Thursday, April 21, 2011

of Blacks & whites

The death of a song

The piper played of beauty and colours
The world overflowed with lovely flowers
Monsoon nights, melody and marshmallow shower
And for the piper, the dreamer had built a bower....

All of a sudden out of nowhere, the bower broke
The marshmallow melody faded and vanished into a smoke....

For all that the piper said and did; the dreamer had turned into a deformed cupid
What is right? What is wrong? Emotions fade but persists the song
The broken heart also beats; only to speculate how history repeats
The worse is over, the fear is breathed; the dreamer is dead but the heart pulsates
The dreamer’s epitaph smells of blood; the piper’s song had stained the spud
The perilous seed that the piper had sowed; has left the boat nowhere to be rowed
The deadly plant has spread its roots; the river is filled with ugly soot
Cries the dreamer inside the grave; for the song of lunacy, it could not save.....

Wednesday, April 20, 2011


A piper, a charmer and dreams of a dreamer
Beginning to end, Ending to begin....
Half the glass empty, half the glass filled
Margins overlap, lines seep.... PAUSE

What if I don’t pause the lullaby?
What if the piper plays the honey tune?
Half the colours empty, glass honey pieces
Edges don’t match.... PAUSE

I live on the edges; One edge sharpest
It’s red in colour; the charmers red eye
Dreamer’s dreams touched; dies the dreamer
A half sung death.... PAUSE

The lullaby returns when death half sung
The dreamer’s eye dead, the dreamer’s eye red
Now charmer plays, now charmer draws
But lines overlie, lines bleed.... PAUSE

The story is same the story very old
The piper the charmer the dreamer all known
The lullaby dreams; sharp edges and cones
A half sung line; half blue half red.... PAUSE

The piper the charmer conspire a line
The dreamer trapped, in the ravages of time
The time story swings a honey coloured dream
Half the dream dreamt, half the life lived.... PAUSE

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Paid Unpaid

With toenails painted in motley colours,
I’m running across the eternal pyres....
The ghosts of loneliness have filled the air
The smell so known, I am living with my fear...
Why does it rain when you are not here?
Is it I am avenged, because I still do care?

The pendulum swings, & with it swings
The past and the present....
Conspired against me by a part of me
Reminiscence indeed is vengeance....
Your thoughts have melted the night away
And I have fooled myself; have let me sway....

Swayed across the songs that we once had sung
The words still clear, the tune though lost
I am fumbling for the tune, I am paying the cost
The cost of life, the cost of living....
You know it all, you indeed know dear
I am paying with my sanity; I am living with my fear....

Friday, April 15, 2011

The flames and the flamingos

Hovering on the blue moon tonight
Is the red flamingo from my past?
I'm trying so hard to tell myself
The flamingo is gone, gone with the dusk....
Fire red flamingos fill the sky with screams
Burnt out ashes of sepia winters and scarlet dreams....

All flamingos have a story; all stories a story teller
The story teller whispers; the whispers cast shadows
Shadows are smokes; smoked post act
Giggles and gnaws are ingredients of the tact....
One flamingo is trapped at the bottom of the void
I am sleepless again I am again paranoid....

Flutters my curtain, flutters the blue moon
And in the hole on my blanket a flamingo flutters
This flamingo is black, its wings are heavy
Its panting for air, it’s never ever ready....
I stare at the ceiling, the ceiling full of soot
The black flamingo sings, sings of the root....

I think of the roots, ponder how they spread
Like songs of the black one, staining my mid night bread
The bread seems stale, stale like the ruffian
Who promised me letters but never wrote one....
I also have a bouquet of letters, which are all unsent
I still do remember for which flamingo they were meant....

The letters are now perched on the roof, on the lampshade
I have lived with the memory of a flamingo fire red
How long is the river? How far is the sky?
What are thoughts made of? .... I guess I am high....
The black flamingo song is been hummed in a loop
It’s just another conspiracy of the flamingo group

Much before I walked the roads, that lead me to the sky
I stepped on a forbidden cloud and I forgot to try
I forgot all the trials, all the error terror story
Another flamingo from the past narrated another long ago glory....
Flamingo songs and flamingo stories are all that is left
My heart and the blue moon would never be flamingo bereft....

