A Dedication

KAATHBIRALI

Kather moto noi to nirosh, biral-soman michke noi
Kathbirali naam tobuo, lej tule laf dichhi oi
Lafie choli gachher patay, laf diye jai boner dhar
Chokher polok falar agei ak nimeshe pogar par

Tomara bhabo niijer mone ichhemoto jai chhute?
Sokal-bikel sheet-grishmo bhishon moja ni lute?
Bhul bhebechho! Amar moner ichhegulo shobi hay
Lukiechhe oi gachher dale, khun hobe sei asnkay

Gachher dale laf die to ichhederi jai khuje
Keu roechhe ghapti mere, keu ba ache chokh bujhe
Ichhera keu bish kheyechhe, keu ba akhon niruddesh
Roechhe jara konokrome, tadero shob ashai shesh.

Nijer chhayai korchhi tara, morichika shobi hay!
Dhorte gele shobi kamon dur akashe milie jay
Futchhe kata, daler khocha khachhi ami nirontor
Keu janena amar kotha, eshob nehat obantor”.

Bolle kobi muchki hese, “Hay re tora bokar dol!
Brithai amon berash kede, brithai felish chokher jol
Katar khochay rokto jhore ei kotha to notun noy
Kintu shathe osru-khoron bahulyo boi kichhui noy.

Tui ki bhabis tori sudhu roechhe pother ei kata?
Tor kopalei likhchhe shudhu rokto-makha paye hata?
Dakh takie! Tori sathe hatchhe pothe oi jara
Sobar payei roechhe khoto, sobai ora potha hara.

Harano poth khujbo bolei namchhi pothe protteke
Hasir gane poth khuje ni. Kamon kore, jash dekhe.
Pother hodish pothi debe, pabii fire shob kichhu
Nijer chhaya ghurie mare, nish ne kobhu or pichhu.

Ichhera to gachher pata, nei re oder mrityubhoy
Shukno pata porle jhore notun patar jonmo hoy.
Patay-patay laf die jash, ichheguloy bhor kore
Doure berash Kathbirali, jamon khushi, praan bhore..

......Chitrak Gupta

The Refugee Memories

The thoughts come unimpeded
Like the burst of red ants from the volcano of the ant hill
And the stream of red that follows downhill
As they thread down in a crooked line
Searching for a new life
A new meaning
A new existence
The lava of thoughts as they pour down
Burn down the path the ants take
The trajectory of a life with sense
The red dot asks, the path is no more
How will I find the way to a new home?
The being asks, there is no more a meaning
How will I find the way back to life??

Free

Caged as she was
She loved the golden gates
That barred her from painting the colours
In the canvas of the white sky.
She loved the anxiety of her captivity,
Her food that came through the bars,
The tender hands that caressed her,
The rough hands when they smothered her,
And the hands when they ignored her.
The need for the suspense
And the exhilaration of the unpredictable.
Trapped in her emotions
She killed the peace in her.
Never shedding a tear for it.

She wails for the bars that have finally broken down;
The absence of the hands that she knew so well;
The taming imprisonment that she so loved...
Never realising that she is free.
Free to reach the morning horizon
As it bends over in a glorious arc
Yearning to touch the golden dish.

"Quae fuerant vitia,mores sunt."
(What before had been vices are now manners.)

Seneca,Ep,39

The spring that blushed in Delhi
And the blush which deepend yellow....
The raadhachuura petals holding their heads high
In the dazzle of the clear blue sky.
And then...
When spring is over,
They are strewn on the streets.
Brown and dry...buffetetd by the wind that leads them to their graves,
Under the pedestrians boots.

The broken pieces of faith

Feeling so faithless,my faith is now a shard of a broken glass.
The edges are sharp and jagged
The glass still shows me when I look at it,
My eyes are white balls of terror;
Of expressions that meander away to an undefined blankness
The sand so infertile that the cactus dies in it,
The vultures so ravenous that they feed on the dead cactus.
The gluttons of life,
They feed on the happiness of the soul.
The eye is only a mere witness
From the greens to the infinite deserts.
The horror of it leaves faith into the mouth of the carnivorous beast.

My faith is broken.
I sweep the broken pieces,searching no more for a reflection
However distorted and disturbed.
My floor is now clean.

Pink

And this is where the journey ends
Of promises,of expectations,of unfulfilled desires,
Of the pink dreams;
The red and white:
Unfurling and twistind round and round
Making an indistinct shape;
The red of the sun rising in my horizon
The red of the love that my heart bleeds for you
The red is you, my love.

But traces of white desecrate the body of love
The white of disillusionments and of doubts
The white of confusions and confrontations
The white of my eye...

The charcoal sun sinking in my horizon,
I reach the end of my journey...
Never reaching my destination though.

The dead has been canonised

Where is the sense in that?
Where is the sense in loving and leaving?
Where is the sense in pulling yourself up...
Root and body
Leaves and hair
Sap and blood
Bark and bones?
Where is the sense in being human?

The flesh revolts at the new touch,
Squirms and shrinks,
Terrorised that the touch will unleash the horrors of the past.
The lips that are parched,blood oozing from the broken vein
Can never kiss glory.
The eyes of the dead haunt the living.
The afternoon dressed in a shroud
The night stifled in the coffin
The dead has been canonised.

Winter

There's a sense of unreality
Like the self fragmented
Scattered here...
And there...
Thoughts and memories
Moments and reminisces
The mind liberated
Takes a wild gallop across the greens of life.

The green which is no more there...
The yellow and the brown
The autumn of my life
Ushering in the winter.
Am I looking forward to it?
If winter comes,can spring be far behind??...
But...
A life is a year
And my spring is now a dry leaf
A page
A phase
A lifetime.

Oh Winter...What agony do you have in you?
Pale and bloodless
The penury of the soul
The chill of a corpse
Are you a dead man?

The phantoms

Every time I write
The phantoms of the present
Pluck my eyes till tears flood,
Peel my flesh off till I rot,
Twist my throat till I croak,
Scoop my soul from the swilring mist of love and agony
Shredding it to insignificant pieces...
The deep red secrets
Bared and revealed
Raped amd mutilated.
Oh! The humiliation of being naked...
Clothe me I plead.
I shall write no more
Till my phantoms are exorcised.

How many deaths have I died for you?

How many deaths have I died for you?
Seeing you each time
Time froze,my soul stirred,
Our eyes met,
You saw the love in them,
I didn't.
I died.

Feeling you kiss the one you love
I touched love once again,
In you...for her.
I walked past,
Our lips never held.
I died.

Beholding the tears in your eyes
I grew pensive;
Even you could cry? The world is at your feet;
But stop! The tears,they didn't belong to me.
I died.

You come for my funeral
Unaware that it is mine
Unaware that I have smeared you with my ash.

My heart's too heavy...

My heart's too heavy...
For me to hold
Staggering
Limping
Struggling
It nearly stumbles...
On each stone and pebble,
On each cactus and thistle.

Look...
The black blood bursting forth it,
Bruised
Bleeding
Is my heart crying?
It swoons...
In darkness and in oblivion.
A lost soul writhing in agony
Twisted and tied
Dying perhaps?...

Can anyone hear the dead?
Is there anyone to save?
To touch?
And to love??

The Pain

The pain
So deep
So wide
So long
It does not hurt anymore
The pain is me.

A wounded word
A sleeping sentence
It does not speak anymore.

My voice is lost...
You have raped it.
I wonder-
Can you give it back to me?
Will you ever?
Can I feel hurt once again?
Can I speak?
Give back what belongs to me...
Will you ever?