My poetic journey began sometime in 2009. The first few years were weaved in harmony by two major chords - me leaving my hometown for college and with it my new found love (for a long-distance relationship) and; my first experiences of managing myself, my ambitions, my joys, my sorrows. These emotional outbursts created enough downpour for the seeds of creativity to sprout its first greens.

'Writing' for me was always a destiny awaiting spring. My dad used to write novel in his youth. He still pens down poems and song lyrics which he sings himself. My maternal grandfather was a witty poet who loved to play with rhythms. I recall creating spoof versions of nursery rhymes with him. If you have read Alice in Wonderland, you would know what I am hinting at...

Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!
How I wonder what you’re at!
Up above the world you fly,
Like a tea tray in the sky.

My first two poems, We shall meet again and Crossroads of Peace were written before I left for my college, vividly painting the hurricane of sensations. During my times at college, I had questioned myself over and over again - why am I doing this? Is the pain worth it? How long before I return back home? Déjà vu, The day I became someone, As night falls, Time thou heal, Breathless, Pages from the Owl’s Diary bear testimony to those brooding moments. This indeed gives the title of the collection - The Night is Long.

Most of my initial poems were about me, - or rather, about a young boy’s journey to maturity. Soon I grew bored of playing the same chords, the synonyms and change in rhythms weren’t enough to play a different tune. Eventually I started writing two different types of poems. Sarcasm has always been a part of my jovial character. No wonder it didn’t take long for it to diffuse in my serio-comic and satirical verses, like Inertial minds, Blackboard, Shortened My Skills?, String Theory!, Said Krishna, Spheres of Brain and Earth, Monuments of Love, Atheist, Geeks of Physics, etc. I also concentrated on the poetic imagery in The Secret, Dark Paradise, Under the Spell, Death Lane, etc. I translated tunes of Bengali folk songs in The butterfly and To the shore. Around this time, I was introduced to Rumi and Pablo Neruda by my dear friend, Krishna. Poetry flows in the wind, and like the dandelion, hooks to your mind while you race though your otherwise routined life. It has always been the same with me. Sometimes I end up writing 3 poems in a single flight of 3 hours, at other time there are drought for over 6 months. The poem that perhaps took all my brain cells to jingle up was Muse of the blank canvas. It is a 14 line 14 character sonnet - carved from the inspiration of the great Bengali poet - Madhusudhan. The preface however cannot end without thanking my English home tutor for 6 long years during my school days, Joydeep sir. It is to him that I fully owe my mastery of vocabulary.

The Night Is Long

I welcome the surfers who stumbled on this page, to tune your heart in my rhythm and sing a few songs with me….

We shall meet again

These are the first verses I ever penned down. It paints the love story of Rupsa and me between the year 2003 to 2009. From her being the dream girl in the neighbourhood whom I am too shy to ask out, to the days 6 years later, when we are finally in a serious relationship yet, I need to leave my home city soon for my college.

Stars shining bright, on the cold moonlit night,
On the lamp-post, an owl perched.
Stars shining bright, on the cold moonlit night,
By the window I, lost in my thoughts.

How it began, on a hot, sunny day,
We both met, with our destiny ahead.
Did we realize? Did we know?
A day slowly comes, and swiftly goes.

True so the saying that our elders say,
A moment is strong enough, to turn your way.
Perhaps we didn’t, for it passed,
Six long years, yet, it must!

Again came a day, sunny true,
For it lit the path, shrouded in gloom.
We laughed, we talked, we cared,
More than any soul could,

But the day drew nearer,
Before ‘Good-Bye’ be told.
Swollen eyes and melancholic day,
Sleepless nights and haunting grey,

Yes, we did bear it all, with patient suffering,
For heard we have people say -
A life without love is of no better,
Than a falcon devoid its wings.

Though every moment apart,
Pains a thousand deaths over,
But love, they say, is everlasting,
So why do we fear?

At the end of each tunnel,
Shines a brilliant light,
So must hope burn,
In cloud’s silver lining.

We shall meet again, friend,
Tomorrow or the day that follows.
And this time, we will make it sure,
We would stay together, through highs and lows.

As of now that’s all I can say,
Turn to the heavens, whisper and pray.

Stars shining bright, on the cold moonlit night,
The owl flew towards the sky.
Stars shining bright, on the cold moonlit night,
By the window, a drop trickles down my eye.

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Crossroad of Peace

I still remember scribbling this poem on a piece of paper while on my way to IIT-JEE counselling at Kharagpur. As the car was dashing past crossroads on the highway, I had long left the focus and drifted to the raging emotional mess.

On the track so perfect,
All was going through,
But it makes me ponder,
Over self-created blues.

How long will it last?
As the soothing zephyr blew.
The pole-star over the sky,
The joys of the crew.

