Saturday, 17 June 2017

POWER OF WORDS



A poet is very happy
When someone smiles with happiness
Holding the poet’s book of poetry,

Getting denied to sharing a dais,
During summer release of poetry books
Of poets arrived from different places of country,
At a venue, where he was also present,
His poems are not like poems of their choice,
No miracle is done in words,
All his moves are like ghost travels,
Shadows of termination,
Registration fees, the license of performing
On the dais, real advantage for anyone,
That he could not bound to acquire field,
And he strolls around the dais,
As if he walks with backward twist.
He does not venture to go forward,
And he returns home with timid gestures.

Our money relations,
Our poetry revelations
Have little difference in evolution.
If power of word fails to get living performance,
There is none to support life,

Beneath the silent evaluation of living. 

Saturday, 20 May 2017

SUMMER


SUMMER

Cool morning,
Summer sun,
Brown flower greets banana green,
Birth has roots down on the earth,
In the nature, none can obscure the sun,
Birth as a gift that travels like light,
With records of name, address, story,
No need to stop at doorsteps of ashes,
Because, scorching sunrays burn only
Pirate amoeba, infected, to immaculate a body,
Incidents flow like noun, across a sentence, 
With subject and predicate, spine in a body, 
So many bodies cannot travel on wings of light
And fall on the ground and are dispersed into two - 
Exorcism and hymns of spirits - different forms of
The first born, it brings bodies arranged in 
Hell and heaven, drifting away from origin,
Veiled attempt to hell, inward knowing
To heaven, and it makes morning sun scale gaze,
Language gets momentum, and it is noon when
All tests are done to burn stained attempts.
We owe longing,  and thereby whole essay so formed
Feeds contention, conclusion, far away
From ashes, as our eyes condemn burning
Of dreams, even if land becomes infertile,

That the nature suspects it cannot be. 

Thursday, 18 May 2017

OLD AGE BURNS


“You are old; your arguments are not always justified,
A simple thing a child can do, you do not, please do not try.”

Different types of points, causes of criticism, honky sledge,
Hewing consequence, neglected dictum, old drapes, every day,

Lack of sunlight, dark threshold, living in angry spoofing,
Blowing wind through aged bones, no whispering, torn melody,

All good things snatched, a way formatted for relief from old turf,
Shouting, cleaver challenges, looking at airplanes is old-age dream.


Monday, 15 May 2017

TRIBUTE TO RENOWNED PAINTER DWIJEN GUPTA







I have last met with
Painter and artist Dwijen Gupta, when
He was suffering from Parkinson’s disease, and
Was honored and felicitated on 11.04.2017 by
Parkinson’s disease Patient’s Welfare Society, Kolkata.

Because art and poetry for aesthetic purpose
Are beauty in creative world, and
I was acquainted with him since 2005,
Because all my first three poetry books
Have cover layouts with art works of two
Renowned artists, Rabin Mondal and
Bijan Chowdhuri, and by the time I learnt
Designing from his methods of layout.   

Mr. Gupta passed away on 15.05.2017.
I first came to know it from artist 
Karunamoy Sur's post in Facebook.



My poetry brochure THE SIEGE (April, 2017)
Wherein three photos of his paintings was printed
Along with my poems, was virtually released
To honor the contemporary painter Dwijen Gupta
Who will remain as a smart creator and concentric to
Indian art work of his time and this era.

My humble honor to this legendary painter,

Dwijen  Gupta.

Amidst his own creations, he is still alive with an identity.
All eyes will be delighted first on his creations and paintings,
Marvel at tones of colors and imagination from heart of feelings. 
His works have foresight, sequences, thinking beyond at sight,
By bright rhetoric, leaving viewers fastened with everything
In the knowing world, within fair and silent story he told.
As if they listen to him, try to know his dream and aspiration,
The whole of flight he created, by hand with brush and colors. 




Wednesday, 10 May 2017

RIPPLE OF A SUMMER DAY IN KOLKATA EM BYPASS











After visiting my attending eye doctor for retinal ailments,
My journey begins through spectacular EM Bypass,
Some portion of the way under the construction,
Some portion of the way created to multiple circular flyovers,
Metro rail, high rise architectural elegance,
One step each towards vision and beauty,
Striding with gentle quoting from a love poem,
As if my voice raises to utter some lines
With sights of my eyes around the summer May,
As if my eyes are tucked into magic landscape,
Where water bodies do not leave, but designed carefully,
Glimpses, strangeness falls ahead of our great
Grand-mothers’ old days, when it was only jungle,
Land owners’ hands and feet are still seems to be expelled,

The sun reveals its melting effect.
The asphalt road turns hot.
Commuters are feeling hot and sweating,
Inside crowded bass, passers-by feeling
Warm on radiation of heated road,
As if the road says to all in question
“Why you do not have everything to feel cool.
When you are advancing for a new world,
When you sign everything for your newness,
Why do you feel annoyed, tired, irritated?”
The nature does not know who you are
But it does know you are one of its partners,
Distortion of any kind would tell a story of robbery,
The nature knows what it knows, we do not instead.

Prof. Stephen Hawking once said:
Are you ready?
All melting asphalts, matchbox houses, artificial lakes,
Are falling gently with warring manifestos like
Burning trees waiting for termination. 


Monday, 8 May 2017

SUMMER




SUMMER 01

In the summer,
Commuters suspend journey
In necked sun-rays,
Burning sensation
On the face,
Body feels irritation
Water dried out,
A lazy and drowsiness
Feeling foments,
While walking
Under heat wave.

A few passersby,  
Road looks deserted,
Black pitch heated
Burns shoe,
Feet feel burning sensation,
Whispers of the green
A rest for a little time
Under the cool shadow,
It nourishes body
For another walk
Just to reach home
Quickly. 


SUMMER 02

Summer in its roughness
With heat wave of sun-rays
Sets up
Stench of sweating
To commuters
And they move
To complete work
Destined to their way
In mid-noon song.

Greens point to flowers
For something,
Life is there
At the tips of every

Odds of life, beauty honored. 


Thursday, 4 May 2017

CREATIVE SUMMER



The river is at its worst time,
No water, only sand and concrete bridge,
Summer is the damper, undelivered,
It never pays passengers so throttling
With water, villagers sitting under
Tree shadow, scorching sun-rays,
People of the earth beg water,
Centrifugal water resources drops,
Mother earth says, “No, No, No,
Water is my efficiency, wait a bit,
Wild things cannot go, water needs flowing,
Wasteful usage makes everything dry.”
No question of residual water flowing,
Mother earth cannot end up
In back-flowing, motivates raising and
Flowing of water from the source of
Load treatment we do not know about,
The sky is not clearly blue, clouds forming,
Alarm is raised, Kalbaisakhi arrives,
Surrounds everything with storm and rain,
Then pillars of bridge hide under water,
Summer delivers creative power, with greens,
Natural sensing creates survival notes
Like music that removes wild things out.