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Tear drops on my pillow

Tearful blush and black satin dreams floating on the fire lake....
and all that you spoke
Of mists and colours, with echoes of the wild song
that had just been a private joke....
Forgotten Lullabies sprints frozen,
as I slouch in the stranger’s bed,
Reflect on gone by loves bought and sold....
and count heartaches in my head....
Quench off old flames, one by one
seek relieve in the frail embrace
And the insufferable sweet nothings
of a time-pass looser, making time-pass love....
I stealthily propel away from the shore;
because I still bunk work to dream of you
What’s the colour of your kite?
What’s the shape of your cloud?
Fly and dream, dream and fly....
I owe every word to you;
Learning to unlearn; trying to unlove,
I am happy to have sung the blues....
I am still stopping at your name!
I can merrily grow old, with all the blame!
I ask myself....
do all cherubs have the same story? all wings have lost the glory?
I unearth it sweet in the not so sweet world....
And on some nights, I still weave dialogues,
I tell all that I would never tell,
and pretend to hear all that I would never hear....

I always thought I knew myself....
Thanks to you for proving me utterly wrong....

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Jhora pata tram bus ador bikel
Elo chul khola chiti jonaki aakash
Ei shondhyae sei tara ti abar poth haralo
Hoyto amra sobai dik bhranter dol....

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Purple rustles of beautiful lies, another secret humming scarlet
The air heavy with thoughts of things unsaid, lurking buried deep inside
Merciless clouds of the dark blue night shrouds me in claustrophobia
And I wait for the rain, awake, agitated and sleep deprived....

Dirty moon flutters on the old white curtains
The moon light gnaws me as I watch the shadows flickering patterns
That are dreadfully demonic, hammering with whispers that echoes the silence,
While I wait for the rain, stirred, twitchy and sleep deprived....

Creaks the rack while I take out the old albums
Tea coloured photographs.... I remember you called them sepia....
The green is gone; gold are the leaves, between the pages of the old blue diary
I turn the pages, while I wait for the rain, restless, frantic and sleep deprived....

The leaves between the dreamt have dried, but the memories still breathing
Pink ashes strewn on the worn out carpet like life misplaced here and there
One Careless word sometimes outlays one whole carefully built world
Only to keep me waiting for the rain, troubled, tortured and sleep deprived....

They say if you recall someone from the heart, the person recalled comes for sure
Then why are you not here?
The layers still hazy, the rain never pours and the waiting never ends
I would always be lonely, abandoned, lost and sleep deprived....

Friday, April 8, 2011

So right yet so wrong, so close yet so far
I know I haven’t stepped backward
You claim that you haven't moved forward
May be it’s the mist....

I didn’t need a reason to laugh
Neither did I need a reason to cry
Reality just seemed so beautiful with you around
May be it’s that purple haze of my dreams....

I have heard you breathe sleep deprived
I have smelled your blue submerged in sleep
I have seen the scarlet moon dancing when you sang
May be it’s the mad me in me....

Of a life, in between the lines

Some dreamt on your shoulder
Some hidden under my white pillow
Some breathed with my hearts best blood
Some still left to swallow....
Of a life, in between the lines....

Some still strewn unheard
Some gifted to the lunatic wind
Some covered in the coffee mug
Some killed themselves inside the mind....
Of a life, in between the lines....

Some spoken to a stranger
Some broken with the bough
Some snatched from the land of gipsies
Some angry with the false vow....
Of a life, in between the lines....

Some stained with the famous blue raincoat
Some mixed with the cool blue drink
Some lost with folds of the paper boat
Some lost in the layers of purple and pink....
Of a life, in between the lines....

Some left at 5/B, some locked at 208
Some stolen through the rear view mirrors
Some thanked for the window seat
Some cut into pieces with the golden scissors....
Of a life, in between the lines....

Catharsis of the Casanova

When love is in love, lunacy is just another name for the crazy little thing....
Painted dreams and tainted desire of a lingering lullaby of painted fire
Unknown breath of a known soul playing hide and seek with the self
Flying with the words, Flowing with the words, Floating with the words,
Living with the words, Dying with the words, Raping the words
Death is just another word for it..... Cause I am still throbbing with love....
Addictive and dangerous are games of the mind and of the words....
Another night’s stand.... Catharsis of the Casanova....

