Nov 12, 2013

Aaro chai

Haan aachi...
Tobe tai ki shudhu beche achi?
Ar jedin thakbona?
Shedin ki ar beche thakbona?
Nah.. shey hoy na...
Shey hote parena...
Beche thakar naam jibon noy re..
Shey hoy na..
Shey hotey pare na..
Beche thaka ek chhuto matro..
Tai boli ami chai..
Chai chai hunkaar diye boli ami aaro chai..
Chawa chhara jiboner kono ortho nai..

Sep 9, 2013

Ami toh paani

Grishyo taape topto chetoney
Boshi achi eka thhaye
Eka ki ami, ami eka nai
Amar opore ushnota boye jaye

Hongsho aji nameni dingaye
Rawmonir opekkhaye
Rawmoni tobu asheni aaji
Amar aanginaye

Ami toh paani, boddho paani
Ami ki jani ortho pranir?
Koto shoto botshorey aaj
Hoyechi prothom rawmoni kaami

Eshechilo shey sheydin raate
Borsha bheja shondhya praate
Honhoniye nupur haathey
Key jaane kar pichu chharatey

Komola ronger sharee poroney
Gothhon taahar bhaari goroner
Modhur chhonde haatar chholey
Muchki muchki hashlo bole

Polokkhoney chhotfotiye chhutte ele
Katha kohoney boshle eshe aamar kachi

Kesh uriye ghaar ghuriye
Aamar bimbey mon juriye

Aamaye shey ki dekhlo naki?

bollo shey ki...
shunbey naki?

আজ সে আসেনি...

এখন খুঁজবো কোথা  আমি তাহারে 
হণ্যে হয়ে কোন পাহাড়ে ?

Jun 6, 2013

The red spot

There is a thing in the red spot. Something unnatural. Yet the most natural. It allures you, it calls you. It welcomes you, it embraces you. It hugs you, it kisses you and sucks you within – a pure attraction, like a magnetic force. Anywhere around you would like to see, you would want to see, you are struggling, you are searching to see a red spot, even if invisible. You are frantic for it, even if unconsciously. And when you find it, you feel it. It’s something close to an orgasm if you let yourself go. Completely. Ruthlessly. You are not yours then. You are complete and one with the happening. Every breath, every inch, and every drop of your being has dissolved with the red spot. Only if you let yourself drown, or take the leap, or go with the flow. If you can be the flow. Completely. Then, you are. The red spot.

You are always searching for it. Knowingly or unknowingly. You feel satisfied, content, experience peace and enjoy silence when you happen to pass by. The red spot. Only when you are in your human senses, you are capable of seeing. This red little spot.

It is nothing but the burning dot in the rapture of a bright yellow sky.
It is but the glistening spot in the cover of a dark blue night.

It is nothing but the veins of a leaf in a tree.
And the point in a pen when it goes on a spree.
It is the burning part of a smoking spliff,
And the tear in the eye of a girl so miffed.

Join me, join me, join me tonight
Oh come you sinners and please my sight
Let us sing, let us dance,
Let us freely take our chance.
So what will happen tomorrow if we think.
Joy and merry with a coffee we’ll drink.

Keep counting, keep hounding,
Wherever you stay.
I will listen or I won’t
It’s me who’ll say
How much I’ll make, and
How many I’ll break.
Tear them, their rotting rugs apart!
I want to see, I want to see
Flowers and smiles and,
Content and glee.

In despair if they be,
Tell them to talk to Him inside.
Who is Him, I will never hide.
Ask me if you want to know.
I’ve sung this song from long ago.
He is the one who’s a part of you
And a part of me, in this naive little tree.
In this stone, in this seed
In the smallest spark of fire so free.

When you are in silence so deep,
When you have gone through
A path of desire so steep,
When you have engulfed yourself,
In complete, then
You can hear Him.
But not what he says.
What he feels.
Not what he feels.
What he is.

There is something,
In the red spot. A glory.
The bindi on your forehead you wear.
It looks so beautiful.
The chandan spots very neatly
Drawn in perfect symmetry.
It looks so beautiful. Exotic.

I would love to see you like this.
But maybe not.
Why not? Maybe yes.
But not me. Only you.
You know,
There is something,
In the red spot.

Like a window,
A breath of air.
No, something more human.
Something manmade - a glory!
A tunnel of transience.
A pathway of awareness.
I am.

The feeling of existing.
Comes. When we see.
The red spot.

In anything.
It does not have to be red.
But it has to, it has to be read.

