মুক্তবোধের আঙিনায় ( Muktobodher Aanginay )

মুক্তবোধের আঙিনায়

তোমার অমরত্ব্যে আমার হাত নেই,

হাত আছে যা কিছু বিপন্নতায়,

আবেগে মাপা যায়, বর্গফুটে নয়।

তেমনই কিছু ঋণের গন্ধ ফিরে আসে,

গোলাপে মুছে গেলেও বইয়ের পাতায় থেকে যায়।

রেখে যায় ছাপ কবি মনে,

তোমার আমার নির্বাক অন্তমিলে।

বদলানো ঋতুর সাথে মেলাবো আমি,

সময় পরিণত নয়।

ফিরে আসব হাত ঘড়ির কাঁটায়

যা ক্লান্ত হয়েও থামে না।

আমার ক্লান্তিতে তুমি থেকো,

থেকো মুক্তবোধের আবরণ হয়ে...

(Our tranquility dwell in pieces,

Of candour and wisdom,

Conferred by your presence.

Sunshine brews the joy in herb,

Like you in us,

Amidst the glorious world

Of priests and preys.

Be there, O Mistress!

When the worldly distress

Inhibits the deepest thought of love

And your flower fails to blossom!)

 -১৬ই জুন, ২০১৬

Indigo

Indigo

Window melts into the meadow,
As the dawn and dusk plays.
My indigo sky perpetuates the
Nomadic, biased and egocentric wills
To pacify in finding life that lies all beneath,
A galaxy of war,
Happiness,
And You!.

-14^th November, 2015

Whistles

Whistles

Tip of the pen, 
Gloomy again.
See the sparrows fly.
Distant train,
Whistles again,
As I scribble an alibi..

- 7^th July, 2015

Calendar slips

Calendar slips

These truths are buried of ages,
Amidst the canines, breasts, and neurons.
The prolific bitterness of this winter
Often wakes me up to the sunshine,
Where your eyelashes are still subtle,
Significant for my ever continuing heart aches.

You bring sense to my presence,
In the windy flakes of dust.
You bring dream to my dark nights,
Muting the whispers of my wrist watch.
Yet I am terribly absent from the ventures,
Where you feed a sparrow, kiss the glasses
And portray the bare skinned back,
Profoundly crafted with sensuality.

Calendar slips down every winter,
Promising a new rebirth.
You too proposed for austerity
Rejecting all clauses of our charter.

Shadows beg for light,
Like Hatred begs for love.
Do your world seeks emptiness,
As you pour a pacific full of refusals each night?.
I don’t disown your surreal existence of pleasure,
For it gives me sense, sleep, and sanity.

These truths are buried of ages,
Like the way I loved you...

-24^th December, 2014, 2.35am

Mystic alleys

Mystic alleys

Mystic alleys of nights

Binding the treacherous silence.

Dreams are of souls and footprints,

Not of fountains and fulfillments,

Not of parasites and plastics.

Footpaths crawl endlessly

Cross fading the echoes of each day.

Where a city never sleeps

And traffic light blinks,

People pacify themselves with amenities,

Securing all the joys of void.

Crowd divides into halves and then halves,

Few sit in alleys with their youth,

With the Pole star and the rusted wrist watches.

Few drain away with the corrosion of sense,

Longing to touch the sunshine and crust of moon.

Night beholds different enigmas,

For an alley, for a lover,

For a coward, and for the city lights,

Each bereft of their entity.

Where do those cowards of the alleys hide

When the darkness fights with sunlight?.

Mystic alleys provide alibi to all secrets.

Some hidden within the bricks of ages,

Or might be inside the fleshy thorns.

Have you ever crawled with sanity

In the cracked path of an alley?.

Run faster to dig up a remedy.

Alleys are fading, so are the nights!.

-07^th September, 2014, 2.25 am

Offline and absence

Offline and absence

Offline and absence,
Your sublime presence,
Flows through essence of moments.
Verdicts and wars keep on coming
But not your letter of last cry.
The tears may have dried
Leaving behind a dark patch
On your calm cheeks.
Your eyes are still violent.
I can smell an approaching storm... 

-11^th August, 2013

Dust in the wind…

Dust in the wind…

Dust in the wind,

Sparrows high above.

The subtlety of dusky evening, long gone.

Left over are the paper cups,

Crushed and abandoned,

With no signs of lip balms.

Just the abundance of you,

In the rain drops and distant horizon.

Yet nothing mentioned

How insignificant we are!

Amongst the birthplace of warmongers,

Amongst the kingdom of preachers.

Lower the blood pressure,

Even lower than atmospheric.

To call by your name

Shivers my pulsating veins!

Deep, deeper, and the deepest grave

Beneath the darkest sky of the race.

Where you lie wide awake

With all the futile tolerances.

Nothing to mind,

Everything to lose.

Psychedelic lights and stony footpaths

Couldn't secure you.

Neither was the holy crowd.

You were brutally raped!

Yes! you were raped with millions of sperms

That oozes out with a promise.

A promise to give birth

A pacific full of demons.

That worldly evening was so fine

When the humid air made you sweat.

Each drop of it sparkled,

As if the colours of spectrum

Kissed you, cuddled you.

Yet it was terribly so wrong.

Even Nostradamus was ashamed

For this bug in prediction.

You slipped away like the paper cups,

Crushed and abandoned every moment.

