black coffee

how
the night dies out
but the shadow remains
and creeps into our heart

the same shadow
that we drink again
as our morning mug of black coffee

lost

and in this solitude
called myself
i see me,
as a "happening"

as a lost soul
who saw a glimmer
and then did not see how
darkness swallowed up the last, flickering light

i see myself
as a lost blind soul
going after a light
which is already dark

by the hibiscus

When you come
If I am gone
Stand by the hibiscus for a while
Touch it's flowers once

By this hibiscus
I have waited for you

lost

I see myself
In my books, poems, and even in you

I donot see myself in me

she

When rain came
I threw away my umbrella
I threw away all my umbrellas

Now I am the sea
Now I am the she

"i called", she said
"i know", he said
"i know you know", she said

our tragedy is that we all know
and yet, we try to deceive ourselves

in the poems of my favourite poem

a me, which is not me
i see in the poems of my favourite poet
as the words takes the last puff
i see myself burning away
in his dying cigarette, in his poems

"manuh bure bhabe borokhun" - nilim kumar

i see myself awake, and languid
sprawled out like a used bedsheet
a memory of a night in anguish
now silently soaking in the sun of the morning

come, turn the pages
spread me out neat and tidy
or put me in the washing machine
do something, just do something
or just turn the pages
and let this poem be over
i am tired of poems which has no ending

from now on i will read a poet
whose poems atleast have an ending
and with it, i will end
like a song that ends when the birds go to sleep

mataal

ekhon dukan bisari furisu
ejon dukani bisari furisu
fotika kiniboloi
mataal hoboloi

pahar bur bogai bogai
gos burere pisoli pisoli
jon tuwe mur kaanot fusfusai koi gol
dolong'r xitu pare boha manuh jonor kotha

dolong'r maajot bohi ase pohoriya
hridoi nidile dolong paar hobo nidiye

khubei joruri
hridoy'or biniyomot dolong paar holu

botol tu aag borhai di
dolong'r xitu pare boha manuh jone kole
hridoi nathakile kuneo mataal hobo nuware,
kebol behus he huwa jai

life is not easy. does not mean that it cannot be beautiful.

no return

the days has been spent
night has begun
all doors are closed
its time to be gone
this is the path of no return!

love

see how
the flower blooms
and does not stop smiling even when it withers.
such is love, once alight, it does not flicker

eternity

in my backyard, the sea does not flow, 
just stands by
...like an eternity.
my sea, my eternity!
always, as the moon disappears
my silhouette melts away into this sea.

forever, i am the moon
that has been tossed away like a coin into this sea...
...this sea, that has become a part of me.
in me, i try to find myself
as the sea stands by watching, like an eternity.


always, as the moon disappears, forever sinking into me
my silhouette in the sand slowly trembles
creating waves into the sea.
and then i walk past me, and then i disappear slowly
in an unhurried journey
as the sea stands by watching, like an eternity

always,
the sea, the moon and me
hand in hand we just stand by
watching the birth of eternity

mon ura mare

kiyo 
bare bare
kopahi mon ura maare
puroni poduli loi

kiyo
bare bare
puroni bagan'e bagan'e 
mur ei smriti boguwa mon
onai bonai fure

kahani eri oha akaash khon
hothate aji ei sohor'ot ahi dekha diye
gaon'r nodi khon
umoli omoli
mur ei xoru sohoriya kutha'r 
bisona'r khuti't baandh khai thake
xei nodi'r kubal xute
taani loi jai mur mon
mur puroni xoixob umola pudoli loi
mur puroni gutimali fuli thaka amul mul bagan loi

hoi,
bare bare
kopahi mon ura maare
puroni poduli loi

hoi
bare bare
puroni bagan'e bagan'e 
mur ei smriti boguwa mon
onai bonai fure

if i donot wake up
god keeps sleeping too !

mon golei ...xopun

rati tu
kuti basi
jari fuki
nokhor khusot bhorai, gutei din tu ghuri furu

mon golei
olop olop ulai lou
rati'r saya't
dinote xopun dekhu
...mon golei !

death

how little by little you die
till there is no more left to die

aita'r xadhu kotha

xopun jaak puhor'ot mur dangi uthe!

xopun jaak je
aita'i xondhiya tuloxi tolot joluwa 
saki gosor dore
jolok-molok, dhimik-dhamak!