You have to see it.
In anything.
In any being.

In the top of a lollipop
Between the slippery lips
Of a girl in teens,
Trotting on heels so high
The horse could sigh.
Do you see?
Do you see the red spot?

When the wind cries,
It is in the cry.
When the ashes fly,
Look for it, where is it?
See it flies, do you see?
Do you feel?
The red spot?

When a man falls
From his saddle brawls
The moment of fall,
Or the fall itself, or
The violent leap?
What is it? Where is it?
Can you see the red spot?

It is difficult to see.
For me.
It is.

Say that.
Say it loud.

Louder. Louder again.
It is difficult to see.
For me. It is.

Comes with acceptance
Of your guilt, of your glory,
Of your thanks, and your sorry.
It comes with being yourself.
So accept. You should.
You have to see somehow,
Your red little spot.

But do not tolerate.
Shoo them away if they forget.
Help them in need,
Teach them to breed.
You have to.
You’re meant to.
That is your red spot.

The path,
Is a winding way
Into the center,
The center of being.
It is not easy,
Nor is it short.
Each breath is made here
In heaven’s distraught.

There is no heaven,
If you don’t breathe.
There is no sky if you’re not freed.

You have to live this life
You have been given.
Living ain’t living, when

This red little spot becomes a fact of life.
This red little spot ain’t a fact of life,
This red little spot is itself the life.

We fools forget.

We want to see a million things,
Act like pigeons with hundred wings.
What about seeing one single thing?
With passion and patience,
For as long as we’ve been here
With us unseen.

What is this mania? What is this noise?
Why is this impatience without a voice?
It does not matter how many we look,
But it does matter how keenly we do.
How deeply we feel the one in me.
How closely we see the one to be.

You may eat, or you may hog
Who does care for a hungry dog?
Or you may choose to be a man,
Have much less for much more time.
Then you shall truly enjoy the chore, and
Relish the mundane much many more.

In a big bash party,
People sing and stomp the floor.
You and I get drunk at the door.
There is merry in what we do,
But not so merry if we do much too.
The merry lies in cherishing,
Never so much, not much in doing.
This merry may be a forgotten story
Under sheets and layers of a dusty memory.
But the red spot when you feel in it,
It comes like breeze from the ocean,
On a sultry day sipping coconut potion.
You live this moment, you cherish its flavor.
And this very moment becomes forever.

Look for the spot,
The red little spot.
It is there. Always it is.

When mother asks,
“What have you eaten?”
Look for the spot,
Like your mother does.

We fools forget.
We forget to see,
Where we’ve come from,

And where we will be.

Feb 25, 2013

This dream is real!

An old abandoned warehouse is home to a few artists like me, and my sir. Sir looks like Pankaj Kapoor. He comes to me and asks for a hand to bring down one of his paintings which he wants to present to the rest. I readily agree. The hour is dusk and faint rays of the setting sun glows dimly through the rusty glass windows of the high ceiling studio. It is shady, blue, rusty and smells of clay. Hay in every corner you can see them scattered all over. It’s almost a miniature style painting on canvas with some figures standing and forming a dome or a pyramid. And the painting looks so blue. Dark Prussian blue.

I pick up the painting and look up to follow him. By then he is gone. Downstairs. I look at him from his studio set like a tree house and me perched up looking like a little bird waiting for mother to bring some food. When I come hurriedly down the stairs trying to follow him, I almost trip and the painting falls from my hand. I manage to catch it somehow, saving it. He stands at a distance watching the whole drama, and silently smiles. I come down carefully and run briskly to catch up with his fast pace. A couple, foreigners I think, didn’t notice so keenly, pass me by giggling, the boy holding a spliff between his fingers, and the girl merrily following him, giggling. They are going upstairs to the terrace to have a happy time I presume.

I am still running briskly trying to keep up with sir. There are a few ladies in vision now – in a smoky ante-chamber they play around as geishas to men like us. They have no relationship with anybody living there. They swing and they giggle, they swoon and they wiggle through arms of men seeking pleasurable moments in their mundane time. Them, girls have come just to entertain us, give us all the pleasures in the world we fantasize. Sir takes a turn round a corner and is clouded by waves of girls like them in seconds. He talks to them and plays with them, with a copper smile on his face for what it seemed like hours. And I slowly feel myself drowning in a mellow poison intoxicating my senses to the brim. I am moving, swinging, I am floating with the wind that touches the surface of my water creating ripples that shine and shimmer like fiery dust of gold on a lucid pond of cold numbing calm.

