Ajker Nibaron

Dohai tomar robithakur

amar moto akjon kay niye 

tumi akt kobit lekho.

dhoro, tar nam nibaron...nibaron chatujjye

sada sidhey chha posha manush se,

nibaron thakey chhidum mudi lane er

ak talir chhat wala barir  chiley kothai,

se chhat swadhinota diyechhey

roddur , brishty  ar anek arsola , makorsha 

ar tiktiki ke,

kanch bhanga janala dhushor akash keo

adhikar diyechhey or nongra chador e

lutiye porte.

rojkar moto nibaron jivey tok tok swad niye

ghum bhengey uthey

plato r songey breakfast e bosey,

tabil e chapa dewa chapa hishi te bivor

ak bishal bajarer fordo

tatey anek kichhur moto mohargho

chingree machh o thakey.

Albinoni r concert shuntey shuntey 

nibaron chokh bojey

ar tar antoswarshunyo mukhey photey

ektu constipated hashi,

nibaron porechhey anek, bojheni kiichhui,

jeebonay tar shillong paharey

jaowa hoye utheni

tobay ak adhbar se dighai baratey giyechhilo,

ar sekhanei alap hoyechhilo

kono labonyo noy, molina r songay,

namer songay tar ruper aschorjo mil.

nibaroner buker modhye shillong 

paharer moto mosto akta pahar chhilo,

ar sei pahare ga beye nibaron roj sokaley

akta bhari pathor uporey uthto

ar sondhey holay se pathor 

goratey goratey neechey ese porto,

ta dekhey molina bolto khil khil hese

" tumi akta apodartho "

Abhsapto sisyphaser moto nibaron

akta sabdoheen sabdo khujey khujey aboseshey

pragoitihasik manusher moto akta 

jantob artonad korto.

nibaron konodin kobita lekheni,

se porechhey anek bojheni kichhui.

roj ratey nibaron

andhokar ghoray khatey shuye

nirmom bhabe

nijer shorir sorsho korey dekhto

se benchey achhey kina,

mrityu kamona korto nibaron,,

abarmorey jaowar kono jukti khujey  petona.

dohai tomar robithakur

khub akta sdharon , chhaposha

amar moto akjon ke niye akta kobita  lekho tumi

robithakur.

@amiyo da

A death

by Amiya Chatterjee on Saturday, 27 October 2012 at 12:17 ·

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One death in the city,

It has brought world of chaos  

in here,in the lanes

on the city streets,

the very air confused

unrestrained cacophoney

obscene high decibel ecstatic tears,

such disrespect to the dead

oh such assault to the parted soul,

oh dear god  go to sleep

and in your dream 

forgive the blasphemy of man 

against death.

Only contemplative infinite sky

Only  reverberating silence

with supplication

can pay  the due respect

to death.

Not ecstatic blaring lights

not huge bouquet of ravished flowers

no pedanticity , no songs , no poetries

FOR THE DEARLY DEPARTED.

Death is meditation like Mountain

Death is SHIKAN TAZA,

"Sitting quietly and doing nothing"

@amiyo

Wild Flower

 

Wild flowers


I climbed thousand steps
hoping to achieve
the miracle of wisdom, 
I faced the hard facts
Explored the Philosopher"s Mind.
At the end of day
My back bent down
tired soul,
She sad, " Here  , 
take this bunch of Wild flowers,
Aren't they the same 
The wild flowers and the philosophy ?
But How easy it is to carry 
The wild flowers.
Dont you know? "

The centre

by Amiya Chatterjee on Friday, 17 December 2010 at 11:26 ·

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The source of your joy 

is your laughter,

the source of your laughter is 

your joy

Come my darling

come  with a cup of tea

sit here quietly

sit here reverentially

sit here silently.

Be centred,with the centred cup

The whole universe now 

with the billion dancing proton

rotate  with you 

slowly sleepily illusory, futuristic.

This moment my darling 

centred you 

centred the cup

with an ivalluable NOW

invalluable impermanent life

silent ...still

Darkness

by Amiya Chatterjee on Wednesday, 2 February 2011 at 11:02 ·

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Put your veil on my face

cover it with you sunrise

cover it with your sunset.

The absolute solitude brings absolute peace 

to my peace.

