Poinsettia

In your eyes

I see the world everyday

many stories unfolding completely

and the game being played every moment.

I weave the golden web of

mystery and silence and suffering.

You stand a distance away and smile.

You spread your dreams of silver togetherness

and hold her hands close and warm.

The poinsettias blossom passionately

and drive the wildernesses crazy.

Her eyes live in yours and stories intermingle.

I look around and see colours in riot.

Celebration of intense comforts. So deep....

Red large passionate poinsettias engross

my fiery imagination and promise me

a walk fired with love lost and dreamt.

I transform into a scarlet fairy and shower

your path with flaming leafy velvets,

as you kiss her into a day unfolding within.

I don a silver tiara and wear my red dreams

and become a poinsettia princess.

Bochhor -- years of existence

Pathorey rokto lege thake.

Hoyto nishith raate karo hridoy bhengeche,

othoba kono kishorir rugno deho

chhire gache unmotto ashurik kamonae.

Othoba pishe diye gache kono lorry-r chaka

kono sranto ghum k.

Hoyto bhenge gache karo shanto protichhobi

ba mod-er botol.

Tolte thake rokto makha paa.

Dhulo mishe jae lojjae

Manush o manobotar itihash

mukh lukiye kandey ...

Calendar-r pata bodlae shudhu,

bochhorer gae lege thake dhongsher ashfalon.

sinduk bhenge kanna churi gache,

aynae tari awaj shona jae,

fele dawa mati te jodi jonmae kono gachh,

upre niye jabe tara eshe.

beej bopon korbe re? ato boro sahosh kar?

matha kete tar fele debe pukurer jole,

jonmabar aj karo nei odhikar

A morning message

I wake up early in the morning

with an essential sense of purpose --

that I have to say something to someone.

I dont know what it is,

I dont know how it is,

but I desperately need to say it.

Things kept locked away in the corners,

weep alone and reach out helplessly.

One word or two, one smile, one gesture ...

and nothing ... to weave stories by.

So John Denver sings to me

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy

Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry ...

Golden droplets throw their embrace on me

through the windows and kiss my wet cheeks.

No hands reach out through finicky distances.

Maybe you will walk by one day

and not know me from discarded memories.

And still I wait, for who knows what?

Life threatens and promises unforgiving wounds,

and yet I hope, I wish, I dream, I empty out my hours,

for you, who perhaps would not even think that a

young, raw, unkempt elf like me would ever dare

to smile at your heights and be so proud of you

and protective, unnecessarily ...

And others keep on telling me that I should just forget

and move on, and leave you because you belong

to someone else in silent hours and starlit evenings ...

I turn on them and walk away, as if I matter, to them or you ....

I turn pages after pages, to read and wonder

what face am I looking into? Whose?

Do they know something that I dont?

I was always a bit stupid, I know.

But your eyes tell me a different story every moment ....

Blues. And songs. And images we share. And words scattered ....

It was so essential to know, to let know. I'm scared.

Of what? I dont know. I really dont ....

Maybe I dont deserve to know. Its you after all.

Someone I have known only through my gut feelings.

I hope ....

Before I get old and die ....

If I could give you the best gift, what would it be?

If I had a tale that I could tell you

I'd tell a tale sure to make you smile

If I had a wish that I could wish for you

I'd make a wish for sunshine all the while.

Sunshine ....

Emptiness engulfs me as I look inside

and try to find you.

Somewhere I find you gone, and I am

left alone, as usual.

Have you deserted me too?

Have I done something wrong?

Why then tears fill my eyes?

And I reach out around me

and find the empty air gasping for breath.

I dont find you now, where have you gone?

Have you left me all alone?

I find me no sweet words to write a poem

No embellishments to decor and adorn emotions.

I dont know why I am so much in pain

and tears flow uncontrollably.

I dont know so many things, so much ...

On Christmas

The winter morning embraces us with her white muslin fogs as we stand in the golden sunlight, and listen to the sounds in the air. Beats,music,children's voices and laughter. Fathers and mothers walking by, taking children with them, to the church. A rustic church which adorns itself with candles,bells,glittering papers,balloons,stars and balls. Hawkers sit on their temporary stalls and sell cakes. Big cakes, small cakes, burnt cakes, plum cakes, thick cakes, thin cakes, fruit cakes, branded cakes -- cakes of all creed, all breed, all shapes, all size. Oranges, joy-nogorer moa and picnic people screaming their lungs out. Joy flushes the morning air as sweaters, monkey-caps, chadars, mufflers, gloves and socks all walk by, run, tease, laugh, smile and smile and smile. Sorrows and sufferings cringe their existence all through the year, but one day, one winter morning becomes so different. Tell me, do you see their faces, their simple joy at spending quality time with family and friends? Do you really think that they are the sinners suffering for a sin they have been tied to? The sin lies at their feet and redemption laughs. Yet I see some slimy presences that would again rise their monstrosities and gulp down such simple pleasures.

