a princess, tired,
built castles, loved by people
and loved a prince
—all birthed from her words

an outcast, fallen,
as her words turn
into robbers of joy and
into daggers against her

a queen, revives,
to ascend the throne once again
pen as sword; heart as shield
written words are her armies
under her rough hands

Do you think
I am immortalizing you too much?
Do you want to rest in peace?
My hands want to rest as well
But the heart never stops.
To me, the one grieving,
Nothing can ever replace you.
Not another person,
nor your favorite song.
Not a picture nor a place.
Not your sweater
nor your favorite weather.
Neither your favorite book with
the highlights of your favorite quotes,
nor the words
I speak of you.
Not even more time,
nor the memory of you.

my favorite dance step of yours
is when your fingers
start to play the piano.

and because you,
who speaks little with strangers,
suddenly become the talk

of everyone
when you let your hands
speak for you.

the night unfolds elegantly
i wedge myself again in between
its elegance and my weary thoughts
i imagine wishing for silly things
on the passing shooting stars
but if i snap back to reality
i remember that one wish i keep on wishing
and i look out my window
waiting for a star to come by and hear me
the night is too elegant
for such a wish,
such thoughts,
as mine

You won't forget me,
Like the back of your hand.
You never truly will.
I assure you with everything I am.

Because I am the song you've never heard;
The book you've never read;
The painting you've never looked at;
The one you've never thought of in your head.

I am the sea you've never swam in,
Or the keys you've never played.
I am the star you've never wished upon,
Or the prayer you've never made.

I am the dawn you've never seen,
The pillow you've never had at night;
I am the door you've never opened;
The glasses you've never used for sight.

As I came to know and realize
You like the back of my hand;
Knowing you exist, in my eyes,
I assure you with everything I am:

I never truly will,
That I will never forget you too.
But you've never known me in the first place,
So it was never the same for you.

In this society
of souls from the millennium
Invigorated by validation
Drugged only skin-deep
With toxic actions and words
And prices ruling like
A silver-spoon-fed princess
The value of an individual
Plunges deep into the depths
Of the shallowest mirror-like pools

I can only sigh
As I sit in this new class
Alongside new faces
And the absence of the professor
I think of refunding my expensive tuition fee
When I pay my utmost attention
To everything around me

Dear Poet Friends, the famous Coffee House is located opposite Presidency College (my alma mater) at Calcutta, it was set up during the British days, initially known as The Albert Hall. However, this poem has been inspired by an old Bengali song . Hope you will like it. Thanks, – Raj Nandy

MEMORIES OF COFFEE HOUSE OF OUR
                      STUDENT DAYS

Those nostalgic memories and our colorful dreams have
receded with the past.
Our regular evening meetings at the Coffee House has
flown with time’s arrow, - since nothing lasts!
Be it summer, monsoon, or winter, we had regularly met,
To exchange notes and gossip, even heated discussions
use to take place.
Our old friend Nikhelesh had left for Paris, and Moidul
settled in Dacca, as I last heard.
Guitarist D’Souza of the Hotel Grand now lies buried in a
walled cemetery next to a church.
Betrayed in love singer Reena Roy is spending her days in
a lunatic asylum alas!
While Amol suffered from a raging cancer, life had proved
merciless for him till the very last!
Renuka was perhaps the happiest amongst us all, having
married a millionaire husband as I have been told.
She lives in a luxurious bungalow covered in jewelry of
diamond and gold.
Sanyal of Art College who drew pictures for an Ad Agency
those days,
With wide eyes listened to the narrations of Runa Roy, the
amateur actress, during those Coffee House days.
Long haired Basir, the amateur poet, has been forgotten in time;
None of his poems got published, his talents had remained
unrecognized!
Between sips of coffee and cigarette smoke heated arguments
use to take place.
Topics ranging from politics, poetry, art and football, were
very popular even in those days.

Those black round wooden tables and chairs still remain
unchanged to this very day.
But with the passing of time the faces of its occupants have
all changed, as generations have faded away.
Thus the cycle of life revolves as new flowers bloom.
But the Coffee House shall continue to last through many
a moon.
                                                           ­      -By Raj Nandy of New Delhi.

every song sounds the same to me
somehow they bring me to you
i want to imagine you here,
humming along with every tune
every color looks the same to me
each hue of the rainbow i remember
in shades of you; all the leaves
melt into the same shade of november
every aroma smells the same to me
flowers and memories are just as sweet
if i could i would send you a million,
if it could make you think of me

every thought i have is the same, too
it all reminds me of you, you, you

the artists of words know
its 2a.m. when the words come retching out
after an hour of damp papers
they weren't supposed to come out
not today
no, you can't tell your friends
because only a poet knows
the ****** battle
you are fighting
inside your
head.