aita'i xondhiya tuloxi tolot joluwa 
saki gosor dorei
xopon jaak'u
rati'r andhar'or logot
bilin hoi jai,
lahe lahe

tel'ot lut put
numai juwa xolita'r gaat'e bheja lagi
thaki jai mathu xopun jaak'r saya

andhar rati'r gaat lipt khai thake, xopun'r saaya
andhar saki'r gaat lipt khai thake, xopun'r saaya
nimau-mau tuloxi tolot sore mrito xopun'r saya

etiya aita'u nai
aru egosa saki jolai diboloi
etiya aita'u nai
jadu loga xadhu kotha'r jadu loga rup kathi'r porox'ot
xopun jaak'ok akou puhorai tuliboloi

extra hour

loneliness
is that
midnight call
that goes unanswered
yet, invades the whole night
with its shrilling absence in the dark hours

and all we ask is
one extra hour
so that we can answer that call
so that this loneliness is gone

sometime

sometime you want to go to a new place
a place claimed by no memory
sit below a tree, or may be an old rusted gate
look at your own reflection on the water of a nameless river. hear
the songs of nameless birds...
look at the sky and wonder how the evening would be.
you spend the whole day without waiting for the evening. and
when the evening comes, you welcome it with a smile,
let it sit besides you as the birds sing a lullaby and puts the day to sleep.

when you walk away from the place, you walk away knowing you would never come back here again
you also know that this tree, this gate will always be here
and some part of you will remain with them

 - as you spend your daily life somewhere else - in your city...town...office...
signing off a paper, boiling the water or wiping away your tears
even then,
a part of you would be here - may be glowing with the rust as the first ray of sun falls on the rusted gate
- or blowing with the leaves as a gentle breeze passes by.

sometime you want to go to a new place
...a place claimed by no memory.
sit below a tree, or may be an old rusted gate.

because sometime you want to go away

jasmine dream

the night is like a tree
a tree, with sprawling branches
one branch spreading over my balcony
another, surreptitiously lurking in your corner of the garden

the night grows deeper, 
jasmine blooms in your garden
and climbing branches, the fragrance seeps over to my house.

a sweet fragrant dream visits me
a jasmine dream, i smile in it
i tell you i do not want this night to leave

we let the night remain in my balcony,
while donning the cloak of night 
with jasmine memories, i go away instead

the jasmines still bloom
white, radiant and fragrant 
and i still smile in my dream
as one jasmine branch surreptitiously creeps over to your garden 

as the fire burns
so the rain is born
and slowly the earth uncoils,
 again

in search of a breathing earth, 
the child opens her eyes
held close by dried up tears

the earth recoils, again
at the sight of the burnt up pain in her eyes
this is where the fire burns!

the child recedes back
at the sight of a falling earth,
she has nowhere to go...

the earth is falling
the earth is failing
the earth is crying: 
donot rape a child again!

date with modern art on a rainy afternoon

surreptitiously,
i slide my hands on the red you have painted on the canvass
and try to figure out its shape - hidden by the green
sometime it feels like spring
and sometime, like blood in the battle field

i want to know definitely
what is it i am touching
blood of a bird that died in the spring?
or a red rose, just kissed by the green

you tell me, its modern art
i am allowed to feel what i want

maybe
i want to feel nothing today

and then you tell me - 
if that is so, 
today, your painting is about nothing

some sorrows have to be borne alone

why do i like talking to him

why do i like talking to him?

because, during winter

he points out the trees

and asks me to look out for them

when they will bloom in summer again

but,

mostly because

he shares his secrets

and always tells me

when it is going to rain again

when it rains

it began to rain
and i asked for your umbrella

but you said its better to just walk in the rain
and get wet.

you threw the umbrella away

i threw away the thought of the umbrella

i was drenched 

and so were you
but you told me that we were drenched with bits of the sky

after that, it was nice walking in the rain.
we kept dragging the sky to everywhere we went

and left some drops of it in a trail

so that, more clouds could follow by

dil jala toh jal gaya, dil khil toh khile gaya
teri jaise marzi ishq, bas waise tu chal diya
teri har ek jhalak pe ishq
humne toh bas waah kiya

the house has doors, but no walls
once you enter, you would think you are in
but actually you are always outside

haiku

rain drops slither down the pane
i sit and watch
as a haiku flows down my heart

when i go away
beneath the quilt  of my old bed
you will find my will

my favourite fifty sunsets
I bequeath to you
when you come for them
come in the evening
then, if you stand by my balcony
you can have one more