Drifting slowly with colours and mist, No search can never go in vain
A sweet tussle in the self, the pleasure of the pain, the kites in the rain
A self shaped void in the universe.... when not knowing is convenience
Lost and loved and loved and lost.... echoes the lullaby of the lunatic
Gets you up every morning with a name, messes you up sticky sweet
You crawl down under the blanket with eyes closed and emotions naked
And the words shrouds like clouded passion and sun tamed touch
Another night’s stand.... Catharsis of the Casanova....

When the story teller itself lives in a story

Much before I had left this city, the city I was born in
Only to return to where I had always belonged to
There was another time; when the poet and I had never met....

Much before trash Hindi songs started making sense
And I dyed my hair and boasted of my seventh piercing
There was another time; when the poet and I were strangers in the night....

Much before staring at the moon became a priority
And smiling at the FOOL became a necessity of life
There was another time; when the poet had spoken of lunacy....

Much before I learnt of the games of words, and the games of mind
Only to overlook sweet heart “hide and seek” in the woods of past
There was another time; when the poet had sang to me on the telephone....

Much before I raped myself, and consoled screaming at the mirror
For having memories which I never ought to have
There was another time; when the poet spoke of all that is beautiful....

Much before time melted, and I wanted to claim my stolen years
Only so that all songs lead me to the lover, to the lover in the poet
There was another time; when the poet had stared into the space....

Much before the Dreamer had met the Lunatic
Much before the Lunatic had woven music with starlight
Much before the Dreamer had been strangled with melody
There was time when lullabies were beautiful....

Much before the perilous seed had grown into a mammoth tree
Much before the roots had spread into the Lover’s veins
Much before the stories were stained with scandals
There was a time when words were pregnant with thoughts and meanings....

Much before the words had faded into smoke
Much before the equations changed in all respects
Much before the letters were lost in the cacophony of this big city
There was a time when the song of innocence had filled the sky....

Much before the Dreamer had met the Mortician
Much before the Demon had spread its trap
Much before the dead child made honest confessions in the Mortician’s chamber
There was a time when the pathways of fairy tale bloomed with joy....

Much before the Stranger had sung of the blues
Much before the days of ‘Sex Lies and Video tapes’
Much before the Dreamer promised itself to let go
There was a time when breathing did not come with a price tag....


Unsent letters....


We spoke of all beautiful rubbish with starlight on our eyes
Sweet angel devil, childhood tram-route, mango pickle, “Aabol taabol”
Long ago jokers from the middle school, transparent mascara always rule;
Lessons in love! Lessons in love!

Your windows are beautiful, stain glass of time; Burn baby burn else complete the rhyme
Water bed laughter and wind chime warning, be it so or a lifetime of caring
Tear drops on pillow, bean bags of clouds, black blue and red, the hollow that swallow;
Lessons in love! Lessons in love!

Nausea day break, fall of a leaf, pink summer blues, lavender rain and camouflaged pain
My precious cancer sticks and my bottled purple tricks, the messiah indeed is very strict
Tea bags that seep with joyful delight like sugar cubes vanishes from sight
Lessons in love! Lessons in love!

You taught me to love as if never been hurt, songs never die but whispers do hammer
Ringtones change, wall papers rot, ‘m again a little lost
Nights wrapped in songs, with tunes of rain drop and fume on my skin;
Lessons in love! Lessons in love!

I sit with the cell phone, type and delete texts, unsent! Unsent!
Changes the meaning with every changing second;
Blank texts pregnant with meanings and thoughts, uttered silence reflects the impotence of wrath;
Lessons in love! Lessons in love!