Riding over marshy lands,
Have we painfully come.
And now we are happy,
We have found our one.

Yet when the war seems over,
The foe falls down.
A notion makes me ponder,
Makes my mind frown.

As the wind calms down,
Before the cruel storm plunders.
Is this peace the same,
The birth-child of blunder?

Will all the joys dissolve,
Before it’s even tasted?
Will everything break apart,
All the love be wasted?

Or perhaps it is the jolly season,
An amorous spring’s dawn.
The laughter of children,
A passionate lover’s song.

A blessing from the One,
Above us all.
A prayer to us answered,
A lonely heart’s call.

This crossroad of peace,
Haunted me day and night.
Until I found the answer,
Lies in my inner sight.

Love is not given,
For people to lose.
Two lines answers it all,
Now it’s so easy to choose.

Peace may come and go,
That is the way of life.
But my love for her remains,
Till the end of time.

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Arshia, the Heavenly

Arshia is a very special character in my life’s story. My personification of a hallucinatory imaginary younger/twin sister I never had. While I love to live in the real-World, it is to this character I resort to, the crown-princess of my mind’s castle, hiding my deepest secrets. Talking to Arshia is closest to a conversation with God for me.

It was a night, a cold dark night;
And I was sitting under the Tree.
Lost in thoughts, of the heaven above;
When an angel appeared before me.
An illusion thought I, seeing her silver form,
But then she came nearer, and sat beside…

“The Knowledge you seek, from the future and past,
An attempt you make, far and wide,
For it is as vast, as the skies above,
And you are but one, inside it.
What you want, is the water in a jug,
Being a drop among it,”

I replied to the lass in front of me,
      in a solemn tone;
“Can a drop be found floating alone,
      when the water is up to the brim?
Not in the jug, no more a drop,
      I am the Universe in it…
But pray me, Thee power unknown,
      why do you seek me?
And come to me in Thy gracious form,
      and argue about being free.”

I am the Power, you seek all over;
The knowledge, in Everything you see.
I am she, who sees all from above;
The controller, of all your beings.
I am You and You are Me;
And together, we are Arshia - the Heavenly.

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The Secret

The imagery of a fountain pen ruminating the letter writing process and all the secret it knows.

The scent of old paper - the thoughts, in his mind;
The ink-pot - the mahogany table, he writes on;
The open window - the cold breeze, blowing by;
The overcast sky - the cloudy mood, my Lord all alone…

It was then he took me up,
      And held me hand by hand.
A refreshing bath, in the near blue tub,
      My spirits refilled up again.
The paper I touched, and his thoughts flowed,
      I, his humble servant.
The silent prayer, the golden emote,
      Three little words, scribbled then.
And at the end, not all is the same,
      When the name was stamped on.
Whisper I shouldn’t, for it’s a secret,
      Between me and my Lord…

The scent of old paper - the thoughts, in his mind;
The ink-pot - the mahogany table, he writes on;
The open window - the cold breeze, blowing by;
The overcast sky - the cloudy mood, and the letter of my Lord…

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Déjà vu

Golden moments, of the past,
      don’t say goodbye to my heart.
Come and go, as if in a Déjà vu,
      but walk with me in this desert loo.
For memories are rare, like a true pearl,
      making each takes, a thousand furl.
And as the old clock, ticks away,
      will you be there for a longer stay?

Golden moments, of the past,
      don’t say goodbye to my heart.
Miles away from home, I reside,
      be my hut, on the riverside.
I wake up each morn., to your smiling face,
      you take me through the day - the tough bull race.
When the cloud of blues overcast the sky,
      you bring a flicker, a joy for a while.

Golden moments, of the past,
      don’t say goodbye, to my heart.
Serving hot tea, to the pensive head,
      giving water, to the thirsty sage.
Hope is the friend, you remind us of,
      the future is the past, we’re about to hop.
Golden moments, come back I pray,
      “Yes, I will”, is all you would say.

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Dark Paradise

God resides in man.

My hands stretched out to the void,
The trembling confused voice of mine,
“Where are You, Oh Lord!”
Where is the brilliance of Thy Paradise!
Stumbling over hidden paths,
Falling on the rough terrain,
“Which Eden have I come to Oh Lord?
Where is your guiding lamp?
Where is the shine of Thy silver form?”

It is then I feel a touch,
A flock of people approaching me,
Near they come, and whisper forth -
“Even the smallest light shines in the darkness”.
They could see me, but not I,
What mystery of Elysian have I stepped on?
The darkness reveals, but my friends,
Then a voice speaks up -
“My child, I am within”.

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The day I became someone

Born in the rainy month; on my mother’s lap,
Living among the gulmohur trees, and the district lanes,
A unique name, a unique love - from my close mates -
Am I not someone, rather than anyone?
But to the city I had to go, leaving them all,
To become someone and not just anyone.