And as the evening dust in the wind hits,

I find ways to beg forgiveness and tranquility.

As I too ooze the same amount of sperms

With a sense of defeat...

- 25th April, 2014, 7.25pm – dusky and humid evening with a window seat of a bus and blessings of city traffic.

Blossom

Blossom

My lines brim with joy

and the happiness of rebirth.

Let the Krishnachura tree dance

gently to my tune,

while embracing the earthly smell

of monsoon.

Still searching for the mysteries,

the mysteries of green engulfed

through the eyes of amazement.

None of them followed

the footsteps of rhythm.

Why?.

Writing the never heard before

theories of blossom,

I found sources of endless

ripened happiness.

Stripped top to bottom,

engrossed myself

looking at the far falling stars,

beneath the sky.

Jumbled up tune of eternity.

Trapped temptations.

The window at my bed side

blocked the passage of free thoughts.

Yet I brought pocketful of juvenileness

to patch up with the monotonous

rain drops that keep falling

in between the gaps of my breathe.

I keep smiling through my chapped lips

to see you victorious.

Wishes are special for you,

might be my lines too.

Your footsteps are my blanket

to warm my little world

with tiny emotions.

I stare at the evergreen presence

of my old Krishnachura.

Wrapped within my words of joy,

postulating every space of it.

Your name is imbibed.

Stony it is!.

May worn out but never abolish.

I polish it with my truest sense,

as it shines but never fades…

* Krishnachura(in Bengali) is better known as the ‘Gulmohar Tree’ in India. A tree that blossoms flamboyantly with brightly coloured flowers and aesthetically attracts poets all across India.

-Nil

9^th June, 2012

Paranoid Glasses

Paranoid Glasses

Days that slipped by

from the paranoid glasses

of my windows.

Hands profoundly tried touching

the empty sky,          Fruitless.

Rain never touched the heated soil.

Clocks stopped ticking.

The distant horizon became pale,

and breezes ran opposite.

Visions were sharp until then,

crashed with the death of transparency.

The greener heart perished.

No wonder still the finger-tips were sensitive.

They drew sketches of happiness,

and the emotions that abolished

from the inner and outer self,

probably vindicating our conscience.

Who should be blamed ?

The graves of the ancient civilizations

Who forced us to dig deep

and create mega-structures.

Or the progeny of complex human mind ?

I tried unfolding those mysteries

during the darkest hours of the day.

Failed repeatedly,    

Broken and shattered.

Even tears abandoned my rugged skin.

The story still remains the same,

everyday I sit beside those paranoid

glasses of my window pane.

Nothing changes,

My effort goes in vain…

-Nil

26^th March, 2012

Alcoholic Dreams...

Alcoholic Dreams...

May be some years later

I will meet you again,

Like a stranger to you,

Standing infront of you,

In the crying rain…

Time may have bypassed us,

But  memories couldn’t

Feelings may have seized !

But our existence haven’t..

The world turned to me so gray,

Sky became colourless.

You started existing only in dreams,

Fading colours from my face.

Will you be able to recognize me

From the crowd of masked citizen ?

Or simply say “Excuse me!”,

As you confront me in the afternoon rain…

The drops of rain which touched us,

Can feel the emptiness from within.

Its an emptiness of a life-time,

Created since our souls were mutually separated.

The rain continued its activity

As if it was washing the blood stains,

But can it was the past from present

While you were walking down the wet lane ?.

Distance was increasing between us,

You took a turn down the lane,

Physically you became absent,

But I can still feel your presence.

Suddenly light started decreasing

And everything went black.

I am returning to the state of consciousness!

And opening my eyes boldly.

I am lying on a lonely footpath,

Drugs and alcohols around,

Time is ticking at the clock,

Nothing but silence surrounds.

I am into deep alcoholism

To hide my painful screams,

It is as usually

Parts of my alcoholic dreams...

Written by Niloy Paul

© Copyright Reserved 2007

MY ALMA MATER

My Alma mater

My School, My world,

The dreams of my childhood…

The agonies of my adolescence…

I left the memories with you!!

I still cry deep within my soul,

To get back the evergreen campus..

Focusing on to the liveliness,

As if it was a cheerful circus.

I still miss the classrooms,

Which hold some sweet memories

Of our presence…

Those deep brown benches & black-boards

Written within our hearts,

As some eternal stories.

I lost those days of winter,

When the calm and cold breeze

Came flowing through the riverside windows

Made us shiver from within our soul.

I miss you…. Oh Ganges!

Still flowing through the town,

Down in the scorching heat,

And in the darkness of night,

With a complete silence,

Like blood flowing through veins…

I lost those friends from my life,

With whom I used to bunk classes,

Cracking jokes at the canteen,

Sharing happiness and sorrows,

And sometimes punishment too,

As time went by….

Our friendship drifted apart

Like Sun from the evening sky…

The teachers! I miss them too…

Not all!

But quite a few…

The shouting and those boring lectures,

The early Morning Prayer,

And those discrete mathematical structures

The environment that I have lost

Will never return!!

After-all past is past.

Now sitting lonely at Bangalore

And thinking, Life changed so fast.

I had never thought

About leaving my hometown..

But now I am sitting

Thousands of miles away,

Writing this poem…

Really I have found bliss in loneliness!

Just another eternal pang of separation…

Written by Niloy Paul

© Copyright Reserved 2008