For More Distance
Inspired by W.S. Merwin
Images of my old dreams
Bring me an unfamiliar home,
To the threshold of soft touches, in the mind.
Spring breaks through cold winter nights
I return to my silent hours
Syllable by syllable, for more distance.
Between you and me, between two stars,
Between land and sea, mouth and a pen.
Holder of my heart delinks, present with past,
Kolkata divided into two spheres, North and South.
Last Rites of My First Love
When there are no stars in the sky
I count memory.
I brood over present unhappiness
Blood sprinkle all my parts
My uneasy hands search for solid mass, somewhere under a
Take different turns
From different ends. I stumble at bumps.
I read my earlier lines, written during the rain
I count sighs, her texts for me. She made promises
Of past, of now, for tomorrow
She gave me names
So many, on so many occasions.
My calls had life, actions lived, for so many years.
Whim had its own fall
It rains elsewhere, courtship of fresh cloudlets
Here and there, beyond the musical consort. She travels
With a visa in a new terrain.
I walk anywhere to anywhere
I visit small rivers of the mind, plant my sapling
Wet green is my company
Leaves of these trees
Bear my survival. I live.
With a heavy heart, like deep colours. Water on each petal
Tough to dissolve. Poets know my hysteria. I long
To be read in silence, between the green gardens and blue
Between all chilly moments, lives of parallel thoughts.
I’ve a long last rite to perform. She is invited
With all her misgivings and hot summer sighs.
Not all ignorance, in her blue eyes, equally dark.
One suggestion for you, dear she
Don’t read my poems as my autobiography. I’m
Only one phone call away. Try out soon.