New life, new home, new school - and I among them,
Close friends and old games - time passes by.
In the heart blooms a maiden’s love (forever may it be)
Am I not someone, rather than anyone?
Yet away from home, I had to go, a silent goodbye said,
To become someone and not just anyone.

Are we not unique in ourselves?
Do we need to stretch, to colour in the brightest?
Cannot the path we are in lead us to glory?
Do we need to change at every crossroads, again and again?
Just be as you are, you are only One -
You are someone, not anyone among everyone.

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As night falls

As night falls; the day ends,
      Apollo moves on, on his tour ahead.
The rooks return; the restful homecoming,
      A place of comfort, for each waiting.
As the horizon’s lamp, fades with our drying sweat,
      I cross one more day, before we meet again.
With the clock’s ticking; twilight falls,
      Physical pains dissolve, mental ones evolve.
Thoughts over the long wait; the daily dose,
      Breathing hard, I brood on.
Ponder over the things - to be done,
      Once the Sun brings the gleeful dawn.
The eternal hug; the feeling of belonging,
      Still to wait, before it’s felt.
The work to be finished; the target hit,
      For which the bow, I have drawn.

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Inertial minds

On the cot, in the lawn - our Master lies;
the warm sun rays - the scent of betel juice -
(satisfied and proud)
his followers swatting in a circle around…

“Hindusthan, our motherland, our nation is she…”
glorious and rich - as the Puranas read -
all ears to the Master…
(live long past glory!)

“A country of heritage; culture and old age hermitage -“
“Is there a match! - does any other country has!”
(half its populace below poverty line)
shouts all men with pride…

“Find another land, with greener crops; milk and honey flowing!”
“No there isn’t anywhere in this sphere, a harder working farmer”
(still not a square meal a day!)
it’s our pride, it’s India…

“Indigenous is ourselves - from wheat to missiles…”
“Our spotted cows n powerful buffaloes -
Why use HYV and tractors!!?”
(we are Us, always in the opposite path!)

Educated we are, in suits and boots; ties hanging straight…
the head bows down - before the rich and renown
(backward are we still?!)
A salaam to our Master

India - my motherland - rise high n tall,
Wake up, and show ‘em all.
Our skill and strength, in all we do,
We would ne’r lag behind the crew.
We would lead the World in the days to come,
Heritage and Advances, would go all along.

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The Thinker

The spring’s dawn, the cuckoo call,
The peacock’s feather, the prayer hall;
The glorious sunrise, of a bright sunny day,
The dark black clouds, over the moistened bay.

The vagabond and the beggar, on the street,
The office workers, speeding past;
The man who lost, his only way,
The beggar who earns, a penny a day.

The arena of the hall, the chandelier,
The large cozy sofas, all the grandeur;
The jingle of lights, of food and money,
The rich and well-fed, rules the day.

The fashion parade, the movie stars,
The gardener, in his backdoor lawn;
The hobbies each have, in this great big world,
The book read, and the songs sung.

In a room, The Thinker stays,
The past, the future - the forgotten present;
Thoughts random, do come and die,
The storm, the zephyr, quite again.

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Cometh knowledge onto thee,
      Cometh knowledge, to you, through me.
The dust, the cloud, the light, the lines,
      The letters scribbled on -
An intelligent face, among all dreamy gaze,
      A mirror to all, am I.

The King of the class, the pride, the lust -
      The battlefield where wars are fought,
Me the hero, in the Trojan scenario,
      On the giant book of historic thoughts.

Projectors and whiteboards, new in the trade,
      Smart may be they, than me,
Think ‘wice err you speak, as they are -
      Yet far less efficient.
Find me Oxbridge, to the remotest hamlet,
      A slate my grandson be.

Professors and artists, lessons and activities,
      Flow all to you, through me.
I am the board, black inside out,
      The bearer of all these fame.

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Death Lane

A quite lane - in the darkness of the night,
      A rat on his search - in the city bins.
Shadows of the building - falling on each other,
      A kite above hovering, its sharp eyes following.
The shadow of two tentacles - by the Moon above,
      A cockroach running up the building wall.
The rat’s eyes shift - on the movement at hand,
      It rushes toward the prey!
Over the wastes from the nearby kitchens,
      Tripping but swift, at its target ahead.
Sensed in the radar, of the kite above -
      A black body in a black lane…
Zooms and swoops down into the walls,
      May God save you my friend!

Comes there then, another animal - Human as we call,
      Ahead in the game, of brutality and shame - dacoit in pair.
Their mission a secret, for none knows it yet -
      Out comes the sharp, shining daggers!
Must they end, the life, the man,
      Who held them in court, in jail.
The cockroach, the rat, the kite and all - the creatures of the night,
      Watch and bow their heads in ‘hail’ -
      To the King of the Death Lane.

