here and there...

"When a person meets with his other half, the actual half of himself, he is lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy. The two don't want to spend any time apart from each other. These are the people who pass their whole lives together; yet they could not explain what they desire of one another. No one can think it is only sexual intercourse that they want, that this is the reason why they find such joy in each other's company. It appears to be something else which the soul evidently desires and cannot tell, and of which it has only a dark and doubtful presentiment." - A quotation apparently from Plato, in the book 'Solo' by Rana Dasgupta..

Of a Child and a old Man

In the depths of my heart

a child wells up in deep sorrow

It knows not where to rest its head

Worn down by years of walking and pricking

by this world..

And as the drops labor down the corner of

his eyes, he pauses,

takes a distant look,

and wonders, at the journey

taken thus far..

Was it worth it? - is not a question

he asks, he is sure, it was..

rather, he scrambles to pause

and pet the child with a lullaby..

True journeys are taken

without knowing where they will end

who we will morph into

how the hearts will contend with the pricks and battles

Instead in the joy, that tomorrow..

Looking back,

Into the mirror of life,

One can still see the child crying..

In slow, protected, isolated tears..

Down the depths of an old man's heart.

Moving Upstairs

-- Moving upstairs.. 

little by little 

this much by that much 

he gestured to me with his hand..  

And i smiled..  

Six years into a phd program is no small a time, 

perhaps after school, 

rarely there has been such a long chime..  

now is when they moved me upstairs.. 

i have been at the basement and first too, 

at the second floor,

so now upstairs is not at all a chore..  

For him though, 

my professor, 

a philosophical sore.. 

little by little.. 

this much by that much.. 

gesturing me with his hand..   

now, with many more grey hair 

than i even can dare 

that we all the academic bunch, 

faculty, staff and students.. 

Are moving upstairs..  

And i smiled.. 

Nodded.. 

hardly any words to give back in return 

but he said it all, though taciturn 

we are all moving upstairs.. 

-----

On how i love killing love..

She calls me,

the night is dark and deadly,

i come and lie with the smell of tobacco

on my mouth and body..

Closer she comes,

eyes half dead

half open for an embrace..

I spread my fingers on her forehead..

and then she smells the soot..

admonishes, and turns around..

That is how

i killed my love..

unbloodied..

stealthily..

dark and buried ..

on a black night..

writing useless poetry about it..

next morning..

" hows your poetry coming along..somebody asked ... "

so i replied:

poetry is a nice fancy

once upon a time by chancy

she gave way to nancy

to make poetry necromancy...

- amen..

Of mp3s, emails and old friends

Of Mp3, emails and old friends

---

I was in some confusion

whether to write about this

in bangla, my mother tongue,

or to stick to the language of business

english..let it be..

I let it be..

business ruled..and

so did history as on that fine evening..

i dug up my emails from yore..

And suddenly remembered

all of your faces..

old friends

to whom i had sent all

my choicest songs

perhaps irking you with my

own choices,

irreverent to whether you

liked them or not.

Today on a fine evening

after a sunny day

that decided to end without a whimper

or a roar

those mails, mp3s and all of you

touch me painfully

somewhere in my soul

tears roll down my eyes

for all the days gone by

and some of those mp3s

keep playing in the background

a harmless poem

sums it all

an obituary for that decade,

filled with you all my friends, emails and the mp3s..

I am still alive..

only just..

still tinkering with the words..

remembering not only you

but even myself which once comprised

of emails, mp3s and you all, all my friends..

Of my problem and a few lines..

My problem

--

My problem is

that this time around

when i was back home

i saw an ugly me,

having grown up

and with lost faith

drifting and trying

desperately to regain one's senses..

The smells,

the taste,

the sweat,

the sounds

and the sights..

not to forget the tears..

But the more i tried,

the more they seemed to elude me..

worryingly, i was unperturbed

as if each hour,

each day spent,

was just a budgeted one to go by,

and i knew i would be back

to my own unreal mess soon..

On other times

x or y or z happens on the way back

or on the way to home..

invigorating me

about home, my country, and old close faces..

this time though,

nothing substantial happened,

except meeting an old man

with grim stories of living a life

and fulfilling one's duties..

or maybe i have lost my senses to feel..

Why was the story like that?

I wonder, i scrounge for solutions..

i fail ..and despite the sleep..

i try these lines..

No longer worried,

if i have changed,

or others have,

or if i have grown old,

or others have,

just plain simple asking

whats going on,

Do you know?

---

Love you..from a laptop...

I have been horrible to you..

i know..

but your morning eyes..

make me write this apology..

Maybe one day you will read it..

by volition, perhaps like old days..

without me telling you..

and i am hoping..

that you will again fall in love with me..

Forgetting the scars and bites in between..

that we shared..to just pick a pen..

and on a paper..to write a piece of poetry..

the poetry of love, togetherness, and tears..

Alas, its the blog stupid, no pens..

no papers, a laptop..a digital poem..

saying this 'love you'..from a laptop..

--

No wonder life has changed..

have we both too?

A Conversation between the 'Bottom and the Top'...

Or maybe between the top and the bottom

Bottom: Hey you..

what are you doing here?

Across the North American border..

in Motown Michigan,

enjoying the pleasures of a business school

and jargons about the bottom of the pyramid..

Top: Nope not me..

Somebody else,

traveling, and reveling,

kind of like a child,

still to get one's bearings..

knowing not where i am going

but feeling all right that i am here

not forlorn or lost, as if this is my place..

Bottom: What happened to me then?

If its not you..remember just a decade back..

Ok i admit, more than a decade, 15 years now..

you and me were the same being..

and now you say, you are not me, or i am not you..

whats going on mate..

Top: You won't get it bottom..

the road was long..

i have lost my way..

i just drift along, like lake michigan into the bay..

Across the window..into the sky...

we always will be the same..saying each other a forlorn hi..

Into the water we will drop the cent

the price we paid why now repent?

Akashe Chorano Megh er kacha kachi...dekha jaay tomader baari...

http://www.esnips.com/doc/7e682559-f6f9-4ed3-9d22-23e76cd53054/Akashe-chorano