An ode to a friend:

Beats and drums rested unheard, when…
You bought the Christ
You looked and winked
You stopped and vaporized…

Poems had never been the same, when…
Profligates raped you and
Gonads went asleep after the rains
You looked and smiled
You stopped and died…

So nights are easy now days, when…
I sleep and think of the cans
Emptied cans and a shoulder’s fatigue
Running glass down the rachis
Someplace else…
I looked and laughed
I stopped and cried…

shrijato

prem korchhilo ora; kachhakachhi bose

er haath anyer balish-er tolay

aramer bori kheye klanto

aar oporer sada aalor chhop

tokhono chokhe porchhe;

meyeta chokh bujhe felle banche..

din saat-ek hoye geleo chheletar 

phone aseni; keno k jane

notun premer bioscope-a achena kolajgulo

soriye fele fer klanto

matha; nogno shorir.. jokhon aramer khonje...

sei sada daag-ta na?

sokaler paper-er charer patay

bish-moder khoborer niche

inchi charek jayga jure j bornona chokh tanchhilo

seta chheletar-e..

sondeho nei; sei nyakamo; sei blade;

beshikkhon urte pari na ami...

ganja-r neshay jhanjhra buk

daatkopati lagiye bhasiye rakhe aste aste roga hoye jaowa

shorir-ta; chokheo rokto nei;

tobuo opor theke sposhto dekhi amar bhalobasa..

sada chokhe, daag-er moto

Ostityo

Sakina tokhono takiye chhilo ekdrishtite..

garir chakar daag-er opor diye ulongo shishur dol

cycle-er tube niye goti-r khelay motto..

jeep-er dhuloy pichhonta pray jhapsa, gholate hoye jachhilo..

amar chokh tokhono hoyto osohay Sakina-k khunjchhe..

pahari ful-er gondho j etota pochhondo hobe bhabini..

bhabini j bhalo lagbe sufir adole gaowa sei adibasi sur..

r bhabini j Sakina-k pabo..

prai raat 8tar por jokhon pichhoner oe chhotto tila-tar dike

eka eka hanttam, chander alor pashapashi 

mon jeno ashroy peto meye-tar sorol, nirabhoron boktobye...

tar oe jot pakano chuler modhye sada phool-er hasi

chokher jyotir modhye amolin bhalobasa

r amar sei chotto meyeta, sob jokhon ek hoye jeto

tokhon abiskar kortam amar ostityo..

phire giye samner 27a ekbochhor purno hobe jedin

opekkhay bose bose Sakina-r chhobi-ta niye 

katachhera korbo, lorbo nijer sathe

ar jodi bochhor panchek banchate partam 

tahole aaj r Sakina-k dhulor jhore fele astam na.. chakar daag-er

moto buker daag-o ekdin miliye jeto...

moram-er rastay

sorpil pothe

bhalobasar anginay, Sakinay...

Torso: Playing like Revenant

Of thick air, streaming into the room
Where the last sitting was with the beasts.
Beasts with uncanny polemics for the deads,
Rising and rising up in the fire

Of thick ash, finding the shelter
Of the pauper, living in the air, with
The ghostly zephyr, turning on the heat,
Rising and rising up in the air

Of vernal showers, keeping the thirst alive
Like stench, of urge and desire, with
A sensuous outfit to touch the death,
Rising and rising like fire, along the air..

Skull

THE fruit had on it the colour of
Yellow, when I stung it with a syringe,
Appeared a clot of blood,
I saw it; a strange sympathy flourished
The fruit said ' Why cant you see.. still..?'
Peeling, I found ten thousand and seven hundred
Cells in its flesh, its soul..

NOT a fruit. A skull was there on the field
Today it has the colour of white, pale
There was soft green grass. A mouse,
Thinks of a shelter, enters through
One eye-hole, only to be cheated by the other.
A paddy field is nearby.
Two kits were playing.
One of them picked up one of my bones,
But werent there a few more?
Werent there two hundred and...?
The skull mocked-
'Cant you see the wretched village!
Some are for the wolves, some deserve the foxes
The ants found a better
Stay inside your flesh and you were
Silent. And now
So fake your tears..'

I was afraid, cant open my eyes,
The moon, at the space, today its too white.
Far away- the dead huts, the bushes, the tilted fences
The torn clothes can be seen, the black
Umbrella; cockroaches piling up in that black nest;
Leaves fall on it.
I can see much more- a pair of shoes
My mother gave me a sacred thread
Where is that?
I cant see anything now, no more can I
Grabbing the mad breezes, I swim through
The space, over the greens and on the field
Still conquers, still lives under the moon, My own white, pale skull..


An effort to translate a poem ''khuli'' by Joy Goswamy.

parapraxis

A Small
Piece of
Broken heart
Crawling the
Darkness
Of orphic
Clairvoyance
He said when
Love, lust, flesh
And the murmuring sex
Filled up life
To the brim
Broken pieces, lighter
Waves around
Catching the glimpses
Of misty eyes
Cleared them off
Many
Many a times
Living lie, a lie
A death
Crawling again
Love, love
I want to
Kiss again..
The deadly pain

Days of Tricks

Sunbeams hitting her from behind the bars of clouds
A two or three of them
Yes, there were three
Tied with soiled frocks
Playing tricks of counting
Starting from that day..

She was alone on the bank when
He was disappearing slowly
Behind the heaps of growth, of barren hopes
Her shadow, reflected on the narrow rill
Echoed the lame hope of getting back
The dreams of bringing back..

Echoing has its part in the lead
With the mother and her daughters
Playing the same game over the years
A tiny hope, he hasnt been slaughtered
The blood drops which when touched the grains
Formed the tears, the precious rains
A soldier never needs a veil
Always leaves a sanguine trail
To follow the past, to live and fight
To play the trick, the woeful plight..

Her only son when waits in womb
She stares and watches the counting trick
Handed over to the little Gods,
A soldier is coming within a few weeks..