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Shortened My Skills?

Short Messaging Service, the dove of the day,
Have you shortened my skills, or augmented?

For I can type, a message without a glance,
Only ten buttons need I, for letters and call.
T9 no longer a choice for youth,
Oxford and Cambridge? Slower than sloth!

Tap four thrice, get an ‘I’,
Six ones and three twice, ‘Me’ on the screen!
Why write ‘me’ when ‘m’ will do?
Forget the lexicon, its owlish hoot.

‘TC’ no longer a transfer certificate,
A loved wish, a ‘take care’, its meaning new.
Numbers and letters mix to form,
A porridge, a soup - whatever you may call.

‘4m’, ‘4gt’, ‘4gv’, ‘n8’ - a complete mix,
The greatest choice, in this business.
Comes confusion over ‘ntyr’,
‘Not your’ or ‘Entire’? Thinks the receiver.

Yet skipping the vowels,
Hebrew may it be, or Greek!
The reader reads and gets,
Every bit of it!

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String Theory!

Strings and threads,
      straight and round,
Dancing to the tune,
      Mother Nature’s sound.

A World so wide,
      round and curled,
Have ye eleven floors?
      So we heard!

Jump and turn,
      to the beats,
Creating us,
      from each bits.

Ample energy,
      do ye make,
Gravity too,
      in all the mass.

Slip you can,
      from slice to slice,
Each a wonderland,
      of Alice.

Mix and match,
      sing and dance,
To the call,
      of rhythm divine.

Strings and thread,
      straight and round,
Dancing to the tune,
      Mother Nature’s sound.

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Time thou heal

There was a time,
      a storm followed a thunder,
A shower followed a storm,
      drought and flood all along.

There was a time,
      the shining sunflower fields,
Drooped their heads in pain,
      over the lost day.

Eons have passed,
      but only a while,
When the smiling face frowned,
      every single night.

Time thou heal,
      thou make amends,
For none so better,
      every now and then.

Casting the boredom,
      of the sorrow,
You bring joy,
      before we know.

Dilute a fear,
      none can best,
Time thou art,
      a healer above rest.

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The butterfly

To the blue horizon with glee, I flutter.
All the deserts bathe in the ocean’s water.

Before all the greens die of from the Earth.
A guide to them, I, in Ambrosia’s search.

Flying over the city blocks, over gulmohur covered lanes.
Spraying paint over the city’s heart and veins.

Time’s calling me to change it all.
The poetry of summer, winter and fall.

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Stopped the hands, of the clock,
Stopped my breadth, on the top.
Why did you?

Hours to go, before I go,
Hours to come and pass by.
Why is it so?

Just a moment, seems so long,
Just a week, an year long.
Why! Man! Why?

Restless am I, mind wandering,
Restful slumber, I craving.
When shall it be!

Faster faster, hours run.
Faster still, I pray thee.
Hands and legs of the clock,
Run fast and make me free.

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To the shore

A translation of Bhoomi’s song Kande Sudhu Mon

Why my mind cries?
Only cries…
When the golden and silver lights,
Shelters itself in the riverside.

As the zephyr blows,
The brown yacht’s sails flows,
Dancing on the waves’ rhythm,
It comes to the glittering shore.

Ahoy boatman! Take me with you,
In this dark quite night.
In this cold season… Take me to your land,
Far, far away…

Oarsman, where’s your tow?
Where’s your song, as you row?
Your land void of electricity,
World without verbosity.

All you have, in land and heart,
Peace, calmness and serenity…
A place without grandiloquence,
Dipped in the balm of tranquility…

My heart dost cry,
but my soul does not break,
Stays in my bosom,
satisfaction from the trance effect.

Back in my World,
Dreams of man,
Like a weevil-eaten oar,
Crushed and destroyed each day.

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Said Krishna

It is often we quote and paraphrase ancient wisdom to suit our needs. This is a satirical take on that.

Said Krishna, Lord of Heaven and Earth -

Defeat those who oppose you,
Crush those who stop you.

Carry thy flag where ever you go,
Mint coins for high and low.

Speak aloud in your favor,
A lie or half doesn’t matter.

Take advantage of every situation,
It’s a game - ruling the nation.

Head and heart not so dear,
Use your muscles against your fear.

And thus followed our politicians!

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Spheres of Brain and Earth

I watched the backhoe digging by,
on a lazy summer noon.
The wheels of change whispered to me,
making merry to doom.

Towers of ambition mankind harbours,
makes not no natural wonders,
to his list of fame.

The hues of green lost in shade,
as the Sphere rolls ahead.
The season of spring hides in a glass frame,
the canary quite again.

The modern Noah builds his ark,
to save mankind, not all,
in a distance the last lion’s roar.

