Saturday, October 31, 2015

remnants

'The last time we came to the place
they with curd and pickles us served
at the end ,when we're about to close
our little talks with a lot of faith,'
Sweta while chewing a cardamom seed, said,

'The last time an afternoon it was
the road outside had fewer cars
and sitting beside the glass wall
we had had our moments just,'
Ornob recalled,somewhat lugubrious,

Tomorrow would be the end
of the vacation and they would be
to their own respective worlds sent,
Sweta would be busy with her works
And Ornob too would forget the talks,

'what would remain between us?'
Sweta suddenly asked
breaking the beauty of the pause
that kept the two in succulent thoughts,

'all these perhaps, like postcards,
or sildes neatly preserved,'
Ornob replied, fully convinced
of how memory works, what it stores,
what it connotes, what it means,

'ah! that's like we are then
two persons in a memory lane...'
Sweta heaved a half sigh
the other half not expressed,
Ornob just smiled, keeping things unsaid,

'you got nothing to say?
now that we would go each other's way
you would take the route to south
and I would to some western port go
where would I sit by that beautiful Seine
and throw the keys of our very own lane
into the water that bore all the pains
and happiness of people like us
who had spent nights by counting stars
and days who measured in dimes and farce?'
Sweta asked Ornob or was it really
for him to answer such a query?

Perhaps not, for Sweta looked at him
and asked if they could go a few yards, walking,

'The last walk together?' Ornob joked,

'no, for I am not that much haughty
like that mistress in that monologue'

'yes, and we are always in some sort
of a conversation, I mean, dialogue'

the two laughed as they started the walk,
it was invariably the full moon night,
late evening, the last week of a spring;

'how many years have passed
Sweta asked, 'since we've met?'

'since Seth wrote that Golden Gate?'
Ornob chuckled, smile on his lips
'you're such such....' Sweta fumbled for words,
'moron' 'that's the word for me to keep'
He added to make her more equipped,

She laughed heartily, 'as you yourself talked of Golden Gate,
I think you're very much like man in there, bred,
who swore by the Beatles and Pink Floyd
and noted how trees become in autumn void,'

'you make excellent observations
only that those are beyond my station,
now that we are walking the last of its kind
why not we say something more refined?'

'what tell me, are the refined things?
literary escapes or drinking binge?
what is that ,that can be called the best
who are the plebeians and who are the blessed?'

'tell me something about Seine
how it flows, in your veins?
what people do there on holidays?
do fishermen sail their boats like here on Ganges?'

'people sit on the benches there
and talk about Cognac and Baudelaire
and those who are too much of a believer
they throw silver keys right into the river,
and there is also a flea market near
people throng to buy cheap saucepans there
sometimes they buy hairpins too
with which they tie their lost billetdoux...'

'and what there do you care to do?'

'I just go there and sit with ease
and try to catch the ballads in the breeze
sung by urchins who collect coins in hats-
their tones running sharp and falling flat,
I listen to the stories as they sing
of maidens poor marrying kings
and of men dressed up like harlequins
creating comedy in postwar ruins...'

'what a way you pass your day
by the Seine as you please you may...'
Ornob said as they came to the point
from where they were to part their ways,

'see you' Sweta said before boarding a bus,
they were at the big terminus,
Ornob nodded and waved at her
and smiled thinking how soon
they would be away from each other,

'what would remain?' thought he
while the bus took Sweta away
just like another slide of a perfect memory.

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

somewhere tucked away

About a decade and half
                         must have passed through in between
when one day the man
                          arrived at his town one wintry evening,
the bus stop where
                          he got down with his sack was not the same,
for he found there
                          no more that homegrown feel of a small town
the rows of deodars
                           were not there too and the road seemed full
of people not known
                           'where had that house gone to?' he thought
from the porch of which
                             there hung coils of ivy in poesy wrought,
thinking all these
                             the man walked the road till he stopped
in front of a little
                               cosy looking bustling coffeeshop,
at the counter
                            there was a man he thought did he know
for he had that cut
                           on his forehead just over his left brow,
'You have grown old'
                           was the first thing that he said to the man
who looked up
                           with curious eyes and disbelief in his mind,
'you? our own Ayush?'
                             the man lunged forward to him greet,
his hands he held
                            and their eyes glistened quiet as they did meet,
'after so many years,
                            how come here mate?' the man in tears
                            uttered with joy asked him straight,
'well, I had received
                            a letter from someone here unexpected,'
saying this he
                          out from his coat's pocket did bring
a piece of a paper
                          almost blank barring a few words written
in a known too known hand,
                        'I know you have gone away to a faraway land
but please for the sake
                           of all the follies and the mistakes,
come at least once,
                           now that the war had ended and peace
had been declared
                            all through the country now that there are
no more sounds of sirens
                             and alarms of wildly ringing bells,
now that all the fire
                           had been doused and buried for at least
quite a few months,
                            come to my humble house if there is any chance;'

'Oh! you silly man! how you've come
            covering thousand acres green
and a few deserts of sands,'
           said the man with a trembling voice,
'Mate,you've come right, but you've lost that choice
that girl who cared to write such a thing
                         which she never dared
                    to say to you in person
had been to the another
                          land by the dictates sent,
the land where you could
never possibly go
                           for there lives she with her friends and a hoe,
there she has settled
                           with her garden to bloom and grow,'

Ayush heard it all
keeping quiet and low

and he thought he missed nothing
     other than those deodars and rows
                        of trees that lined the way
            and that girl who had somewhere
                       kept a story tucked away.
                          

          
                 
                            

Sunday, October 18, 2015

রাঙামাটি

কাশ শিউলির গন্ধ মেখে
শহর থেকে অনেক দূরে,

শারদ সকাল কুয়াশা গায়ে
কোনও এক স্বপনপুরে,

দেখেছিলাম হঠাৎ তারে
সদ্য জাগা গানের সুরে...

(ফটোগ্রাফি : মৈনাকদও)

Monday, October 12, 2015

Song bird

Grant me that sweet perennial song
O bird of delightful autumn,
Now that the world is drenched
In tunes of your music sacred,
Grant me that beauty and grace
With which you make the world-
wonderful and enchanting place,
Grant me as the time flows by-
Your winged feathered heart,
Your limitless undaunted sky,
Grant me your songs that binds
The world in music and blessed lines.

Saturday, October 10, 2015

Lease of a day

If I had the song to sing for the clime
I would've sung the beauty of a day,
Spent hearing the murmur of the river
Flowing unhindered as it may,

It had been a serene lucid spot
Deodars and furs and pines where stood,
And white sculpted figures like dots
For ages where did upon human works brood,

I saw the drops of dews gathered
On leaves, pebbles and stones like gems,
I heard the chant of gigantic bells
Calling forth Nature by numerous names,

I felt the soothing calm of early morn
And the cold nip in the mild breeze that blew,
I took a splash into the lush green lawn
Where myrtles rose just beside the honeydew,

I saw in splendid tender glow
Hills distant in foliage wrapped,
I saw how in glittering snow
Big mountains like sages sat,

The smell of incense bearing trees
came to me with the call of the wild,
I thought I got another lease
To spend a day like a blessed child.

The State Funeral

At least they have given her The State Funeral With tongue cut,  She could not have spoken for  The rare award,  The police have done the th...