Saturday, November 30, 2013

The Aubade

Black waterfall on your snow capped neck
Long white arms
Measuring my love last night.
My tongue that gauged the inches on your body,
And colonised your breasts with love.
The morning coffee has kept me awake,
Your kisses last night,
Kept me alive.
Between those white sheets,
Our black souls found new maps.
Your giggles ran across the room,
And street lamps trickled in
The curtains.
Little by little your soul lay bare,
Then your body.
When i unhooked your past,
Your tears
And then Your bra.
My fingers like little feet
Crawling slowly to school,
Traced your body.
The valleys, the hills
The untended gardens
And let loose the
Disheveled storm cloud of your hair. 
As the morning went to the tea stalls
And the city brushed its teeth.

Thursday, November 7, 2013

Dooars Chronicles No. 4

Everything here is in little postcards.
The greens, the tea gardens, the neat cliffs
All captured in a frame,
No grains on the film
The aperture perfect
And the exposure just about right.
The birds caught in flight,
Little hamlets in a distance
Twinkling in suspension.
Even time seems to be bound
Within motionless trees,
And villagers walking to and from from markets.
The same time you wanted,
The same time that for me,
Rushed like a mountain stream
And for you remained stagnant and corroding
Like boulders in the desert.
:Like middle aged housewives at the market
You would bargain,
Haggling for time,
Maybe a few more weeks,
Maybe a month,
And I always,
Lent you Time,
Without charging any Interest.

Dooars Chronicles no. 3

These poems seem beautiful
More so in your hand,
Your fingers gift wrapping my offerings
Little by little the words you would read
Will stick to your heart
:Like twilight sticking to the last leaves.
Slowly they will flow inside your vein
In your blood,
Like two bodies exploring each other.
Soon enough your nights will smell of this parchment
Soon enough your afternoons these fonts of blue.
Let these words melt when you utter them,
In the solitude of heartache evenings.
Little whispers carried across
Afternoons where traffic melts into tar.
These unintelligible words,
Muttered under your breath,
Hidden from prying ears,
From iron book of customs
From deafening silence of laws,
Words which become white flowers
On a grave,
Paying homage,
Refreshed every time you speak my name
So the dead lives just a little longer.

Saturday, November 2, 2013

Dooars Chronicles no. 02

There are bridges between you and me
That do not connect you and me,
Bridges which separate you and me
bridges which burn you and me.
Bridges that drive wedges,
And create chasms between you and me,
Bridges which rattle,
When I profess love
Stand for a million miles between you and me.
Between this end and that
The spectral presence of your past resides
He walks slow,
He walks steady
Pulling you away from my love and me,
Time ticks like a bomb,
Time which he denied,
Now your past like a reeking wound
Festers and stinks between you and me.
You say you need more time
And I give you more love,
For nights like these
Are made only for you and Me.
When you are fast asleep
In a world without you and me,
The night refuses the dawn
To smear, with longing, you and me.

Dooars Chronicles no. 01

For if you desert me tonight
The stars will blink like impoverished bulbs
Little by little the green of the hills
Will mourn and grey.
The tea- pickers won't work for a week
The night train won't run through this tea- garden
The rain won't twinkle on the grass,
The cricket's will observe a minute's silence,
The woodpeckers will rest,
The village lads will all be regular to school,
The world will trun without much noise,
And the sun will burn without a crackle.
The moon no longer will grumble at dawn,
And the forest refuse the smell
Of the first rains...
For if i don't hold on
The nights will not be the same in this village
Young girls discovering themselves
Will shun the mirror
The way you shun my eyes
To find yourself in them.