The baby is born. We look at his face, his chubby baby face, his tiny fingers and wonder .... His sacrifice hasn't gone waste, the rebeller, the man who created a movement of Love, like Sri Chaitanya did. His Love exists in the happy faces that laugh on a Christmas morning. The baby smiles in his cradle as others look on.

Come, let us close our eyes and make some wishes.

a college fest evening

rocking nights
partying at fests
loud music
hard rock
metal
jazz
drums
and blood lights
male attention
mad moves
sliding away
shyness
wild nights
carnivalesque throbs (and I dont care what Bakhtin says, its my poem)
dust smoke
allergy
body aches (do not misinterpret)
booming eardrums
and romance
sliding down the shadows.

And yet an emptiness
in the wild cries cheering
for the dazzling halloween lights
and fires in the blood.
We want to belong, we want so deep
that it bleeds inside
as we cheer and cry for some hard piercing music
tearing the night air and stabbing us
with the feel that we are one.
one crowd
one feel
one joy
one beat
jazz
and desperate to join
in love
in tears
in music
and cries.

wild dances
cracked voices
burnt leaves
smell of alcohol
and lost souls
in the dazed air.

jotted lines

A close call. Whispers in the night air and trembling, shaking, shivering. Chilly air and uncertainties.
Insecure tomorrows.A career walking down the fog.I cant see beyond what is at hand.
Fear. Anxiety. Loss. More Loss.
You.
Losing you?Losing me?Losing them?Losing us?Losing our stories?Written and unwritten texts?Lines and meanings beyond erased? Histories and hopes denied?
Afraid. Scared. Emptiness.
Humiliation and shame. I just wanted to make you smile and feel proud, so proud, of me!Performance. Fate. Chance. Love. Respect. Admiration. Hopes. Dreams. And love again ... I fail and rise and succeed and lose and win and smile and laugh and cry and fall again and rise ... I refuse to give up. I love my work. I love my self, and love them who smile at me everyday.
I know I will succeed some day and make them proud, make you happy and be happy myself.

Grohon o Daan

Muthi ta khulo na amar, haate shunno ta lekha ache.

Hridoyer kono prante jodi theke thake lal rokter ava,

tobe ta dhue jawa jeeboner sesh chhoa tuku, sindure megher rong.

Amar jhuli shunno, ak mutho gaan ta te nei j tomae daan debo.

Rikto ontoshhar shunno beche thaka tobu hoe othe orthomoy --

Tumi acho bole, tomra acho bole, sondhye nabar agey go-dhulir alo hoe.

Neel aguner dikey ami moher abesh nie takiye thaki, r bhabi

ki odbhut ei jeebon. Prochondo kanna peleo kichu mukh futey othe

Bhorer tarar moton r agley dhore kache, neerobe, r kokhon hashi hoe

Fute othe ak akash ador, ahlad. Ache ache -- aro kotha ache, aro sur ache.

Yeh to sirf trailer tha, kahani abhi baki hai mere dost ...

Asha, bhorosha, prem, neerobo ta makha kothar jowar r onek khani ador

kokhon aki-buki kete gache haater patae. Muthi ta khuli ebar.

Jhuli amar bhora daane, amar nijer dhon nai, tomar sathe bhaag kore nite pari

sonchito madhu-korir onno, bhaag ditey pari nijer shunno tar kebol. Tumi nebe ki?

Golden Apples

A frightened little heart, an anxious despair,

a little fairy crouches in the corner

as darkness threatens the garden.

Fear, scathing fear

and tension,

scattering of precious images and

enshrouding threats in the caves of

magma and lava kissed flames.

But desires and dreams are stronger than anything.

Powers percolate and the volcano erupts,

throwing up molten magma and unimaginably hot

flames of intense fantasy and deep love.

Two hands pick up the soft little fairy

and press her close on warm lips,

kiss her frightened wings and a reddened face.

Alladin's magic carpet carries them away into the sunlight.

The apple garden waits,

wild with blossoms and drops of the flame-red fruition.

The paths are covered with petals and leaves,

and small golden apples that entice

little moments of hidden joy and inflamed expressions.

Come, take a bite into the maroon flame of love-stories

and melt away into the honey sweet reality of hearts.

A moment, a fragrance, unknown joys and the gold of magic dreams,

anointed with the royal flames of fruition and blossoms.

The golden apples shine with a promise of love.

pothiker gaan

kanna bheja shohor amar

kanna bheja ghor

dukkher noaw-e paal tulechi

ami jajabor.

tomar shone bhab piriti

tomar shone alo

tomar shone chaibo firey

sopon prodip jelo.

tobu akul pother pane

dhaite hobe taane

roibe praane dukher shohor

tumi roibe gaane.

