I carry worlds within my chest,
silent storms I don’t confess.
A smile, a nod,a quiet plea,
hoping someone sees through me.

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!

capricious: an outcome driven by sudden, unpredictable change (adjective)

your head gets heavy
a feeling of doom springs about
it lingers
enveloping you in fumes of doubt
it sets in, a cloud above your head.

it takes control
a silent, grey dread

colours fade out,
light grows dim
the heaviness spreads,
filling your eyes to the brim
shades of grey is all you can see

you search for colour,
desperately
to bring you back to reality

for the world you knew
sinks beneath the tide
into the dark abyss
of your mind
where shadows hide.

the abyss becomes all you know.

Watching the sun
cut into a new day
everything drenched
in pale colours
clouds move with
the dead of grey
I know a place
where a velvet moon
is thrown across the
soothing sea
where the spring
mornings are endless
where there are more
flowers than tall buildings
where the ocean breeze
blows salt on our skin
where the lavender
dances with the wind
we can dream forever
escape this ordinary life
I know a place …
Clay.M