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I claspe the dreams:
damaged
crumpled
crushed
incomplete
and deleted from
memory

. . . yet . . .

The lips of langurs
kiss the corpse
of death's sweet
nectar
Here lies the dead wishes of men
once alive
the dense shrubs hide the pain
weeds thrive.

Here lies a grieving heart
once much joyous
the windows are broken and hurt
bricks break like glass.

Here lies the power of wealth
once pompous
now in ruined health
seems it wasn't all that precious.

Here lies the remains of heydays
once vibrant
with bones the jackal plays
reminds time is a tyrant.

Here lies moss on the wall
once finely painted
now dark and dull
the air is serpent scented.
Simultala, April 4, 2024 evening.
~
Cotton duck canvas
on careful days
in a closed room,
intersecting tension,
energy and interest
for strangers to interpret

Three bashful belles
and lovers of art
undressed as a figure study,
cloistered together
in a line of beauty
for moral support

Their congregation assembled
in glorification of
angelic landscapes,
tempered by the mysteries
within convexity's arboretum

In unequivocal parts and gradation,
where good posture
and graceful presentation
count in equal measure,
to create Hogarth's
line continuous
--the Analysis of Beauty,
bended at the waist
to spread light through the canopy

During such exhibition
the belles whisper
under the rose,
of war and shopping lists,
they seem to avert eye contact,
gazes fixed to
the eternal sphere
ticking on the far wall,
never directly into the eyes
of those who come to
paint their *******
with sandalwood

~
If you aren't comfortable
On throne you sit striking a pose
Stand by me instead
If not liking the life you chose

Wrong decisions catch up
Sort it out best as we can
If you do not enjoy the direction you're going
With me make a different plan

For none of trespasses
Hurt enough to stop my love
Join me in my bed once more
Something that I'm dreaming of

If you do not love her like you love me
Lie by me and talk
I'll tutor with honest advice
Teach which thoughts to block

I'll walk with wherever you roam
Even take the lead
Tell you how special you are
Help you with whatever you need

If you hold me in your arms
Will not let you down
Give you everything she does
Make you smile when you frown

If you don't picture futures with her
On mind when you're in bed
It is safe to say she's not the one
If you cannot get me out of your head
~
April 2024
HP Poet: Pradip Chattopadhyay
Age: 63
Country: India


Question 1: A warm welcome to the HP Spotlight, Pradip. Please tell us about your background?

Pradip Chattopadhyay: "After graduating with honours in Geology, I worked in various sectors including railway, banking, teaching, accounts and audit, consultancy and advertising. I feel working in diverse fields have helped me to come across people and characters of many shades and hues. This probably broadened my perspectives and laid the foundation for my poetic creativity. I have a wife of 40 years, and we together have raised a family almost from scratch. We have our son, daughter in law and a granddaughter 5 years old. They have been a source of many of my work."


Question 2: How long have you been writing poetry, and for how long have you been a member of Hello Poetry?

Pradip Chattopadhyay: "I have been writing poems since I was in 8th standard. Initially I wrote in my vernacular Bengali before experimenting with writing in English from the early nineties. There was a hiatus of nearly two decades when I didn't feel like writing. From early 2011, I have been among words regularly snatching time for creative pursuit from my work in advertising. The ***** went up till 2018, my most prolific period, before the curve went down. I admit I'm not writing as much as I would have loved to. Arrival of my granddaughter in early 2019 both added and eroded my urge to write. Most of my time was for her. I started with posting my work on Poem Hunter before coming to Hello Poetry on March 22, 2013 where my first post was 'My Name is Bond'. I post on no other site."


Question 3: What inspires you? (In other words, how does poetry happen for you).

