When the Dusts arose…

The dusts arose,
The aeroplane bull-dozed
the dreams of the tea-seller.
Lemon and ginger stroke back
and the moon went down
To Earth.

You rhymed with your tea,
Parrying the intrusion
and drank the dreams;
When we met last night,
I, curled up in your blanket
while you trimmed your beard
and we heard the aeroplane
Knocking at our door.

The news was a stale one,
Like the dew drops
painted in saffron;
My curls fell like chrysanthemums
upon a rosy Kashmir.
You made love to them,
Swilling the music of rebellion
We created;
And sent back the aeroplane
To terrorize
Our countrymen already dead,
Embracing their own euthanasia—
That button of the ballot box.
So we went for a morning walk together
And drank tea!!

NaPoWriMo Day 21 ; Poem 21

Your Intellect is my Poison

(Image Source: Google)

Your intellect is my poison
You forced me to drink,
Like the menstruating jasmine
Heals the night, waiting
To reach the haven
Under the sun.

Your intellect is my poison
I embraced for my own pleasure,
Sailing my ship towards the doldrum,
I fell prey to my baleful desire.
Blessed was the Minerva,
Who had every knowledge of her own;
A muse she was for the abject poets,
But in you, I find my school to learn.

Your intellect is my poison,
A drug my naval needs,
Churning out the enigmatic obsidian,
I collect your knowledge in beads.
My curls dry as the desert cries,
The heart builds cerebral ties,
Saving me from debauchery’s guilt,
For a pauper like me, the library was built.
There’s no sense when I talk of your skin,
There’s no sense when I seek,
The pleasure of your secured lips,
The warmth of those hands that indite,
The dominance waiting like a thunder to strike.

The poison plays the lawyer,
And policeman gives up his act;
Have you ever known the poet
Compromise and make a pact?
So my quill unleashes my emotion,
Drawn somewhere in a clandestine submission,
I live because my antidote is same,
Your intellect as it becomes my poison again!!

 

#Day16 #Poem16

I Masturbated

 

I masturbated

when you vomited the milk your mother fed

mincing a Barbie’s princess- gown;

The knife was your experiment

You perforated a hole in between her thighs

That night, your sister learnt: period.

 

I masturbated

When you rang the bell and offered sweets

blessings glaring at my bosoms

And dried flowers.

You drank them all.

 

I masturbated

When my red petrified you

So you used nationalism.

Adorned his casket with prayers and flowers

Dead man can’t speak

So you mounted your words

Upon our red.

So I masturbated

and burnt the moon red.

 

#Day5  #Poem5

The Sky of Wichita ( Written on the evening of 5th August 2014 under the shade of the pine tree):

 

Sometimes a square, sometimes a drop,

Behind that blue, where my vision would stop,

You play, the azure sky !!

In the music of dusk, smiles the sun.

A mere circle in tic-tac-toe,

Of the playful airplanes,

The moon with her trails of blue!!

Dear Flash Gordon !!

 

 

Flash, it’s been a long time we traveled,

Our robust love broke the dreams, I gathered the pieces of the world,

I clicked the words kissed upon me,

Flash, it’s your bride I have always wanted to be !!

 

Tragedies are too clichéd, my dear,

I collect the sparkles lost in the dust, dying within me,

The kiss of your strength allays me from the reality afar,

Transcending beyond the world I wanted to be.

 

A Journey

 

It was a long way we walked, soaked in love,
The merry meadow scorned at the feathers left behind,
The sand drenched us in insanity, cruel and blind,
It was an unconscious dream we walked, soaked in love !!

Delirium quenched our hunger, hours stroke the sun,
The epic died even before the bard was born,
We saw the green losing its hue in yellow,
Our lips locked but we didn’t kiss, our sweat, too shallow !!

We chafed, we bickered, burning each other in rosy lust,
We left our shoes, we freed the hooks, our noses dipped in dust;
The path deranged us in an anesthetic wanderlust,
You saw me dying, I saw you living , in a convergence !!

The story never ends, they say, we smile in glee,
You are the ‘I’, I killed to win the diadem,
I am the ‘You’, you always wanted to be !!

MARIJUANA DIARIES: A DREAM OF A NOVICE

 

A sudden friendship, a sudden discovery of similar interests created my bond with Paulami Duttagupta, compiler of the book Marijuana Diaries. I liked being with her, I liked hanging out with her, which prospered my love for her. It was reciprocated with equal zeal and we thought of working together, write a book perhaps. When we met around June 2014, Paulami didi, as I lovingly call her, told me of making an anthology, a dream she has conceived for long. In her unique panache, she declared the name of the book: Marijuana Diaries and wanted me to be a part of it.

“It’s on addiction”, said Paulamididi and then the theme of Marijuana Diaries was created.

COPA AMERICA 2015: THE COUNTDOWN

 

The spirit allures me with wings of passion,

I stretch my eyes across the land of Chile,

A love, a culture, a heartbeat in the name of a game,

Copa 2015 beckons !!

FOR YOU , BAAKYO : ON YOUR ANNOPRASHON !!

 

 

           Of the love of the smile,

           Of the little hands so fragile,

           Of the baby steps yet to take,

           Of the uttered words which form and break,

           Of a journey of life yet to explore,

          O, my dear Baakyo, congratulations on your ‘ Annaprashon’

Dear Baakyo,

I really don’t know what to write, for I do not know the ways of the world , of familial relationships, the duties of an aunt. Motherhood is perhaps I will not understand in this lifetime. So, if I have something to say, things will be different.

KOLKATA BOOK FAIR : RAMBLING OF A LITTLE GIRL !!

 

 

“Of books and books, in a sea where the soul seeks to drown,

  Of the dusty field and the old Maidan;

  Of the memories preserved in the past,

  It is the old Book Fair of Maidan”.

With the Kolkata Book Fair ending yesterday, like every year, this year too, memories have started to haunt me; tears have never done any good to me; so this time, I rejected them and took resort to the only thing I have, the only thing, I can give to the world  : writing. Since the last eight years, I have been fighting with the change that had attacked the book fair; of course it has not been easy for me to accept the change, who is like a ‘ step mother’ to me ; yes the change : from venue to the name , from the scene to the scenario. I have always been sceptical about this new step mother even though, these days I am trying laboriously to accept her. People say , “Whaao … you are lucky”, when I reveal my identity of being the granddaughter of  Late Sushil Mukhopadhyay, founder member and first president of Book Seller’s and Publisher’s Guild Kolkata. Don’t know about luck but book fair has been more than ‘ just’ a fair to me.