Is that a dab of paint?

Or is it a blood splatter pattern?

Don’t stop splashing colours on that canvas.



The home of my dreams-

Soft fleeting tears.

Marigolds in bloom.



My mother’s smile-

Pastoral Bengal.

A pain, a pleasure.



The song of the mynah,

Autumn breeze.

The surrounding Sahyadris of hoary days.



Yellow dipped skies,

Earthy smell of rain,

The urban mind confused.



Cry me tears

The monsoon smells

Of dreams gone by.



The sound of fire

Through the stormy hearts.

Bring peace.



Fire and ice,

The cat’s dance on the manuscript.

Gone with the wind.



Dreamworld people.

Faces lost in cloudless nights.

Summer skies.



The chotto ektakar shingara and the radhaballi,

Breathing furiously.

Inhabiting my childhood, my frenemies.



The dominoes fell,

The words like torrents

It was inevitable.


Song of the fallen leaves

Autumn’s introverted smile

A longing.



Squandered ideas

Words of winter’s coldness.

An abject highway of mourning.



Cadence of morning breeze,

Lofty silences,

A cup of tea.



Hills have dreams,

Plants wet with ideas,

An urban concrete jungle.



Birds fly high,

Heart as heavy as sinking iron.

The dusky twilight of today.



Scream of infinite solitude,

Enmeshed in traffic of the soul,

A faint smile.



Nonsense of the words,

Intellectual brevity,

Foolish heartbeats.



My body,

The lamp that burns at your altar.

It’s me.



The flame of devotion,

A fiery chant like the thunder in the sky.

A solitary pilgrim.



Shokol kaler shokol manusher kotha

Black smoke from the school bus,

An unfinished poem,

Morning mellow Sun.



A millions poems,

Useless like flowers of yesterday.

A lonely rainbow and one shoe.



In the cradle of darkness

A brave crescent,

Soft balm on my senses.

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