I am disappointed.
I let you go
That you may
Find yourself,
The sparkle in your eyes
That bore through me
May burn bright.
The firm round beasts
Taut with desire for a touch,
That heaved at every breath,
Every turn of my words
And glance ...and I
Withdrew from them,
And your quivering lips.
Dying each day a thousand death,
Pining eternally till yesterday,
Like the lover in the Grecian urn
To liberate you and  liberate me
From the there after, routine and
Mundane. To preserve the spark,
Blow into it, create a new word
Every moment, not be a wife
Or just a husband! But creators,
Challengers to Jove's throne.
The fire once again stolen.
Ahh..But pasted on fb what do I see!
Sagging *******, dim eyes,
Dead, limp locks, stable pasted smile,
Dotting over a fat boy and a *****, palsy pet.
Pretending to be happy with them
And a glorified clerical job.
I am liberated from pain,
But this freedom gives no joy,
Ah Mephistopheles!
I scream not in agony
Having lost my soul to Helen
But in the absence of pain.
Helena has become a fat
Dull mommy cooking
Noodles for fatso
And *****, petty Paris.

A cold winter noon
Perched atop a new ruin,
Toothpick stirring a remix bhajan,
Rocking in a lame chair, there I am.
Taking in the sun,
Thinking of the world, the poor
And sipping on my ***.

‘’Ayele kanda, batata’’
Ah, there goes my line.
Why doesn’t the idiot shut up?
We can’t anymore buy onion and potato.

A lonely koel perches on the antenna
Clears its throat and tries to sing,
Hoot! Out of my sight you noisy thing.
Give me peace and let me think.

One more sip, the line comes again,
The down trodden!
A girl of sixteen was ***** and killed.
Who will punish the bustards? Such a shame.

A mother of two violated,  
Shorn and paraded naked.
Served her right, the five magi hissed
Her threadbare boy shouldn’t a Brahmin have kissed!

The stocks went down; the Taj has gone brown,
Down with the rightists, down with the leftists,
Down with the middle-east, down with the Pakis,
And the Chinese, a foreign hand, don’t you see?

Rocking in the lame chair,
Taking in the sun,
Thinking of the world
And sipping on my ***.

Mou, I told you
How happy I was
The day I found you .
Now I realize that you were always there
But you kept silent then as you are here
Only smiling, being, bright, wane
To be found again, lost again, loved again
But always there.

They are leaving today, the immigrants!
The road they were building is incomplete,
But the trees lie uprooted , withering cupped leaves
On spread out branches begging.to die.
The sun is reluctant today,
I ask him why.
"Will you shine on me this fall?"
"I will try" he said,
"But you live beyond the high wall"

Dear son I am dying
So you may live!
I couldn't pay for your son's school fees,
The deepawali sweets and crackers
And your wife's saree,
Nor could I buy you the500cc
Enfield Bullet.I had promised.
My revised pension hasn't yet come.
They have told me to wait,
But I know you can't.
Deepawali crackers are costlier this year
With the boycott of Chinese goods
A big price for patriotism.
My friends tell me that if I die
They will turn me
Into a symbol,
Something very big and important.
Somewhere elections are just round the corner,
There will be a statue
And money and job for you.
They say.
I must die for you to live.
I have lived my life.
Sorry son, I had much to say
But they tell me to hurry.
The facilitator has another appointment to keep
If only I could go with a bullet in my heart
And a few pakis at my feet
And not a sip from the hemlock tree!
Do not gamble with the money you get,
This Deepawali, pay Dipu's fees,
Buy a plot of land,
Take mother to Haridwar.
And yes, get the money and the job
Immediately after I die,  least they forget.
They will promise the world.
They will come, don't worry, make them pay,
Insects always do when there is light.

They call me

I must go

You live..

I had never lived
Until I had known fear.
Life was a blurry rush
Until fear slowed it down
Very slow,
For reflection
And dissection.
You have to fear death
To cling to life sufficiently.
The Count got it wrong, you see.

Yesterday I visited Cherrapunjee.
Visited the scenes of my boyhood escapades
Looked for the crooks of the trees
Where we perched on exam Sundays
Hidden from the sun, the warden
Plucking berries with the squirrels and birds
Reciting poetry and chasing apparitions.
But they are gone, all gone.
The beautiful huts are still there
With a coat of coal and limestone dust
But not the beautiful trees without.
I traced the trail of the river
Where as truant boys we frolicked
With some fear of the master's cane
And loved the half cooked picnic.
Tried to find the mountain pool that once
Swallowed a friend and almost me!
But, there's only a faint string
Among the ragged cheek bones, and where
The eye was, just a dry hollow.
A pound of flesh and more exacted!
The mighty falls are gone and
In their stead the quarries resound
Rat holes and palaces jostle for space.
From afar I hear old Kong Yulin
Cry "How green was my valley!"

your voice is still trying to reach out to me,
shut up! let me listen
you painting my uninterrupted love poetry ,

0pen your third eye, keep it mild,
do not incinerate me,
i want to gaze into creation and eternity.

