READYMADE

Come, reconcile –

We have drudged

On our solitary missions

For each one’s solitary success.

There will be differences

Always already are

Only recognize.

Individually

We stand unreflected. It’s false,

False to compete

Where natures are diverse

(How can a merry bird

Offend a skyscraper’s pride?);

We meet but only in motions.

False,

False are relations, false emotions.

Come realize

Each one fits his own shoes

Readymade;

Thrown into a battery for a course,

Aimed, designated, trudges.

Why do you grudge me my stars

Where I am subject as much to my garb

As you to your given dress?

Stain

As long as you keep

Imprisoned in conceit

There’s no holding hands;

Pleasure not for me

Where it stinks

Of old Narcissus.

If you said it was your desire

And not your yielding

To an inferior’s wish;

If it were not your reversing

Your lust into mine

For self-deceit;

If your pure blood

Worshiped chaste union

Of two equal spirits,

Then, oh, surely it were bliss

In entwined sleep.

My violent heart-beats

Fret me too much:

Things are amiss

Between you and me

As yet.

DAM

Desire at low tide,

Conceited whispers of reason,

Granular aromatic solicitations

Of pride, rolling onto the ground

From the corpse of emotion,

Visualize a bleak future

With more fallen leaves,

More cold blasts, cool hands

Of passionate vindication,

Strangling the cliff where

The waves thunder and strike

Unsuccessfully. What they want

They never consciously desire,

Never consciously betray –

Forever at low tide,

The moon more and more shadowy.

DINT

The moon interlopes the night.

Light’s welling lore usurps the

Brash dark brain splitting

The tense indoors with

Resplendent truth. White rays

Gather in the black glare

Of candid tears.

A quaint dint on

A qualm-less sky has

Flared up a sleepless swoon.

Ripe with Love

 

O do not censure

What comes so pat

From my lips,

I am ripe with love.

O do not draw

Laced veils over

Your lovely brow,

I am rapt in love.

O do not start

At admiration

In silent eyes,

I am dumb in love.

O do not muse

Over trifles that

I humbly offer,

I am led by love.

O do not loathe

A female’s doting

On feminine charms,

I am drunk with love.

O do not strive

To comprehend

This phenomenon,

I am awed in love.

REST

Put logs in the fire

Puff breath into it,

Let groping bodies

Reach their nests.

Warm air cools

On weary arms,

Calm overtakes strife.

Put water in the trough

And nestle in,

Once passion cools

There’s room for rest.

If winds are rough

Strangers get bruised,

Nothing doing about it.

Walk up to the front

Awake and say,

Well a mistake,

Turn and run.

Some gymnastics,

Some silly tactics,

That’s all it takes.

Caresses

‘In the mountains, there you feel free.’

                                                _ The Waste Land

An infinite devotion

Holds the thick air

Above one’s head.

No air pressure can challenge

The loftiness of this faith.

One walks uphill

With sure footing

In tune with the music of spring.

A wild blessing

Of pathway flowers

And a merry sun

Accompany one’s long distance post.

There’s no end;

There’s no tiring

In the mountains,

And devotion to love comes naturally.

At nights dreams float like flakes

Of white clouds lifted

By a blessed wind,

Cool and moist and sweet

Leaving a smile on a sleeping face.

In the mountains

Bugs fail to bite,

Butterflies touch you awake

And warm hands leap out of quilts

To catch their lightness.

Higher and higher

Awake and bright

Fresh and light

One finds the spring

Of an infinite devotion

Nestled in one’s heart

Unnoticed, spring out

Leap and rush

Wild and merry

In the mountains,

There, there love,

There you feel free.

Paradox

A sudden storm burst

The equanimity of

The dazzling white

Moistening the arid brown flesh.

In a frenzy

The high sun

Shriveled up

The wet curvatures of sturdy bones;

In quick strokes

Subtly painting a rainbow.

Letter

 

Every letter

Is a missile

Sent into space.

Who knows

What sore spot

Of the universe

It will burst?

Anuradha Bhattacharyya reading her poems

Every single letter

Is a fissure

In the circumference

Of planet I.

To cover up

One rupture

Follows another.

APPLE

Each apple

When tasted

Feels sweet

When chewed

Quite sour

When swallowed

Leaves a bitterness

In the mouth.

Call of the Valley

O valley you are guarded!

High rocks on four sides

Look down upon you

As nature’s delicate nursling!

How do you feel?

I feel terrified

Of looming figures

Delimiting me authoritatively.

My life is greener than the plains

Like which would I spread,

And grow if I were free.

These very ranges

Cause windy blows

Which to the plains are breeze;

Ravaging simpler beauty

Is easier than the wide country’s

Sophisticated lovability.

MY CANVAS

Would my brush stroke

Give everyday dawn

A new complexion?

My canvas hung upside down

Wildly inflates imagination.

However may paint deceive admiration,

Desert, lake or vegetation,

Dawn will not dawn there.