A Drop

A pearl of rain fell from the leaves

and wet her lips with a plop.

He thought it was the Saharan dew

and drank down the drop.

tHe CutEsT LOVE POEM eveR wRittEN

pecha koy pechani

khasha tor chechani

shune shune aan mon

galo mor pran mon

tor gaane pechi re

sob bhule gechi re

chand mukhe meethe gan

shune jhore du noyan (SUKUMAR RAY)

Eurydice Speaks

Tell me not that you have grown old

and bald patches show on your head.

Tell me not that this is a cactus land

and all hopes are dead.

Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow

I do not accept defeat

I am not a hollow man

I have come over the lands of verdour

and green peace, rainy joys and silver love.

I bear in me the power to survive.

Come, walk with me.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

The world shall not end with a whimper.

It shall not end at all.

The big bang may happen as we dream of a fair morning.

As we sing together a hymn to the Lord

for none but the unimaginable binds us together.

Take a look at the small flower that grows out of the concrete pavement.

Does it grow old? sick? tired?

It lives with all its strength and smiles.

I discard the coffee spoon you have taken up to measure your life

and hand you a bucket....

there is a lot of life even in the jarring cacophony of the dead.

Come, hold my hand

and kiss my cold fingers.

For I have come, come to tell you all, I shall tell you all.....

I have patience, you have brains, and understanding eyes.

I have come from the dead, I am Eurydice, come come come

My love....

Winter Songs

1

Listen to the shadows of mild December whispering under the dark trees.

The cold rain drizzles by and spreads the news of cheer on a foggy morn.

I have come a long way

I have come all alone

I know what it is to weep

Over lost pearls

And knowing

It will never be mine again

Losses more losses and losses in pain

2

Hot smokes curl over a cup of tea as the sleeping dog dreams of a tomorrow.

Palms taste the cold and white fumes emerge from the soft breaths between shy lips.

I know it all

How it feels to be so alone

How it feels to love all alone

Unreciprocated cares and concerns

Tears wept hot

Wrists slit

Drops of blood

Winter and love ...

3

A song on the radio transforms the sleeping Beauty inside to a Fairy tale of love.

An invisible presence felt nearby causes blush ... a fantasy? schizophrenia? Love?

Can feel him on the skin

Bright and burning

Loveless nights

And drowning dreams…

Do you promise love?

Do you dare to love?

Have courage enough to close your eyes and trust?

4

No reply.

Silence.

Covers, protects, speaks, adores, embellishes, frightens, doubts, tears, kills

The answer lies before the mirror

By a game of chess

On a Shakespeherian rag ….

Do you know what slow poisoning is?

It’s like a kiss

Flows along your blood

5

Eyes search. Eyes wait as eyes probe into depths, swims over and under, gets flooded with words

And then, postpones.

Hearts chafe and fret, kicking chains with golden hooves and beats enormous wings!

Sunlight beneath them powders down into golden flecks and gathers around entwined destinies.

I know it

I know it all

About sad stories and hellish ashes

But then I trust you

I have faith

I believe

I feel I know you

I always did

I don’t know why

But I do

And I am waiting for you

Break the glass if you will

Or look in it deep…

I read your eyes last night

6

Winter comes, with a promise of faiths and close bonds.

A symphony plays on the hearts’ strings

Of smiles, and dreamy rains

And a whispered promise

To be continued….

Autograph -- and friendships....

hiya tuptap jiya nostal

mithe kuashae bheja astin

ami bhule jai kake chaitam

r tui ka k bhalobashti....

This picture is an autograph in time. It captures a moment of our bonding between friends on a night when we became terribly alone inside after watching a film. We were afraid that our dreams may too slip away and we were sorry for all those dreams whch had already slipped ... We are friends.The three of us. Anusua, Shobhini, Amrita. I am more of Shobhini's baby and Anu's friend. Friends who participate in each other's lives and do not graze off the exterior of our daily existences. Each hour passes by and we wonder if we will lose this bonding, this trust, this faith and these moments after Presidency. Like Shubho did .... change beyond recognition. His relationship with his ideals, his principles, his friends, his girl ... all changed beyond recognition. But why did he have to change?

R evabei norom balishe,

tomar oi chokher nalishe

beche thak raat-pori der snan

thote nie beche thakar gaan.

