Friday, June 15, 2018

I am not writing to you anymore

I am not writing to you anymore

I wrote in words, in verse
however terse,
or out of shape, I opened up.

I gave us names, in hope
let my ideas elope,
into fantastical lands afar.

I painted hues, in time
borrowed, a crime,
from others who demanded more.

I dressed up, crossed cities,
booked a bloody restaurant too,
just an okay, so few?
what gives you the right!

to be miserly with words.

I am not writing to you anymore.

--

I breathe a sigh, heavy air
sit on a rickety chair,
look up and look kind.

I want say, slow and less
is a caress
of a different paintbrush.

I did not write, or fly 
a solitary, mundane, hi
I agree, is a weak stand-in.

Though in thought, and in mind
of an uncountable kind
you have lingered 
like clouds on the Kanchenjunga.

seen from valleys of Darjeeling.

I wish you do not write to me anymore.

You make me write, for you, instead.

Wednesday, February 28, 2018

Gaaner Opare

Dandiye aacho tumi amaar, 
gaaner opare.

Words.
A sea of shame,
A prayer gone awry,
Silences, shouting, the same.

Amaar shur guli paaye choron,
Aami payini tomare.

Distance.
A path across time,
Hesitation. Doubt. Dust.
Stories told in mime.

Batash bohe mori mori,
Aar bendhe rekhona tori,
Esho, Esho paar hoye mor,
hridoye majhaare.

Time.
Born to her timeless touch,
Old. Soft. Incessant.
Indulgent, sometimes too much.

Tomar shaathe gaaner khaela
durer khaela je
bedona te baanshi bajaye
shokol bela je.

Love.
Elusive, yet incandescent,
Alien in my reality,
Threaded, mending my every dent.

Kobe niye aamar baanshi
bajabe ko aapni aashi
aonondomoye nirob raate
nibid aandhare.

Silence.
A bridge across my heart,
lined in bloody thorns,
every day, prior art.


Note: The Bangla verses are by Tagore. The dry English is mine. Nothing more is to be said on the subject.

Friday, September 15, 2017

तो बेशर्मी होगी

अगर छुपी बैठी हो
शर्म की चादर लपेट कर ।

और झिझक रही हो यह सोच कर
बात करोगी
तो बेशर्मी होगी ।

अलफ़ाज़ जो बह गए
उम्मीद के इंतज़ार मे

उनको सन्नाटों में
डूबने से न बचाया
तो बेशर्मी होगी ।

नज़रें जो उठी नहीं
इशारों के बहकाने से

उनको आगोश में
ना सुलाया
तो बेशर्मी होगी ।

हाथ जो कांपते हैं
छूने की याद में तन्हा

उनको तन्हाई मे
गले ना लगाया
तो बेशर्मी होगी ।

Murky

the sky sings in drops
of dripping pain,
come, get wet with me
in this boisterous rain.

the ground coughs in fits
of squelching mud,
come, get murky with me
in desire's sultry crud.

the skin murmurs in fatigue
of ceaseless want,
come, get in with me
for a dark, lusty jaunt.

the mind mad in quiet
of revolting cries,
come, get down with me
in a valley of muffled sighs.

Friday, September 30, 2016

Consume

Hurried glances, a passing touch
Eyes that look away and say
so much.

Palpable tension in a shared space
Condensed lust packed
in a suitcase.

A stolen kiss, a picture bait
Tingling skin, restless
to satiate.

Private rooms abet a stormy thresh
Broken beds, and sweaty
flesh.

Tender goodbyes, lives resume
Till it again gives in,
to consume.

Friday, July 01, 2016

Reaction

I broke
me,
And I broke
us,
When you broke
free of
us.

The shards still
rankle,
and bleed the nimble feet
of my memory of
us.

We are together now
in body and spirit
and child,
Ghosts of your great love
haunt
every jaunt we
inhabit, as
us.

I write this, smiling
at the rain that
pours and lines
my skin
as you exist in you lover's
thoughts and lust
and in real life, in
us.