and then,
breathe in the air.
if you sniff hard enough
you will find my favourite song
floating in the air, carry it home with you
i bequeath my favourite song to you

also, when you are there
pick up the fifth book in the second row
in-between the pages
you will find a dried up hibiscus
i bequeath this red flower to you

this flower had grown in my childhood garden
in giving the flower, i give away my childhood to you

when i am not there
do look up the sky on a moonless night
i leave with you a thousand smiling stars

do you still remember the evening we spent by the sea
in little waves, the sea would come running towards us
and return back, after wetting our feet
i can still hear those singing waves

i bequeath you those sea waves
and the foot prints we made on the sand that day as we returned back



if you rummage below my pillow
you will find some left over dreams
no, do not take them away
bury them with me
so that, when i turn in my grave
i meet them face to face
and in meeting them, i will meet you again

when i am not there
do look up the sky on a moonless night
i leave behind with you a thousand smiling stars

the line between us is too thin, very blurred
i know not where i end
i know not where you start

sonnet of the midnight

slowly
i sneak my fingers 
inside my head
and 
tickle my brain

a
crazy laugh
escapes me

the clock strikes midnight
i strike back my clock
time stops

i look down
the world is far below
i climb higher 

halodhiya

ekhon 
halodhiya potaka 
mur mon

tumi bahi bojuwa
duporiyar xure xure

dhowa dhowa xur bure
muk meriyai dhore

tumar
xeujiya xur
neela xur
aru moi!
eiya eta mayabi duporiya
hothate mon mur
mayur pakhi

abeli
mayur pakhi mur'ot guji
tumi ubhoti juwa

halodhiya potaka khon
ure raati
bothahot uri thake
sinaki bahi'r xur bisari

hope

in this vacuum
no word exists.
only
lacklustre despair swims together
with scared, knocked down memories
in the ocean of hope

happy

I want to listen to all the happy songs of the world
Now, all at once
All of them rolled into a narrow joint
And smoked out into the thin air

And I want to breath in that foul thin air
Again and again
All at once, together

the journey

when it rains like this
i often wonder
how it would be
if i go out in the rain
and never come back!

wishful thinking

in another city
you take a deep sigh
short of breath, i turn in my sleep here

or may be not
may be
all is but a wishful thinking
i turn, but may be you do not sigh

but i turn, in this city, and think of you
every night

letter written in early summer

all my thoughts

with blue ink

i wrote them on paper

i wrote about faith, hope and dreams

about fairy morning and midnight breeze

i wrote about those beautiful moonlights

about ponds full of water lilies, about heart full of love

i wrote and wrote

till my heart was empty

and the paper, full of my heart

later

i folded the paper into a kite

and let it fly away, away in the sky

since then, the sky has always been blue

blue as the ink mark blotting my heart

snatchers

as i 
go askance
from one car to another
asking for a rupee, a morsel
in the busy delhi road
i often wonder
how greedily they look at my tin bowl
holding a few coins, one or two tattered notes
from the other side of their window glasses
hurriedly pulled up at my approach.

often
i feel grateful that their glasses are up
lest, they should snatch away my few coins from me.
after all, aren't the rich famous for their snatching away skills?
only last september, one of them had snatched away the life of my brother
while merrily driving a car by our pavement

in-between

thoughts of you keep me awake
and that i might dream of you lures me to sleep 
in-between, half awake, half asleep, i lie restless

................

days pass by
nights pass by
in-between them, life passes by

...............

in-between pages
still lie a dry flower.
a dead memory, peaceful in its sleep

...............

like sand slipping away in-between fingers
life slipped by
now all of me lies in a heap of sand by my feet

............

in-between

despair, pangs, morbid melancholies, blues

hope keeps fluttering like fireflies

26

edin rati moi tuk bisari paisilu

mur xeteli't pori thoka

adha porha kitap khonor

26 nombor pristhar maajot

....

ajiu xei paat khonor suk tu

bhaaj maari thuwa ase.

prayei taare akhor-xobdo bur

moi liriki bidari sau

....

gaate ga laagi
juji muji
thela hesa kori thoka
aami duta'r prothom akhor juktakhor 
moi taate baare baare bisari pau

.....

thik jen lo'ye po'ye loga di gaate gaa laagi asu aami

eta 'go' logai dilei golpo hoi jaam :)