Pradip Chattopadhyay: "The spark that begets a poem is hard to explain. For me, it can be a momentary emotion, an impulse that's too compelling to ignore, a character or relationship, intimate or distant, an event or incident that might appear mundane on the surface, even a sight fleetingly seen. I have been an avid traveller, and moments with my wife during such excursions have produced many of my poems. The river has always been an inseparable part of my life possibly due to my growing up and living in the riverine areas. So the river silted or flowing has been a constant inspiration for my work. There are also other places for my poems. The daily market, slum, a pavement dweller, a daily wager, a salesman, religious beliefs and practices, faith, a journey, ruins, fairytale and so on. I place no limits on subjects; love, relationship, humour, horror, mystery, memories. Often they take the form of storytelling through a blending of experience and imagination. All said, what satisfies me immensely is to be able to write poems for children. I have tried a few trying to fit into a child's mind, a difficult process. Most of the poems rise and sink in my mind. Only a few see the light of ink and paper. Of late I've been a little lazy or maybe a little too busy for retrieving the ones that float for only a while."


Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Pradip Chattopadhyay: "For me, poetry is painting collages of life from within and without. The stimuli arise from the interaction between the external and the inner world. It is not to preach but to present what is seen and perceived by the poet, and leave the rest to the reader. You get down at the wrong station and see a reflection that you never thought existed within you. It becomes a poem. For me, poetry is touching upon the entire gamut of human emotions culling them from the simple happenings around us. Bringing out the hidden "more" than what meets the eye. Poetry is making meaningful an apparently simple happening. Even a mundane occurrence may contain the seed of a deeper realisation. For me, poetry happens for all that happens in our surroundings, be they conspicuously visible or not. The poet is an explorer and discoverer."


Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Pradip Chattopadhyay: "Rabindranath Tagore occupies a pedestal. He is universal in his dealing of all aspects of humanity. I also love to read Wordsworth, Shelley, Frost, Macleish and Neruda. I am not very familiar with contemporary poets in English language."


Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Pradip Chattopadhyay: "I love travelling and take interest in photography. Mountains attract me more than the sea. I have been to the higher altitudes of the Himalayas including Ladakh and Sikkim. Once I was a good reader but now I have fallen out of that habit."


Carlo C. Gomez: “Thank you so much for allowing us this opportunity to get to know the person behind the poet, Pradip! We are honored to include you in this ongoing series!”

Pradip Chattopadhyay: "I am thankful to Carlo for providing the opportunity to talk about myself and share my views with my poet friends on this site. The Spotlight on Poets is a greatly admirable effort to showcase the work of the many great poets here. Thanks to Carlo again for this truly encouraging initiative."



Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed coming to know Pradip a little bit better. I surely did. It is our wish that these spotlights are helping everyone to further discover and appreciate their fellow poets. – Carlo C. Gomez

We will post Spotlight #15 in May!

~
You were full of thoughts deep inside you that was kept for a long time,
And I was constantly amazed the way  your feelings was confessed
Something that's inside your heart makes the people got impressed
But I wasn't so sure, and I think that a one false move would constitute a crime

I hate you, the way I hate other people
And that bothers me, for I should be the person who doesn't care at all
I do. In a short span of time I did stop caring
But most of the time I never think about mine

You will never be the first person who did something for me, either good or bad
But you're the only person who told me something that I forgot but can still feel it,  and its makin' me mad

This should be sweet, a message that could make your heart beat
But I don't know how to compose something
It's full of confusion, I only write because of grief
Still, I wanna write for you, for someone special that I should treat
 Apr 5 Traveler
Mitch Prax
My memories are
like dissonant wind chimes-
they shriek every time
my mind's winds blow.
Those familiar tunes still haunt me
and to this day they remain
stuck in my head.
 Apr 5 Traveler
ross
warm summer nights
lost, intwined
under satin sheets  
a midnight worship,
souls unraveled
night crawlers
telephone lovers
pale skin
eyes burning
bodies dancing
soft moans in my ear
the sweetest lullaby.
like a siren you call;
alluring
pulling me into
every dark corner
of your mind
and still;
even now
i hunger for only you.
i once believed
i had fallen hopelessly
in love with a memory
but i know that not true.
for i would rewind
the hands of time
and stay
that moment
forever
even in purgatory;
i shall kneel
by your throne.
looking up
see rainbows

the small plane still flies over
most days
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