Thursday, May 21, 2015

You give me rain

You give me
in the raging calm
of my dry heart.

You give me
in the sweaty lines
meandering on my palm.

You give me
in the sunk haggard
recess of my skeleton jaw.

You give me
in the curt, edgy creases
wasting on my shirtless self.

You give me
in gasping crimson veins
pulsing around my choking throat

You give me
in the curled, gooey folds
of my jagged simmering heart.

You give me
in the lively, playful sins
dripping from distant dreams.

You give me
to wait in dark aisles
circling shadows of lust.

You give me
in the dry heart
of my raging calm.

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

Teri Galiyaan

I am writing this to the void. I am writing this to you. You are the void.

Yenhi doobe din mere 
Yenhi hote hai savere
Yenhi marna aur jeena
Yenhi mandir aur madina
Teri Galiyaan.

Shored up somewhere deep inside is a very naive me who is getting a breather as I type this. What is this? Nothing that makes any particular sense. Between taking care of so many people - you, him and her, and him, and me, taking care that it all makes sense is quite secondary.

What is it about intense melancholy that can spur words? It is a family trait, you say, this strain of melancholic euphoria. It got me writing, and it got me to you. Pretty useful trait, if you ask me, even if it is self-deprecating.

There is much to say, and there is so little lost in translation. Yet, you and me hanker for that little. The part of you I do not get, and the part of me you do not need. 

Bhalobasha baaki aache tomaro aamar kaache
Ja cheycho deete aami parina
Aamaro shomoye daale phooriye esheche paata
Aeto prem kaache eshe, elona.

Jodi kono din toomi, 
Du haath diye jhinook kodao nei aami, 
shei olpo bhaanga golpo guloye, kaar shaathe, 
bolo shobdo choode phirbo baadi maajh raate
Aami tomar kotha bolbo kaake.

There was once an urgency to be understood, a dire need to convey the music of words that sang to me. I find that urgency in me fading. Suddenly, as if, it does not matter if one is understood or not. Why?

I find a tiring cynicism replacing a ceaseless wonder of things, filling up realms of possibility with reams of mundane.

Even as I see wonder take birth before my eyes, every day.

Monday, December 01, 2014

Slightly broken

Scratches of colour
pencil scraps
chalk out heartstrings
rendered on muted
Shreds of light
year pasts
return my leftover love
smeared on broken
Walks of sound
less kisses
ride roller-coaster stories
dripping on fungal
Touches of your
carnal pauses
echo in home-bound corridors
broken in dissoluble

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

It Rains

It rains.
In beads held captive on
a sweaty brow, meandering
between hesitant creases.

It rains.
In drops trickling down
dimpled cheeks, tripping
over murmuring lips.

It rains.
In streams forming at
the corner of eyes, awash
with new born hope.

It rains.
In puddles splashed over
a pristine white, stained
with muddy expectations.

It rains.
In sheets of a sky washed
breathless face, gulping
in the sound of your name.

It rains.

It rains.

It pours.

It tickles, trickles and washes over.
It batters, and soothes and drowns,
It chokes, it chides, it chastises,
It plays, it pricks, it pleasures.

It rains.

Thursday, October 24, 2013

Akhon Onek Raat

Words found in a limbo of languages,
Extinct dialects of the heart,
Forced cacophony of the world around,
Sounds that mean what we make them mean.

Akhon onek raat,
Tomar kaandhe amaar nishshash,
Aami benche aachi, tomar bhalobashaye.

Simple lines, spoken a million times over,
in many love stories, like ours,
Beaten to death by authors, and burnt to ash,
by poets and blurred off paper by painters.

Chuye dile haath,
Aamar briddho booke tomar maatha chepe dhore,
Dolchi kamon neshaye.

Drunk in meaning, of eons of stories,
Heavy with the weight of so many souls,
Lines, still just lines of words after all,
in an alien language.

Kano je oshonkoche ondho gaaner koli,
Pakhar blade-er taale shojashuji kotha boli.

Nonsense and sense, churned like buttermilk,
Indistinguishable anguish of the once loved,
Unfathomable logic of the still loved,
Hopeless hope of a still to be loved. 

Ami bhabte parini tumi buker bhetor phatcho
amaar shorir jure tomar premer beej.

Yet surprise they do, sometimes, all the time,
How well they say my mind,
Your mind, this effervescent syntax of ink on paper,
forced to breathe, somewhere on our common ground. 

Ami thamte parini tomar gale norom dukkho
aamaye duhaat diye munchte diyo please.

Note: The Bangla lyrics are from a fantastic song from the film Hemlock Society (listen to it here). It has been written and sung by Anupam Roy.