R evabei mukher chadore,

porichito hather adorey,

The fairies dont stay forever, dreams change shape and mortify our deepest sleep into senseless coma stage. We give up our dreams to handle a reality we are not ready to face. We are scared of the world. We are scared to death by rejection and defeat. And that is normal. But is this paralysed condition normal? We have become so individualistic in the modern life that even life seems to be so strange. We have to peep in Big Boss's house to see the normal day to day home life, and the fake, purposely created problems inorder to realise that we atleast enjoy a camera-free status in the privacy of our homes. Even privacy is up for sale now. Reality show. The biggest Reality Show is life and we forget that behind some hoardings and television screens. Our lives have become a big cage now and we have entrapped ourselves by respectfully following trends and 'social norms'. Nobody remembers that society is something we build. Instead now it is something which is always already made for us. Who makes it? We dont know. Therefore Shubho-s have to get all worked up, tensed, anxious, nervous in fear of loss, rejection and make decisions which ruin them forever. The choice is always between ruins. Ruining gracefully and ruining harshly.

Orey machher lov-ey boga baka orey ural diya

phandey poriya boga kandey re.....

I could have crushed for Indraneil Sengupta, hadnt he turned out to be a loser at the end. It was just one choice. If not between wrong and right, if not between mind and soul, if not between idealism and rude practical life, then the choice was between pure common sense and stupidity. I mean, hello? who are you messing with? producer? THE producer? You are an ass enough to try to sell the candid confession of someone who is funding you? Who sells their raw private life for profit? Even the Roshans faked a Barbara-Hrithik affair for sale, it was fake!!! Could Shubho sell his girlfriends' private moments with himself for profit? Though he 'thought' about selling Arun-Srinandita affair, he was chicken enough to even go and tell Srinandita -- Hello Lady! I am your man and I love you and I dont want you seeing the producer. Simple! I guess it's difficult for all men to say that to their nymphs. Wonder why, though? Does it hurt their ego or do they feel vulnerable and exposed? Is love that unimportant for men? I was somehow hoping I could atleast be Srinandita in my imagination for Indraneil, but the very first scene and I am made to know, he smokes, he drinks (vodka, champagne,rum... bla bla... and he hates chicken). I quit Indraneil, I quit being Nandana.... As an afterthought, no wonder Shubho didnt like chicken, he was one himself and he drank his principles in a peg and smoked off his dreams in rings.

And of Srinandita and the "arshola, tiktiki, kumir couple" and my Presidency ....

Uthche jege sokal gulo

paash firey mon abar shulo

ebar tokey ador chokhe dekhbe se.

dekhbe damaal prem ki rokom

montro chharai jeleche hom

kapche alo, basbe bhalo sob seshe...

Prosenjit Chattopadhayay is unmatched. He remains as charismatic as ever. None, not even Soumitro Chattopadhyay has his reach into masses and his level of all-round appeal. This man is good at every role he does. From baatil movie to antel movie, this dude bags it all. Infact Prosenjit Chatterjee is a chapter in the bengali film industry. His role was so well played. Every bit about the man was so realistic. I loved seeing Rudraprasad Sengupta on stage. Another matchless actor. I have never seen a live theatre performance ever. If I could I would wish to see his acting onstage. Arun -- the making of Arun Chattopadhyay and the bricolage of his life. Arun the man who could never forgive himself. Can Shubho forgive himself? Can Srin forgive him ever? If relationships presuppose such rude breaking of trust and loss of a lifetime's love, I am better off single. Cant handle breakages. But again, am I really single? Dont all my friends, relations tie me in a love? Will I too,have to choose between love,ideals,happiness and great achievements? Shall I have to be lonely at the top? Shall I slip like Shubho between the should-do and the must-do? Its sad.

Tomar ei dumiyar jahpsha alo, kichu sondhyer guro howa kancher moto,

jodi urey jete jao tobey ga bhasiye dao, durbiney chokh rakhbona na na na...

Tomar rokte ache sopno joto, tara chhutche ratri din nijer moto,

kokhono somoy pele ektu bhebo, anguler fakey ami koi...

ei jahaj mastul chharkhar tobu golpo likhchi panch bar...

R chesta korchi barbar santre paar khojar....

After the film was over and we stepped out of Fame, it was almost 9. Kolkata was wet. It was a wet winter night and the dark skies were drizzling rain over the slippery roads. Wet Kolkata. Cold Kolkata. Wet dreams. Lost dreams. And three of us walking down the road in the rain towards Shobhini's home. The rain-drops wept on our heads, our shoulders and our feet. We walked through the quieter roads and silent rain. Mon kharaper bristi ....

priyo bondhur para nijjhum

chena chand chole jae rickshae,

mukhe ja khushi boluk rattir

shudu chokh theke chokhe dik shae..

pae ghum jae aka footpath

orey jochhonae mora plastic

ami bhule jai ka k chaitam

r tui ka k bhlaobashti....

Shobhini took the picture at a cosy moment and calls it her masterpiece. I call it her "autograph".

Cholo

Kagojer nouka baniyechi.