A thought know we, but safely not,
causes us to slip a rung.
‘Stones under the grass cover,
destroys when on top.’

Our palaces our dreams shall come true, if Nature shall bleed dearly too,
this the Sphere quietly knew.

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Pages from the Owl’s Diary

Like the mountain’s stare, as the moon waxes and wanes,
Nor compassion, not mirth, has a corner in his place.
Work, work and work alone, ambition drive the chains,
Who can live forever, like a statue as a reflection be?

Of robots and rockets cloud his dreams, alas no lass it is,
Vows false hold them tight, as a gleaming medallion’s beam.
For the World bows to man with a pocket and someone to dig the hole,
Is it fade the ledge dark and deep, betwixt the mountain and the shore.

Though the view lay clear in sight, avoid it safer be,
For the path trod upon worth a mile, an aeon more of flea.
Love a drug, poisoned senses, where reasons kill reasons,
A dream comes to the hands of bane, the shriek of despair flee.

Studies he did, through his oriel true, though in quietness and lone,
Forgot nature makes a dove’s mate, a dove not an owl.
Yet like a battle fierce, the forces of dote unleashed,
Victor in effort, like the arrogant king, the joyful coffers fill.

Then as the days rolled by, years on a three be,
The flash of light darkens the mind, the clarity unseen.
Live they might, for a family and a child, the cycle of earth to roll,
Yet to science a soul devout, needs not the societal stronghold.

Wired relation knotted to fire, distance before a grip,
From black to white, a change thought she, would herald cupid again.
Yet stains to stay once there, the hammered sculpture’s fail,
In logic build, the skeleton of the seer, emotions pierce not it.

Of sands apart in glass or path, destiny looks so far,
Will the sky wear the colour, the hue of her thought?
With soldiers surrounding the castle, the maiden in distress,
The rider rides in canopy wide, where far less seems at peril.

As in his notebook this scribbled hard, dampens through the night,
The calls of joy, subdued to be soon, yet heralds the morning light.
Dried tears elated becomes, the candle lit again,
Closing the book, future continues, though mysteries of yin and yang.

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Sonnet of Love

The winds may blow,
as hard it may,
The flood washes away..
..the last morsel

The clouds gather
and curtains the light,
yet we shall hold on,
to where we belong.

The day was long,
like a gleeful song.
Fun so tired.. attired

As the moon gleams,
and sings her lullaby,
to my feathery bed,
cozily I retire..
..and beside me,
it’s you whom I desire.

For all the world,
laid to waste.
Evil roams..
..unveiled and naked

Still there exist
a relation so sacred,
kissed by blessing
and not hatred.

A blessing so true,
the heavens envy.
Of love that bathe,
in God’s pure glory.

It’s like a bit of sunshine,
amidst the clouds.
Like and oasis in sight,
among desert dunes.

Hold on we would,
through thick and thin.
Through thorns yet unseen..
..we walk hand in hand.

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Monuments of Love

The monuments, castles and forts were built,
to protect and preserve with a good will,
the name we scribble on these decadent walls,
with a will the same against the past.

Of a future bright we dream so hard,
prayer to be answered from up above,
gifts from cash a trade we curb,
selfish yet to share the throb.

Seek we still of a love so true,
That space nor time fails to conjure.

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Under the Spell

Moon, oh silver lass,
lull me to sleep,
on thy serene lap…

make me dream…
of far of worlds, where you live,
where fairies sing, melodies on string,
and the stars twinkle, with the rhyme.

make me dream…
of the past, of the paths,
trod, untrod by men who last,
with stories that inspire us.

Moon, thou save,
the wonder and daze,
the wooden child in us all…

make me dream…
of the frost, on a sledge,
reindeer-chariots racing ahead,
a feel we now regret.

make me dream…
of the howl, a wolf over the ledge,
of witches and cauldrons, flames in red,
as we crouch in fear.

Moon, the lantern bearer,
the guardian of the night,
from the darkness you protect…

make me dream…
of the sterling rays,
make me forget this grown up age,
still as I look upon thee, in awe.

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The battle

…and then came a day, when the lights flickered,
and into darkness the World plunged.
In that eerie silence, a war waged on, the bloodshed went unnoticed.
The rule of the King, unquestionable was it
.. yet only till yesterday.

…the skies roared with clashes of the foes,
mettle pitted against mettle.
As soldiers of dote, conquered the roads, the farmers trod on.
In the corner of his hut, stirred with the war, in quietness he broods.
.. as the World change around him.

… of forces greater beyond his grasp,
knows not else his sickle and plough.
Laments the storm of the changing season, the new master’s rule.
The powers of the empire, of greater satire, not the keeper of greens.
.. thinks in his disturbed sleep.