While running behind him I had been constantly telling sir how much I adore him and respect him, and how lucky I am to be living and working in the same place with him. But none of these words seemed to bother him at all. He wasn’t interested to listen to what I had to say. He was just occasionally turning his head towards me from the front while walking, and sometimes smiled silently.

When covered in the ocean of entertaining girls I remember myself laughing, talking, enjoying myself. I am dozed - intoxicated, inebriated, drowned in the pleasures on offering. There are three girls on me, with me swinging by, in an impromptu to and fro motion. I look carefully, and one of them is Rekha. She swirls to stop me, holds me tight by my hand, she shakes and she jerks me off from sleep, she tries. She looks so beautiful with the red bindi on her forehead. She comes closer now, leans over and whispers in my ear the most important words of my life.

Feb 14, 2013

Lonely nights

Lonely lonely are my nights
As I think yours are too…
Dream of you fills my sight
I can’t think, but think of you
My little body wants you near
Breathe your skin, smell your hair
Lift you up to heaven’s air
And wrap you in cozy cushion flair
Come my princess come to me
Open your arms so we can be
Lovers in a bohemian world
A world beyond this stupid copper and gold
I don’t know what you may
Think of me luring you
But I’m in love, my love it’s true
So will you open your door tonight,
For me to come and be your side
‘Tis the wish of God I say
Let us lose our fears today
In this while let’s be free
Let’s make a night for you and me.

Jan 31, 2013

Song of our soul

If I sing of a love or two
Hold my hands and say it’s true
Keep your worries so you may never find
Like a long forlorn battle behind
They need your love, your touch, your kind
Them forgotten stories of children blind

Smell some air and breathe it back
So all may live and free their sack
Hear oh hear, hear them angels hark
Like a dwindling star in the blue blue dark
Tell her stories to the world she loves
So they may sing like joyful doves
Spread their wings so dazzling white
Your gaze a haze losing all might
Don’t you fear, do you hear?
I am with you, holding you near
Don’t you fall, hear my call
I am with you, I am your soul.

A soul of a soulful kind
Fears no soul of another kind
It stays and stays
Through lives of you and me
Takes us to a special place
Where I see you like you see me.

Jan 27, 2013

Tears of Emmanouela

Wary wary oh my Mary!
What do you fear?
What’s your worry?
Free your wings and fly so near
Whisper softly in my ear
Cry to me so I can hear…
Smile oh princess,
Smile this day…
Your smile enchants me
If I may say…
‘Tis something that is here for now
No one knows when I took this vow
Of loving the way I see you,
And loathing this mask that buries you…
Take this mask off for me
Then my love you will see
You and me, we can be

In joy, joy, joy and glee!

Jan 25, 2013

I’m in Troy!

Moments in a moment
Spent in a lifetime
Glow of the halo
Maketh sublime
Hear them sing
Their voices so soft
Your sense in a stroll
In a beach like roll
You love me or you don’t
Don’t you ever fail me
Even when I’m alone
The star will keep shining
From a very distant far
I don’t care how it does
I don’t care how it loves
Me and the sky in full
Full of flowers
Smelling real
In the garden of my joy, I feel
You should come

To my land of Troy!

Jan 21, 2013

She lingers…

Her smile, a smile
Can light up my world…
Like a gift from the moon
Wrapped in gold…
Like a dove in white
Her flight so light
She lingers with me still

In my sight!

Jan 3, 2013


Purte purte holam je aaj
Krishnor cheyo kaalo
Jotoi kotheen jwala amar
Ei bohnishikhai amar aalo...
Bohnishikha shey toh aapon
Jigai shey ki korbe gopon?
Taar sathe aaj houk alapon...

Jan 1, 2013

I am in Amsterdam

I am in Amsterdam. Its new year’s eve, I’m walking and everything around is glimmering. Sin city it is, not for no reason. Sinners are made out of you and me, over here. Every face floating around is happy intoxicated with the smells and juices of life, smiling or looking for a reason to smile. A man with a tattered coat, with a face so sullen comes to me and asks, “Can you give me 20 cents?” I am quite startled and taken aback with the contrast of this man in an atmosphere of such celebration. I ask him, “No one in this whole city is giving you 20 cents?” He shakes his head with tears so visible yet invisible to the world around. I ask him again, “No one is giving you 20 cents???” Now he speaks, says no. But you almost could not hear. I dig out my pockets and find a 50 cent coin. I give, still looking into his eyes. Then, I cry. Silence.