Kolom ta nao, boitha lagbe.

Rumal ta dhoro to, pal tola jak.

R edik odik takio na,

dukkher teer niye maya korcho?

Ki go tumi? Ekdom chele manush.

Ebar shuto ta kholo, nouka bhashuk.

Esho, palai.

Loneliness

The brown leaves cover the blue paths

As winter breathes in and we walk quietly

Hand in hand, steps matching steps.

We don’t know that we really exist

And the white drops of flowers smile

Sadly at our peculiar ignorance or stupidity.

We keep on walking in sad steps and thinking

About things we could have, we could make,

We could be, we could gift, and we could weave

Together, had we been close enough.

We sigh in union and a shooting star passes by.

We grow sad thinking that we will not share

The lovely winter evening over a hot coffee.

The silver dawn only peeks on the sky above,

We grasp each other’s hands tighter as the fog

Surrounds us and we barely know where we stand.

We stop, puzzled, at one point, hand in hand,

Waiting, thinking, wondering where to go,

And wishing the other was there, for support.

We look up at the morning star and make a wish.

Din gona

Bela j furiye elo ebar.
Sonali rod, sheetol kichu aram,
r ghonibhuto chhayara
haar kapae r mone koriye dae,
ekhane kothao pore thakbe hajar smriti,
shukno pata r muchhe jawa kajol.

**
Kaaler buke roe jabe ei sopno-kella,
ei ghor gulor golpo, ei baranda gulo,
r tader ghire protidhonito howa
amader shohor,amader kotha-ra.
R kichu dheke rakha hashi makha itihash.

***
Amader jiboner sotti gulo
shohoj noy, bastob gulo sob alada.
Jeebon tene niye jabe kon srote
ta janina, hariye jabo, chirotore,
onno kothao, onno kono khane.

Kichu asha o chahida boro kothin,
boro obujh, boro maya-moy.
Bhalolagar abesh tuku poritripto
korbe kichu muhurto, kichu khon,
tarpor logenze-r wrapper-r moto chhure
fele debe tumi kono porittokto dustbin-e.

****
Traffic light green signal dilei
druto paar hoe jabey rasta,
firey takanor somoy tuku kar ache?
Ochin baul sur dhorbe jokhon dotarae
kono goriye chola trainer kamrae,
chokh bujleo tokhon khuje pabena
kono fele asha mukh, jiboner kono prantey.

*****
Haata khunti, jama kapor, bus tram-e
kokhon mishe jabe tel ghaam sindur.
Alu-sobjir torkari te kalo-jeere foron diye
kokhon periye jabe ful kurabar bela,
r hariye jabe kobitar khata tukuo.

Kono ak sondhyae chhadey asbo tokhon,
akasher chotto taara gulo k dekhbo
r bhabbo, ei smriti gulor rong sur maya.
Hariye jawa kobita gulo k khujbo akbar
buker bhetor, chetonar gobhire, jodi
uthe ashey duto akta line ba harano muhurto?

Jeebon boye jabe obikol, obiram, oshanto.
Coffeer chamoche jeebon mepe chola
Eliot shaheb tokhon tar dhongsho stupe
bosey tar korun banshi ti bajaben r akash
alo kore chand uthbe akti kalo meyer bagane.

*** ***
Bhalo theko shohor, bhalo theko sopno-kella,
bhalo theko tumio. Bhalo thakuk rongon ful,
mather ghaash, aam-er bol, neri kukur, lohar gate.
Golpo tuku sesh hobar agey jeev-e makhiye nao
swad, tentul-r acharer moto. Tarpor kagoj ta
kono gach tolae fele dio, matitey mishe jabe akdin.

# 2

kichu lal neel churi

jhumko dul

shukno patar rong

r peyajer khosha.

harano ratri din

kebol eke chola

rong dhoa akashe.

tumio to bosey acho

opekkhae.

amar klanto chule

chhayara nibir kore ashe,

ghum debe chokhe? ghum?

kichu shantimoy prem-muhurto?

othoba golapi sopner rong?

Let darkness wrap my body and mind

with a soft peaceful slumber

and fill my eyes with a passionate,

private and dreamless sleep,

as dense as your very presence.

And then,

a mail, a text and a promise

of sleeplessness

for the fourth night at a stretch.

Save my soul tonight.

I give up.

term paper

Thoughts clog.

I am not sure

what to do

how to write

a line that she will like,

academic enough,

formal enough.

Maria Edgeworth

psychoanalysis

and gaping voids

in grounded knowledge.

A loyal daughter.

A mute bearer,

who did not marry

the only man she had

ever loved,

ever cared for,

from the bottom of her heart,

depths of her soul.

she had to have

a clogged heart

and a raging fire

that made her

be so loyal

too loyal

to her dad.