… is He the conqueror, only to leave the marks,
and burn the houses to ashes with mirth.
Or is He the new ruler, the Kingdom to prosper, with the crown.
For the farmer it’s all the same, for as long his green surround him.
And a place to dig his grave, in the Kingdom of the winning King.

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Inspired by a paragraph from Dan Brown’s Angels and Demons. I am an atheist myself.

Tell me the truth,
(in the name of God)…
have you seen It, ever?

Had It walked beside you,
in thoughts or in flesh,
Did It bring back the dead,
so you can hug them again?
Had It given you a hint,
of the storms in your life ahead,
Did It ever held you back,
before you jumped into the well?

Like Fear detoured you,
entering the dark alley,
Like Pain made you put down,
the knife before harakiri,
Like Strain made you doze,
even at the prayer hall,
Like Sickness make you cry out,
reaching out to your loved one.

Did It ever built a dam,
to master the flooding river,
Had It ever drop mana from the clouds
on a famished you,
Did It fight your Wars,
so you can rest in peace?
Had It granted you the dreams,
you prayed,.. and stressed again.

Like Knowledge made you survive,
and enslave Nature in your power
Like Help came from the chopper,
over the skies, food and water.
Like Toils battle after battle,
would hoist the colours atop the turret,
Like Love you enclosed,
words enveloped in epistles.

Also there was Luck, which favoured all,
just when you had it under control,…
Also there was the chaotic Will o’ God,
hindered logic when the cold night engulfed you.
There was an age, when these were so true,
before the dusty history, on which termites grew,
And rewritten they were in imagination so true,
allegory misinterpreted by when we knew.

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And then there were too few,
adding spice to the nostalgic brew.
Lost in the silence of the graveyard,
the joyous yell of the crew.

For once there was a sunrise,
that lit the World submerged in blue.
As nonsensical verse flew unhindered,
chaotic brooding over bygone bloom.

And then the hurricane of thoughts,
came crashing down…
Swept in its way, its levy,
all that Earth held so dear, so true.

Will the dew shine afresh,
on the youthful morning grass,
As the dawn calms the shivers,
the aegis being restored again.

And in the darkness maunders He,
‘Unity burn in the depths of agony!
The peace in death after the War is won,
The peace in death after the War is lost…’

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In the pitch dark eyes,
I see the vast infinite,
gleaming stars far far away,
a desire to know the unknown…

In the sparking orb,
a curious face emerges,
a sailor brave, anchoring,
on the mysterious island…

Yet another day,
suited with a briefcase,
the storms of the World,
crush under the polished boots…

Shape-shifting through the tides of time,
the palette does wear grey a while,
only to spread like the rainbow,
past the cloudy firmament,
the rain must fall…
before he sets sail again…
on a new voyage

The broken rhythm,
weaves forgotten tunes,
wisps lighting the lost jungle path,
back home…

And in that moment,
the nectar enclosed in petals,
the first morning’s dew,
spread the fragrance…

It’s time,
to shape-shift again….

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have you ever heard the seconds hand?
how silent she is,
how she vibrates,
at every moment she seizes,
every moment she seizes from the drawer of future,
of which she is proud, announces her victory with seizure,

yet in that seizure,
you see an uncertainty
a fear, a thought, ov’r ticking surety

as times passes by,
she ticks ahead,
never in her dream,
never in her fantasies,
could she think,
of going back again…

how different are those carriages
from home…
from those rickshaws,
along those dusty village roads.
how different are those…

I wonder.
and wonder along..
over seconds and minutes
and hours and years
I wonder,
along those…

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Bridge to Humanity

Written in fulmination over the Kolkata flyover collapse when political blame game overshadowed basic humanity.

How did the foundations plummet?
Whose fault was it?
Was it an act of a benevolent God?
Or of Their pretentious architect?

Should these questions rest,
Till a tranquil time?
For a brooding poet of the future,
To exhort and ink the whys.

Did the bridge of humanity,
Take the fall too?
Or do the index marks matter more,
Than the flesh trapped mortar and stone.

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Crazy Candle

Candle, candle, crazy candle,
Lay lit on the table,

Tears rolling down the cheeks,
A drop, then two, and more.

Faces shone of love and pain,
Behind there be darkness.

The shadows appeared and disappeared,
Peek-a-boo with light,

The fickle mind swayed,
With each zephyr here and there.

And then a stronger gust,….
Stopped the light…. stopped the tear….

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A accompanying poem of a photograph taken by Rupsa of Pakhi Pahar

This ecstatic mountain,
On the edge of the World,
Shall mend what’s broken,
Shall preserve what’s lost…
As rocks are carved,
By men so bold,
To take the shape,
Of days gone old…
When kiwis and pandas,
Walked on earth,
And silver trout swam,
Deep under water…
As Bald eagles soared in sight,
Over fields that shone greener and bright…
Time they say has made The World shrink,
But I say, the World’s still the same…
There’s just less in it.

