Proem

It is often said that good stories and poems can lift up your mood in no time. As for me, I am just an ordinary human with a colourful vision. We all have our own shades through which we look at this world. Here, I would be presenting some of my pieces; join them and you’ll exactly know how my shades look like! You’ll find an arcade of emotions wrapped up in a surreal blanket of my imaginations, every tale will tell you a different story.

So, if you’re bored with your daily chores, stuck up somewhere, entrapped in a myriad of complications or you feel lonely even with a cup of coffee and music on a moonlit night, my compositions will be your companion. You might not be able to connect with all of it, but some of the pieces are sure to cut through your mind. Keep reading, persist in relating!

Winter

Breaking the geniality of the Azure,
She strides in majestically.
Rickety trees mourn in silence,
Over the cadaver of their beloved comrades.
Her presence is felt through shivers,
A cold heart is all that she bears.
The dermis of health is cracked open,
Leaving scars beyond cure.

Obscured in the cruelty of her disposition,
Lie verities indubitable.
She smells of a strange lonliness,
That shatters the insincerity of rosy images.
An isolation so grave,
Preaches sermons of running in pain.
She begins to end in a realization svelte,
Oh Winter! Your warmth will never be felt.








The dream boy

Far away in the meads,
A young woman sits with zeal in her cheeks.
The fire in her eyes was a trifle,
For those lost in a mental scuffle.

Many an hour she gave away,
In counting heads.
Many came, many left,
None of them evinced deft.

Light struggled hard,
Through the intricacies of her mantilla,
Before melting into darkness.
Sparks of the night again witnessed tears of moroseness.

Hope banishing thoughts deranged,
Added celerity to her toes restrained.
The snowy lake still wishes to behold,
Charming springtide with fables untold.

Hypocrisy

“Who spoilt it? Admit it now, or else the entire class has to face the music.”, screamed the teacher pointing towards a scarred portrait of Monalisa.

“The hypocrisy of the Society.”, mumbled a back-bencher, hiding her face with a black cloth.

Transition

Bold and beautiful,
Serious and sober.
Unmindful of perilous snags,
Why do you wander hither and thither?

Glued to your mouth was a fairytale,
That mused on “Once upon a time”.
Why has “Never” nullified
Thoughts so sublime?

The love that seemed right,
Has taken flight.
And the love that feels right,
Is out of sight.

The twinkling gateways of the heart,
That used to see rainbows in Insanity,
Now read facts stubborn,
Boasting of Practicality.

Caught up

Are you a beautiful story,
Dying in a wasted magazine?
Or a plucky song,
Serene, yet tagged obscene?

Hovering in the chambers of nicotine smoke,
I see weighty dreams still afloat.
Do you smell of flesh and blood,
Or have you metamorphosed into a robot?

Fingers type and the mind crashes,
The pain is relentless.
The CPU goes on exerting itself,
And the task is endless.

If your lips move to the tune of this disharmony,
Let your beauty be left to rot.
If you cannot stand apart,
Stay bridled in your own thought.

Unreal

The clock struck twelve at night,
The winter being unendurable,
An abiding pause had taken over the place,
Until a droning sound was heard.

The murkiness had been turned off,
By a streak of light emanating from the cellphone.
Her eyes gleamed,
Miles away, a boy looked at her picture with a prepossessing smile.

They talked late into the night,
Certainly, they were foolish,
Topics ranged from transistors to aircrafts,
Little did they know that they were under the mercy of Cupid.

She cooled her heels in a meadow where he kept waiting as well,
The meadow being surreal,
They never met.

Both of them knew the Reality,
Hiding emotions had become a game,
Long conversations had lost their charm,
And short ones left them in torment.

All that glitters is not Gold

There is a peculiar thing about glitters that I have never liked; they used to fall off from my craft work
very often, giving me a handful of reasons to feel embarrassed. As for the other students, they used to
derive cynical pleasure out of this sight and the teacher used to go mad at me. Chumki (glitter) is a
human version of that decorative item who used to give me a similar kind of feeling, that too in the days
of my adulthood. Chumki Dutta has been my landlady for four years and there hasn’t been any occasion on which she has “glittered”(demonstrated any activity to make her look like a bright individual). Contrarily, I’ve always seen her dealing with murky affairs.

In the initial days of my stay, I
used to find her friendly, but
that notion of mine perished
sooner than my drunken
thoughts and all that I could
see was a humongous balloon,
who, I felt, had a chip on her
shoulder for being married to
Gautam; this seemed pretty
evident from the way she used
to chide him every morning.
Well, Gautam is that adhesive
who claims to hold Chumki in
place but this adhesive is too
weak and short to handle such
an intractable woman as Mrs
Dutta.

I used to pity her children for
being born into that family but
after seeing them closely, I
had no option other than
blindly believing in Nature’s
sense of fairness. Her
daughter used to get involved
into love triangles at an age
when she was supposed to be
solving problems on triangles
and one could clearly see her
son letting out his urine from
the narrow slits of the fence
guarding their verandah.
Surely, his intention was not to
calculate the horizontal range
of this projectile.

Chumki believed that she looked
like a princess in golden
ornaments and she had every
reason to believe so, for she had
a few admirers who made her
feel special on occasions like
Holi. Don’t ask me about their
ways, I’m afraid I might die out of
extreme laughter and shame.
She seemed to know about
everything happening around
her; news ranged from lovers
getting at each other’s throats on
the streets to shady murder
cases. I could not help myself
from gazing at her with
amazement. I’m sure that the
other tenants will echo my
words.

The day when we were evacuating
our rooms, we saw her shedding
tears and we cried too but I knew
that those tears were coming out
for two reasons: one, out of a
sense of grief that she would
have to find new tenants and the
other one, out of a sense of
happiness that we were leaving.
Sometimes, I really think that the
society should produce more of
these glitters to bring wry smiles
on our faces whenever we are at a
dearth of topics to explore. It is
true that Chumki left no stones
unturned to humiliate her tenants,
but the kind of shine she gave off,
will keep lingering as an anecdote
in our memories.