Nothing like a love

lost, battered, bruised,

wings clipped and smashed

against the walls.

Its love, its love,

that smells of a rose

and bleeds....

Maria, i will try

to decipher the wrath

you have so skilfully hidden.

But but but

the term paper thing,

it is so scary.

Invitation

Sunny mornings.
Wet grass.
If u can love,
with all your heart,
really love,
not doubt yourself,
come out in the open
and roll on the grass.
Smell the flowers.
Kiss the leaves
and touch the new buds.
Sing a song.
Hum a tune.
Climb the rainbow
and chase the birds.
But then
if you do
come
to love and live,
don't dare
to leave my garden
when the autumn comes
or winter.
Cant bear to lose
the dew
if you
dont care
dont love
dont bless
dont stay
and leave
listless
without a trace.
If you believe
in fragrant springs
and leaving
behind the winter,
my gates are closed
and I raise a host
of roses
for your name.
May spring come sweet
and make your feet
walk towards
God's Eden.
I am a soul
with tears and joys
words and laughter,
all soiled and heathen.

amader jonno

(1)

Duto janala khola thake.
Amra dujon.
Majkhane ak akash chand.
Amra du-mutho hashir jyostna chhure di.


(2)

Amra khuje choli ondhokar golir majhe
agun pakhir chhana!!
Asholey ki khujchi amra? Nijeder?
Haather kaanch ta ki ayna na magnifying glass?
Amader mukh duto ki ak-i na protifolon?


(3)

Raash purnimar chand dheu-r anchol bhoriye rakhe.
Lal ghor neel ghor amit labanno (no ketoki mitro please).
Kobitar pata ghete khuje chola nijer ostitter chhaya
R kothao ogochore anguler faakey anguler atmo-somorpon

The Escape

i keep running on the mill,

away from my mistaken judgments,

towards a tomorrow i am not sure of.

But i keep treading on the mill

with lots of enthusiasm and hopes of

a fresh new beginning, freedom from

jarring cacophony and invisible

whip-lashes that tear my flesh, from

the goblins who pounce on me

and try to kill me, murder me or

drive me to suicide with sufferings.

i tremble, i shake at the brute torture

i underwent so long, oh so so so long.

i am struggling to breathe now

as i keep running away from the dark.

tell me i am there, that i have reached.

tell me the bad dream is over and

the whiplashes shall not tear my skin again.

o hold me close, i am scared, too scared

just let me breathe, let me live, let me live.

o please hold me close and feel my breath

and tell me i am alive, i have survived

and the nightmare wont be back again.

i just want to hide in you and sleep in peace.

rubber

rubber die ghoshte thaki
oi hiji biji lekha gulor opor
muchhe felte chai
kichu likhito jeebon.
kintu othey na kali
mochhe na lekha
shudhu kalo daag chhoriye pore
r roktakto hote thake
jeeboner pata guli.
bhoy pai
kepe uthi
chhirey jabe na to pechhoner
shada pata gulo?
amar agamir olikhito
golpo ra chhire jabe na to?
rubber ta ghoshte ghoste
khoy hote thake.
tobu bhoy rokto jontrona
mochhe na.
likhte parina ami notun
kono golpo, bhoye,
bhishon bhoye,
jodi abar muchhte hoy
ei bifol rubber diye?

For The Magic-Man -- trying to translate you

This is a song by Rabindranath Tagore.He is the God of Bengali poetry and he is my dadamoshai (grandpa)! He is a poet of all seasons, all reasons, all emotions and all tales. this song is playing in my heart and this post is dedicated to the angel of poetry. it is difficult, perhaps impossible to transliterate his song. but for my foreign readers, i will try. dadamoshai, tumi bhari dustu. bujhi ba kono golpoi nei ja tomar ojana, kono onubhuti nei,ja tumi jano na.

sei bhalo sei bhalo,
amare na hoy na jano,
sei bhalo sei bhalo
durey giye noy dukkho debe
kache kano laaje lajano?

(its better this way,

that you know me not.

if you go far away, i shall weep

but why come near and make me blush so deep?)

mor basante legeche to sur
benu bono chhaya, hoeche modhur,
thak na emoni gondhe bidhur,
milono kunjo sajano,
sei bhalo sei bhalo,
amare nahoy na jano,
sei bhalo sei bhalo

(music has coloured my spring,

the flute and the forest shades have sweetened,

let it remain so in mellowed fragrance,

bower of the lover's union so decorated.

its better this way

that you know me not.

its better this way)

gopone dekhechi
tomar byakul noyone bhaber khela
utolo anchol elokhelo chul dekhechi jhorero bela
gopone dekhechi tomar,
tomate amate hoyni j kotha
morme amar,ache se barota, na bola bani
na bola banir niye akulota
amar bashiti bajano