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Scratch of friendship

In reminiscence of February 22nd, Krishna and my friendaversary.

Behold! Behold, a score and two,
of the slimmest month in the queue,
For over tea on this evening so true,
looking over the rims…
      …a friendship would be born soon.

It would have ended with just the scratch,
      the emote fading in mist,
And the seeds of time planted within,
      would have withered and be missed.

Yet as the air kindles the fire,
      the game of life on board,
At stake be all you held so dear,
      within the limits of thought.

And within the flowing sand,
      in the enclosed hour glass,
“How close can we be?”
      Asked the maiden at last.

Some dream do last a lifelong perhaps,
      a feeling we all have had,
The pearls of memory still shines at us,
      even without a thousand furls.

As through rain and sun, to the dance of spring,
      nature blossoms to life.
when time holds the reins of thought,
      it is a race you feel you are in.

Behold! Behold, a score and two,
of the next month in the queue,
For over tea on this evening so true,
looking over the rims…
      …thinking how were the days before?

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Inspired by Pablo Neruda’s Book of Questions. It questions the established conventions we take for granted. The poem ends with a reference to Schrödinger’s cat from a reversed point of view of quantum measurement.

Why is the good called good, not bad?
Why doesn’t the stairs go up to hell?
If you have left your watch at home,
Shall dawn and dusk look the same?

Why can’t love happen twice?
Why does the spring eventually end?
Deep inside an evergreen forest,
Do nature forget to change?

Why do the tall trees swing more in a storm?
Much more than the soft grass bed.
Did ambition weaken its hold on Earth?
The Earth which gave all it had.

If a glimpse into the box kills the cat,
Will it pray for us to look?
Do our prayers for a sight of God the same?
Who placed us in the box till Judgment?

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Daydreams and Dreams

Traveller, why do you travel?
What do you seek,
in that final moment?
Walking past meadows and dunes,
towards that hill…

In the silence of noon,
in the darkness of the night,
in the eerie quite thoughtless sleep,
what dreams flash through your mind?

Is the destination your goal,
or the path that leads interests you more.
Is it the painting’s final touch,
or like a mother caring for a child,
that makes you roam yet and more.

Are clouds the harbinger of rain,
or it gives shadow a rule over light.
Dreams that let you sleep,
and those that keeps you awake.

Awake to achieve and bring to life,
the airy castle to be within sight.
Awake to escape the higher-self within,
confused over daydreams and dreams…
Traveller, what dreams do you dream?

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Muse of the blank canvas

14 lines, 14 letters per line. A blank canvas reminiscing of the painting she would be in the future.

A painting there…
hung alone, blank.
To it yet, colours
wait, till a touch…
for life to bloom.
The story it told,
as I gazed, amazed…
Muse she was past,
her dreamy stare,
in touch of brush,
it was decorated…
The canvas as now,
future - a thought,
hung alone, blank…

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On such a rainy day,
I was staring straight through the window,
Looking over the trickling drops on the moistened pane,
The walls of blur caged my vision
I stood by the oriel floating away,
To the muddy field,
The screams of joy of childhood days,
Sailing a paper boat,
On the pond to its brim.
As showers of blessing pour in bounty,
The World outside looks too hazy,
I close my eyes in peace, in faith,
And dream away…in divine grace.

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Written on Rupsa’s birthday

Walk, walk, walk ahead…
Though running is more fun,
For you are now an year older,
Than the girl in yesterday’s picture.

Walk, walk, walk ahead…
For everyone cannot run,
Take that old man with you,
And the toddler while you steer.

Walk, walk, walk ahead…
But do look back once a while,
As memories are built with each footstep,
All the places you have been.

Walk, walk, walk ahead…
Enjoy the sunrise and sunset,
Life’s tiny bit of joys and sorrows,
The beauty embedded within.

Walk, walk, walk ahead…
May the wind be with you,
Walk ahead hand in hand,
Taking me with you ;)

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You stole her face


there was a face
the face of no one
the face that warped
with changing thought

there was a face
of love and care
a face that reminded me
of god

and then I met you
the no one became someone
etching in memory
her faceless face

all is lost
in thought in life
in a godless world
she is out of sight

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The birth of hate

I don’t remember hating anyone. I love spreading love. The first time I felt hated is ironically for someone whom I still love dearly. It is like inception. The subtle emotion of love getting lost forever, slowly, silently.

Love, a diamond, at the crown jewel,
Of tales told over centuries
Sorry, anger, mistrust, pain… and their aides,
Not as neglected as hate.

Hate has been so base in verse,
That often confused with others.
Yet hate is rare, like pearls,
A dear one over multiple layers.

