They loved me bright, they loved me wild, until my light was not their style.

I’m a Bengali in sombrero
An Indian from Kolkata
I live at a stone’s throw
From where flows the Ganga.

I speak in Bengalee
For me the sweetest language
Like the Ganga flows freely
Has Sanskrit as lineage.

Rice is my staple food
So are dal and fish
A cup of tea is too good
With two biscuits on a dish.

Around me spreads green countryside
Where grows all the foodgrain
Rivers flow wild and wide
Their banks home joy and pain.

I was born and reared in this riparian land
Where soil is tilled in peasants’ sweat
Sparkles in moon the Bay’s white sand
Weaving dreams for many a poet!

We are lonesome animals
We try to communicate
We sit in San Francisco
At the Dragon Gate

We dream of destiny
Destiny not Fate
Exoplanet sky
Something radiates

              Right, mate?

Down the river, I sink

Bleeding my tears

Mingling with the stream

Seeking a fountain

Of another world

I scream

I cry

I am deflated

I am exhausted


Curled up in fibers

Soft carpet, lining

Edges of a hallway

You come closer and beckon

Solidary merged

Into cement walls

We linger

We dream in a sense

Comforted by one another

only when she finally laid down everything
that she had been carrying
between her two hands-
this was when she was able to finally see
the tattered skin
of her palms and
the aching tendons
of her fingers.
only when she finally released the sore grip
that she had molded into
part of her identity-
this was when she was able to finally feel
the freedom she held
within her bones and
the power she held
within her hands.

Willow limbs susurrate in clandestine murmurs,
brushing the lake’s gouache-green reflections.
Beneath—jellyfish effloresce, spectral inhalations,
ghost-thin, unmoored, drifting toward oblivion.

Dandelions unravel, golden tendrils severed,
carried off in the lungwork of wind.
A musk rose lingers—feral, aching,
its scent curling like unshed weeping
beneath the hush of twilight’s jaw.

Chevy lilts down arteries
stitched in coral marrow,
leather still inked with your laughter,
your dark brown eyes—
blackwood, abyss, a gravity
I would fall into, fracture utterly..

Et pourtant, je t’attends, infiniment.

And in this risette of evening,
where sky spills into sea, salt-lipped, weeping,
I wait—
soft, surrendered, affetuoso,
a note held past silence, raw, humming.

I'm skipping stones across the lake
with my eyes closed
and now I can only see you
in a drunken dream.

I'm searching for the lost song
and the melody I knew
before your eyes had died.

the words I didn't say.
the strings of the lost cords
seated in sorrow, sometimes joy,
lost in tomorrow's rain,
found in a photo alblum.

the thinly stretched cords in 1/4 tones.
the rhythms from your heart beating.

the tender touch of vibrating strings.

People love me
I know they do
So why do I feel so alone
Why does everything feel gloomy

Why do I long a hug so bad
Even when I'm hugged
Why do I long to be loved so bad
Even when I'm loved

Why can't I feel
I swear on my life it's there
So why
Why is it like this
WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY
*ERROR