(secretly i have seen

the play of emotions in your anxious eyes,

the restless veil, ruffled hair i have seen in the stormy noon,

secretly i have seen yours,

we havent spoken words to each other,

in my heart, remains the message, the unuttered lines,

with the restless anxiety of those unuttered lines

i play my flute.)

sei bhalo sei bhalo
amare nahoy na jano
durey gie nahoy dukkho debe
kache kano laaje lajano,
sei bhalo sei bhalo,
amare nahoy na jano
sei bhalo sei bhalo

(its better this way,

that you dont know me.

if you go far away, i shall weep

but why come near and make me blush so deep?

its better this way,

that you know me not,

its better this way)

# 1

Empty reasons and quickened footfalls.

Songs unknown weaving a symphony secretly.

A knowing look and a stolen glance.

Unknown destiny weaving a tale somewhere.

A shower of love and umbrella of rain.

Offering

Among hundreds of flowers

the eyes find its cheer

and some gay optimism.

One white flower amongst

them all I choose to keep.

Heaps of flowers all around

and my heart is happy with

dollops of colourful excitement,

but one small white drop

keeps my senses filled.

I revel in the colours of joy

and one white flower

peeping in from between

numbs my heart to ecstacy.

I stoop to pick, to keep, to care

and stop. Is it there for me?

Do I deserve? What if it is for

someone else who shall make a

garland and the white speck of

simple purity shall deck a royal

neck or His divine feet?

I do not deserve. I have nothing

to offer. I have no rights to gain.

The pool of flowers smile at me

as I offer my dew-wet choice to Eternity

with a silent prayer and a content smile.

Sokaler Kotha

Sokalbelar rod dustumi kore

chokhe mukhe gaale alo chhoae.

Uthe bosi, jhimoi kotokkhon,

janalar baire shalikh gulo

Otho Otho ! kore boddo chechae.

Uthei pori. moha jalaton.

Elomelo chul niye,

folafola mukh, golapi chokh

adhkhana khule kono motey,

ayna dekhi prothombar.

Kolpona kori tar dristi-khani.

Jodi sokalbelar ei aluthalu

beshe, ghum-makha mukh-khana

se dekhto? Ador dito? Na na.
Tar noyon-jora boshai amar
chokhe, dekhte thaki opoloke,
chhute thaki mukh khana
oi ghum makhano chokh diye,
chinte thaki nijekei oi jadu aynar
kacher majhe, r bhabi...

Hotat kamon ochin lagey.

Ki hoeche? Ki hoeche?

Hotat kore ki j holo? Ki jeno besh...

O ma! Besh moja j? E abar ki?

Dekhi pither dikey chhoriye ache,

norom norom sporshomakha

holud ronger sopno-aka,

dui dikey dui dana!

Ami alto chhue dekhi, amar sonali

dui dana, mar badhon kholar dak.

Amar bondho ghorer faak,

amar dokhin khola hawa,

amar sopno jurey pawa, amar

urtey j nei mana, ami peyechi

norom dana.

Tobu bhoy lagey jeno khub,

kon ochin bhashae dub

diechi, sur tulechi, sob bhulechi,

tobu bhoy dhoreche chepe.

Ami bhabchi kar kotha? Amar

dana diye ki hobe? Amar shekol

ache pore, amar lohar boro ghore,

ami baire gele chhute, joto pagla

hawa jutey amar dana felbe chhire.

Premer kajol eke chokhe, abar jolei

dhuye debo. ki hobe sopno dekhe?

Ki hobe kajol eke? Sei byathai debe daak.

Amar dana duto tai thak.

Ami hariye nahoy jaboi, oi surjo-pora ghaase.

The Tryst

I had seen him come through the pale moonlight

on a dark stallion, with a sword in one hand

and a rose in another. His face was covered

by the purple darkness and he had come,

galloping, like a lightning, like a bolt, like a storm.

Tearing the shadows of sad existence he had

appeared before me, his eyes shining like the blades

of silver fire and the rose he held out for me was dark.

His eyes were full of emotions I did not know.

What did he want? The dark rider?

I dare not ask. I dare not dream. I dare not speak.

He bent down as I stared, hypnotised, as eyes swept

my face with a yearning glance and a pleading.

I took the rose and held it close,in a trance

of magic and a strange intoxication.

And suddenly he moved and out of nowhere

I was swept off my feet as he had pulled

and flung me around somewhere. All I could see

was his dark silhouette around me and deep

hot breath on my lips and a burst of colours

in the sky high above.Eyes closed, lips melt.

A whiff of cold wind caresses my flushed skin

as I open my eyes and find myself on the silver sand

of an unknown desert. I look around for my strange

lover but stretches of sand lie all around,empty.