Safe with you keep my heart, till I forget how was it lost
Will dream will float will cook will clean, but will never ask it back
Hurt me more as much as you can, till I forget the taste of pain
Will shout will sing will fly will paint, but will never ever complain
Pour me poison, roll me a joint, till I manage to be insane
Will dope will drink will watch you sing, ‘m sure there would be kites in the rain
Make me walk on the tight rope, till you get tired of the tricks
Will jump will dance will shake will twist, but will never unturn the bricks
Your wall is high, your windows closed, but your room doesn’t have a roof
Will walk will run will speak will talk, till you conceal all the proof
With my back against the world, and dreams on your shoulder
Will sleep will snore will bore will yield, till the waves hit the boulder
I cling to dust of memories gold, to find my heart cheaply sold
Some more rubbish till the end of time, the letters still unsent shivering in the cold.
And like a joke in the air I hang, when the answers blow in the wind.
Some answers have a thousand questions,
Questions that fly, fly with the bird, in my night sky.
The bird has a story, the story has a baul,
The baul has a secret, written on a kite, flown inside a rainy heart.
The kite has his childhood, locked in a paper boat,
The paper boat is purple, the colour of your shirt,
Correction: the colour of my dreams!
Dreams have clouds, cloud- butterflies, on my little terrace.
Reds blues and greens sparkle like stars, the stars that are walking all their life
I too walk with the stars, and yesterday seems like light years ago,
I stand in the valley with my arms stretched apart, dig my feet in the sand,
Make a wish for the world before it’s too late!
I feel the coldness of a snake, the snake has poison, sweet manna dew,
Caffeine stained evenings of life and sweet bitter bare foot walks,
I remember the girl who loves to have biriyani in the middle of the night,
Also the one who teases and accuses and loves but never ever understands,
I remember the fool who talks of the mists and passion,
The pictures are abstract, the words imperfect, the dreams surreal
The cat on the window pane knows it all, the stories
Of frog prince, crystal ballerina and pumpkin couches
Of stories of loved and lost and lost and loved
That road of childhood still sings of innocence.
Life again feels like that movie in black and white, slow and sound bereft!
I wonder and my mind wanders as it echoes the whispers in my head
And like a joke in the air I hang, when the answers blow in the wind.

The last letter

Dear Blue,
I love Red!
You know what my name means?
It means a sea, a sea of tears!
And I know, you know, my tears, truth!
My songs, my dreams!
My purles and my pinks
My kites and my paper boats....
I'm missing you, my boat man....
My gaaner oparey
I cant write fancy letters, but the feelings
Between my words and your songs are true
I'm missing you....

kichu nah, emni emni...

The first snow of the spring
The ruby on the ring
The black and the red
The life in the dead
The baul in denim
The poet in black
The messiah with a mobile
You remind me of all of them
The forgotten, pushed away, hidden parts of me
I sing for u, I play for you
For the twinkle in your eyes
When I whisper to you
"kichu nah, emni emni"

flying kiss for you

aamaro noyone noyono rekho antoro majhe....

Its raining in my heart....
Why does it always rain in my heart ?
Why do the colours fade when I touch my dreams ?
Why do I get lost in the crowd?
Come out of the crowd and hold my hands
Scatter my silence and let me taste the warmth of your embrace....

Stepping on a colourful dream
I am trapped in the prison of spring....

Loved and lost, lost and loved. . . .

Whispers still lingering under the blanket,
Songs and secrets amalgamating,
Sobs echoing happiness on the pillows,
And dreams casting shadow on the white walls,
Not often is life so beautiful.

With a hand on your hand, its nicer to dream....

Green Grass Blue Sky.... You & I....

Title: "Green grass Blue sky, You and I" (1)
Medium: Mixed medium
Date: Autumn 2006
Location: Santiniketan, W.B

Title: "Green grass Blue sky, You and I" (2)
Medium: Mixed medium
Date: Autumn 2006
Location: Santiniketan, W.B

Title: "Green grass Blue sky, You and I" (3)
Medium: Mixed medium
Date: Autumn 2006
Location: Santiniketan, W.B

Title: "Green grass Blue sky, You and I" (4)
Medium: Mixed medium
Date: Autumn 2006
Location: Santiniketan, W.B
SEPIA undertones of a colourful life, tussle between the real and the virtual, clash between the conscious and the unconscious, brawl between the id and the super…. “Eros” and “Thanatos” playing hide and seek intertwined in the unknown galaxy of surreal dreams and imaginations.... Time, music, poems, words, lights, feelings all blurring and fading and melting into one another, my senses are once again filled with that strange obnoxious smell of "chatim-phool" in the breeze…. Desperately attempting to reconcile…. I don't have any explanation.... Often wonder if it was a magical moment destined to fade into memory or a miracle quiet never grasped, what ever it was, I do miss it....
You don’t know how cheesy and impractical I can get. You don’t know how very filmy and BOLLYWOOD I can get. Let me be impractical and cheesy in life, because one life’s what is left.