I fall upon the thorns of life I bleed,
But, I never was as strong as he
Nor did I drink life to the lees
I am happy to have my wife by my side,
The child playing with me
And see the baby smile.
But, alas cruel fate!
I have no kingdom to bequeath,
Nor any spark to ignite new minds.
No intended harm,nor malice,
No quest for success, only peace.
Destiny please don't test me,
I am tired and spent,
Just let me go gently into the good night.



I

Rana Pratap Nandi

Waiting for you
by my lonely riverside,
in my twilight mood
motionless, counting the ripples,
tipsy with the musky smell
of first satiated earth.
Lusting for more.
Thinking of you, a few words,
a silver lining, becoming one
with the ivy growths on my
ancient sturdy castle.
A young breeze comes singing
of you and another brings
a tuft of cloud,
sailing on a silver lining.
A piece of white satin
blood and gold seeping through.
And streaks of dusk.

Voodoo bring me my bow of shining gold,
bring in the arrows of desire!
Bring in the bets, let the signs be told,
brow beat dissent with the Don's ire.

Fortify the power of  lucre,
to the pit of ignominy and deceit lure
the bright colts of  the game.
For when the pocket is full,
and the roost we rule,
can there be any shame?

I see see and we see see eye
to eye that making money is our right.
I see see do see see bookies on the prowl!
We see see red eye and growl,
shut up or else your projects
we won't bankroll.

I will not cease from all out fight,
the seat of power can't be let out of sight.
The magi devised Strategic Time Out
to earn more dime from TV rights.

Some may bark and others shirk
from shouldering the ***** blame,
the control's still with me, O hark!
You see the club is lame.

Blake, did those giants in ancient times
Stride with honour in the beautiful game?
Did the masters shed blood in the country's name
to let it be sullied today with ugly grime?
The hollow shirts mouthed clichés inane
and the ties sold the game for thirty dimes.

The corridors shake, the mighty quake,
the vassals at last revolt,
what would be left in the wake
are the ashes of the old.
Can it then rise, like the phoenix bird
and make its flight to behold,
or be buried in some other muck
a sordid saga retold!

I can no longer sing
They have taken my voice away
I cannot write
They have chopped my fingers
The lies, your lies and theirs
Threaten to wrench away my life.
What would you do or
What would you say?
Debate, take out a rally,
Score brownie points with friends
On WhatsApp and facebook
Sipping on the finest scotch.
They didn't take my eyes away,
Nor my legs. I can see and run
Just run and run
I run..

Why did you have to come
And course through my dry veins
Did you not know that they would catch fire
Or did you just not care?
Why did you creep into my dusty bones
And seep into my decaying marrow
Did you not know that it would catch fire
Or did you just not care?
These ancient ruins cannot house a sirocco
The more you try to arrange the bricks
The more you scatter.
In your desperation to embrace the cracks
There is even more chaos
But still I welcome you
I welcome you haha!
I welcome the fire in my *****
One final roar
One final hurrah!
One final ******* explosion
Than fading silently into oblivion,
So burn me!

The old man is dead
His two shadows and the apparition
Looking on anxious,horrified and relieved.
Finally the son is of any use
Lighting the pyre emboldened by the fire
Raging in his throat and belly

Lived so alone with the two shadows
And the apparition. But, a jolly crowd
To bathe his sins and embalm his skin
With ghee. Tea and *** passing hands,
***** and tobacco smoke unlocking
The mind. Nephew in epiphany, discovers
The soul did not escape through the mouth
But through the *******!
Defective death, needs prayashchit.

13 days! Too long to atone for a
Life time of neglect! The kulin  hands
The old man chose for his only son
Finally stirs, a feast for the departed soul
Offered at twilight under a banyan tree
By the holy bank.
Ahhh! Moksha!
I wonder, for whom.
The apparition struggles to raise a hand,
A cry, while the shadows melt away.

There is so much hope in her little heart
But very little around
Walmart and a credit card won't do.
Crumbling hearts and crumbling homes,
But steadfast hope still counts and,
And a little bit of adhesive love.