At its birth, left all awestruck,
Love and hate, siblings are.
Playing their loops infinitely,
Like a dime spinning reality.

The stories scribed by love,
Is wiped by hate.
While those of hate,
Is erased by love in time.

The newborn doesn’t cry
It peacefully paints hate,
All over the kingdom
That once existed.

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Jewels and snakes

Memories can be both good and bad. It’s our choice to curate only the good ones.

Lock ‘em up in a vault
And stow them away
The diamonds and venomous snakes
Together let them stay
For the snakes would die with time
The jewels would remain

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Wishful thinking

Why do I wish, I were a god

Why do I wish, I can absorb all your pain, and give you relief
Why do I wish, I can drink all your venom, and make you calm
Why do I wish, I can listen to all your stories, and do nothing really
Why do I wish, I can tuck you in, and hear your heartbeat
Why do I wish, I can blunt your thorns, by poking them on my skin
And make you smooth for the world

Why do I wish, I were a god, when a mere mortal I am

A mere mortal who gets hurt too, with every thorn that pokes,
A mere mortal that can’t get past, over past deadlocks,
A mere mortal with limited time on earth, to paint life in colours,
A mere mortal who would swoon with anymore drop of your venom.

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The descent of Y

2020-11 patriarchy exists… and needs strength to uproot

How I wish, I could be you…

Looking at the World,
Feeling the breeze, the loo,
Witnessing the pain, the love,
The beats in your bosom.

But alas, each to their own,
Trapped in form, me and you.

From now to eternity,
We come face to face,
Meet through our oriel,
Hide in our room,


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Library of Babel

The first line is a translation of the Hindu verse, `Asato ma sadgamaya’ (From ignorance, lead me to truth). Complete knowledge is equivalent to complete ignorance - like Borges’ Library

From opinion, lead me to un-opinion,
From infinity, to nothingness…
From the multiplicity of speciality,
Arise o’ all-encompassing generality…
Absorb creation’s blinding light,
Eventually into your eternal darkness.

The seed of all that is and will be,
Stems and is buried in indistinguishability.
Formless chaos unfurls into the formless void,
Via furls of individual perceptions
While sailing on the river of time,
We appreciate the World’s limited diversity.

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Two tasks

Today I shall announce the assignment,
said the Professor to the class.
The day the scholars were waiting for!
To score those additional marks.

Today I shall announce the assignment,
said the Professor to the class.
But this year it will be a bit different,
I shall let you choose between two tasks.

The first is an easy one,
a couple of hours work at max.
I know most of you will rally for this,
so I shall throw in a bonus one.

The bonus problem is twice as hard,
even took me a while to form.
Since it is twice the effort,
it’s worth twice as much.

The question here is rather not the problems,
but how you face a given choice.
All those who want to test free-will,
will those be put to rest?

If none chooses the hard assignment,
it’s as if there were no choice!
Although I clearly give you,
the freedom to seal your fate.

The first choice as I promised,
is a trivial one.
All you need to hand in is,
the exercises of chapter one.

The hard one though, demands,
an essay by your own.
Of how you think the story of hell,
causes pious free-will’s doom.

Today I shall announce the assignment,
said the Professor to the class.
But this year it will be a bit different,
I shall let you choose between two tasks.

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Random - you say.
But is it True?
And not some tricks,
From the blue

The green haze of Kryptonite.
The hurricanes and landslides.
Not some equations too tangled,
For our mindful needles to separate.

The fabric of reality -
A game of dice.
But yet programmed,
By some beyond our time.

What is a chance,
For our fate.
Might be a precisely
Generated state.

Is it naive to call it random?
Is it naive to call it programmed?

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a place we keep our valuables

Was she safe then?
No, she wasn’t!
She was the safe,
a safe, men came and looted…
Crushing oysters in search of pearl,
or more truly…
just as crushing is for fun…

The pearl washed away,
the currents taking it…
Hardly in the direction it wished,
to be the necklace of the queen,
and how she is,
buried beneath the depth of earth,
mourned by an ocean full of shame…

No pearls will grow,
a day will come…
and then it will be known
Oysters are not the safe,
but it was the filth we coloured our hands in

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there is a subtle difference
between .9 and 1
that is more than a mere .1

it’s the feeling of being a whole
instead of being Almost one

it’s the same if you think it over
the contrast between 0 and .1

no, again, not the .1 I point you to
just the question of being truly none

what is whole is a matter of scale
‘cause all you can do is to multiply by 10
and all shall be whole again

yet what is full, remains complete
not a scratch, not a strain

and that is where the quantum world
collapses classically indeed

^ back to top ^

To be added


Zephyr Castle

Geeks of Physics

Geeks to Freaks

Maidens of war

Ode to Love

Tug of war

Ode to Space Engineers


Comments and discussions