I can become a Mother India for you, I can become a Mr. India for you,
I can become a Baadnaam munni for you, I can become a Jawan Sheila for you....
I will cry for you like Meena Kumari and I will smile for you like Nutan,
I will blush for you like Sharmila and I will dance for you like Helen,
Will seduce you like Rekha and sing for you like Asha,
Will wear a bindi like Bindu and have a swayambar like Rakhi....
I will become a Sush for you, I will become an Ash for you....
The Bebo and the Lolo for you, the Kajol and the Rani for you....
The King Khan for you and the Umrao Jaan for you.
The Big.B for you the Chote Nawab for you.
The Rocket Singh for you the Raj Malhotra for you.
For you I am the Parvati, for you I am the Chandramukhi,
For you I am the Maili Ganga, for you I am Madhuri’s lehenga,
For you I am the Radha, for you I am the Meeraa,
For you I can get up on the Howrah Bridge, and do exactly what Dharm Paji did in SHOLAY....
I can become the Guide Raju, can go for a hunger strike....
I can become the Jaabaaz and can race a bike....
For you I can become a 420 chachi , or a motherly Rakhi.
For you I can kill like Sharuk Khan, can also die like Noor jehaan.
You bring out the Joker in me, the Aawara in me,
The Jonny Gaddar in me, the Raju Romeo in me
The Rudali in me, the Dil Banjara in me,
The Mirch masala in me, the Madam X in me,
You bring out the hidden Maya Memsaab and the forgotten Janshi Ki Rani in me....
My dil is pagal for you, I am already Ghayal for you,
I am Beqabu for you, I am Sharabi for you....
For you is my Lamhe, for you is my Sadma,
For you is my Zakhm, for you is my Nagma,
For you is my Ashique, for you is my Jawani,
For you I do bak bak, for you is my Dhak Dhak....
My Choti si asha, my Choti Si Baat, my Baton Baton Mein....
My khayals, my gazals, my Gulzaar , my Dil, my Dard, my Sapney.....
I will smoke up like Zeenat and ride a horse like Parveen,
Do all the crazy crazy things that the Shammi kapoors do....
I will do the Bhangra for you, I will sing the Bhawai for you,
I will do the Mast Mast for you I will do the Hawa Hawai for you,
I will give you my Jism, my Chadti Jawani,
Ajab prem ki Ajab Kahani and Tip Tip Barsha Pani
I will play the Bhumika for you, will rename myself Pakeezah for you....
You can call me Puspa like Rajesh Khanna and I will call you Ramesh Babu,
Sometimes may be Simran and I will call you Raaj....
We will dance on the moving trains; make it in the pouring rains,
Run in the tulip fields, sing on helicopters and make love on fire....
We will sing inside the elevator and live on the roads....
We will name our home Basera....

I try to be pragmatic. I try to open my eyes, try to rub the cobwebs of impracticality away, but fail. One day, your practical words will not awe me with their ease. One day, I will stop trying so hard. One day, you will be mine....

I love myself because you love me....

....the love for literature in me, the hatred for mathematics in me, the annoyance for stupid relatives and disgust for over curious neighbours in me, the wash-room singer in me, the silly little schoolboy in me, the naughty old granny in me, the khadi kurtas and colourful socks in me, the voda-fone lover in me, the insomniac letters and chats in me…. the mental in me, the sentimental in me, the crazy bitch in me, the sweet slut in me, the drama queen in me, the ilish vhapa and the sorshe-mach in me....

You bring out the me in me!

....For you I want to send sondesh,
For you I want to make aalo bhaja
And for you I want to let go of myself….