of uncertainty.

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
Sleeping Stones
Static Dynamisms
A Still Storm.

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

People start talking
And living politics
For once again.

And now,
Who can stop them?
They are in festive mood
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.”


We are so -
So are our colours.

You are true Bhaskarda,
All of the colours
This is the religion
Of colours.

We name them
[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


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.

At 5 P.M. to-day.

Dream Azure

Have you ever

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

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.

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.

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
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


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.

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

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

And have fresh air.

Tell me
Something new,
Truly new.