Was it but a dream? Was he but a shadow of a

mind feverish with the sordid loveless life?

The sands know no answer and the cactus sighs.

And then,my palms feel softness.

A dark rose lies on the mellow sand, sweating.

Majh raater lines

janalar gorad dhore bose thake chand
shwet mukhe tar onek khani opekkha.
neel heeme bhore jae sossho khet,

neerob bhasae apluto faka rasta.
kol balishe dhaka thake prarthona,
r ak ayna sopno-bhora chokh hoy sojol.
gacher mora daale kobey
futbe uthey rokto shimuler kuri,
r ak mutho somporker ushno ta

chhoriye porbe rupoli jyostnae.
janalar gorad dhore bose thake eka chand
tar chokhe makha thake neel opekkhar kajol.

The Albatross Speaks

I spread my wings and stand on the highest point.
I may fly. I may not. Its my wish.
And your need or prayers.
I am an albatross, my wings span the width
of the dark night as the mercuric silver sky
shines above. I let out a cry and tear the
obtuse silence. Love me. Hate me. You need
me. If you try to kill me, my corpse shall
hang on your neck, as a sin and a cross.
Redemption for revenge. A hard bargain.
I am within you, permeated through your
existence. Look within, my wind you breathe
and you have nothing inside but me alone.
I stand before you. An albatross, an angel,
Satanic powers, a shadow of love and salvation.
Choose how you want me -- a dark desire or fair?
You have tasted my blood and eaten my flesh.
You cant escape. Come to me bandey, come home.
You are mine and mine alone.

POSTLUDE

The last show is over. The screen blank.

All the words, laughter, colours, songs,

Glitz, glam and melodramatic emotions

Are over. No more love. No more pain.

The screen shall blank forever remain.

Phrases, lines, promises and catches

Of songs replay themselves in the black.

And the flashback starts with a jerk

Behind closed eyes. The voices heard

For the last time, resound and doze off.

A glass of wine held in cold hands

Trembles with unfulfilled hopes,

Aspirations false. Darkness clouds in.

The colourless poison mixes well

Drop by drop

Into the lusty red wine and

Disappears in the taste of wasted grapes.

The hall is large and dark and empty.

The chairs are where people have been.

The steps to the podium rise and go

Nowhere but sigh at the nothingness.

The screen is blank, dark and wears

A dark mourning shroud. Silence.

Eyes close and the icy cold air enters

The nostrils in a long long breath and soothes

The burning skin and inflamed insides.

Promises and dreams break away like

Shattered glass. And a salty drop

Plops into the still wine and dissolves.

Lips touch the cold edge of the crystal wineglass.

And sip it in as do the eyes of a lover drink his

Beloved’s face with a strange yearning

And smear her face with love dreamt and discarded.

The final dreg and a kiss on the edge are all

That shall remain, as remembrance and signs

Of a forgotten tomorrow, a forgotten love

And an intoxicated belief of peace in death.

A dream awakening

As eyes close in the desire of animated colours and dreams spell a charm on them, somewhere a magic land awakens to a newborn light. Castles and cottages, wear a shade of slate blue and the eastern sky blushes with a reddish tinge. The magic-man plays on his flute then, a sweet tune. Flowers open their petals and peep out to see who that player is and how he plays such a sweet note. Birds happily come out of their shady nest in pairs and join in the sweet tune. And he plays on, as the sun kisses the horizon with a passionate reddish orange and the sky brightens with elated joy. In their togetherness, they brighten and morning shines through.
In the castles and cottages, eyes open and listen to the liquid music. They lie in their beds and the music seeps through their brains and soothe their souls. Some feel joyous, and want to run out towards a green happy day. Some feel the harmony and sing along a rustic line or two. Some turn towards their close ones lying beside them and hold them warmly close. They feel lucky enough to have loved ones, a family and God's grace. Some close their eyes again and the face of their beloved one swims before their eyes. They marvel at the inexplicable joy that fills their heart and also a stab of pain. A hundred words travel through their minds all desiring to be spoken -- to him, to her. The music plays on. Some lay tight on their bed as memories of their wrong doing grasp them tight and kill their souls. Some weep in remorse, some weep in lamentation and some weep sadly, all alone. Some little eyes go back to sleep as the music whispers a lullaby. Some sit up and thank the Lord and pray for happiness and peace for all and sundry. Mothers kiss their little children. The sun glows with a warm shine as lovers melt away.
But where is the magic man? Where does he brings his music from and what is he playing of? Is it the music of joy and love? Does it speak of the pain in his heart? Is he in love? Where does the magic lie? Where is the magic man? He is not by the river bank, nor in the shady haunt of the hills, nor in the garden of wild flowers in the meadows. Where is he then? And what song flows from his magic flute? Can you hear it dear reader? Do you know?