I am banished 

in my intellectual morbidity

You ask again 

" Why ...Why  "

the selfless sun sets down

NO REPLY !!

The universe sinks

in our tearful eyes 

darkness engulfs.

I dont wish to see 

the mutilated earth any more.

Please cover my eyes 

with your dense dark hair.

Let us now live  eternally partd

with eternal absurdity.

@amiyo

Perhaps

by Amiya Chatterjee on Wednesday, 16 February 2011 at 10:48 ·

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Perhaps you are , Perhaps I am

Perhaps I am not that

Any one.

May be

I am that road built

with some diabolical thoughts.

perhaps my poetry is an echoe,

one can hear in the obscene languages 

of a crowd.

perhaps you and i are

the hungry ghost

copulating  in emptiness.

Then enlightened

in inconsequential emptiness.

Our immaterial offsprings

find a trace

of absurd life,then, in their living .

Middle way

by Amiya Chatterjee on Tuesday, 19 April 2011 at 13:52 ·

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You said stay in the middle

stay between life and death........Fast asleep

Stay in between day and night.....in depth

 Between light and darkness.......exposed

between Union and detachment......tearful

Between emptyness and fullness.....Ecsatatic

Between creation and destruction .....contemplative

Between the Eyebrows ....... Resigned

I  lie in the middle for so long...

Yet why does your mutilated smile 

inbetween  two souls dishevell the ocean's  heart !!!

Flamboyant Beggar

by Amiya Chatterjee on Friday, 31 August 2012 at 14:08 ·

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Why

When we embraced

day after day

night after night

we thought

our love will last .

We thought

our kisses would

sanctify our soul.

Then life was responsibility

Life was duty

life was apathetic bed sheet...

The embrace appeared shameful

kisses appeared venomous,

Love staggered away.

The stone God

by Amiya Chatterjee on Thursday, 20 October 2011 at 11:49 ·

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That fine autumn morning

this primitive stone god,

with sculptured eyes looked 

at this virgingirl 

uncluttered.

To his feet she was  offered.

He raised her to her feet

kissed her jasmine lips,

She bled.

She full of tears 

bathed in flames and 

the nightingle wept,

she whispered 

nenu meeku premistu nanu....

the stone god howled

suffered the magnificent ecstasy.

He wanted no more than her two hands.

Inside the  Music.

Behind that vermilion veil

inside a stravinsky 's concert

she lives,

She had never been described

well enough,

other than  a crescent smile

she had never been discovered.

She kills

when she laughs

the tremors in her voice whimpers

like an antique violin,

Her barbaric eyes glisten.

On her fertile pastures

on her  tender rocks

inside her secret magnolia caves

Shamanic drums beat with rhythm

all nightlong.

late at night she  holds me close

presses her lips on mine  

She sobs

and she stabs me then,

leaves me half dead.

Her eyes will return

free again.

Inside the music.

Malinee's Love

by Amiya Chatterjee on Sunday, 6 March 2011 at 12:52 ·

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( This morning I happened to remember Malinee. and a poem 

 I wrote about her . Some  phrases here  are untranslatable as 

the words are very culture biased. The poem is rather long and I shall not blame my readers 

to abandon it half way through .)

Malinee never loved me

malinee loved my friend Moloy.

five years ago malinee

married Moloy.

For five long years I gave  

my winter , my spring , and

 my summer.

I used to weave the veil of the moonlight

and  cover her face.

I then was the well preserved fossil

in a glass jar on my desk.

I was calm like the water from 

winter snow.

Last year Maline came back

to her father's house next door 

the end of the lane.

Vacant sky in her heart.

She came back like the 

unheard pure sound

to her house.

Malinee never loved me 

She Did love Moloy

 Malinee sat by my  indisposed mother 

and learnt to cook foods

She learnt how much salt or pepper

to add in my meals.

 My white Kurta ( Punjabi .beng)

got a fresher life at the touch of Malinee.

The bed sheet used to be tidy and fresh.

My mother went to her heavenly abode

few days later.

I being th next of kin 

 had to do the last rite.

One morning I started to cook my own food,

 ( Hobishyi ..Beng)

I felt a soft touch on my back.

I turned and saw Malinee

with the rainstorm hair and a most 

ordinary sari.

Like the winter sun rolling silently 

on the courtyard

 she whspered "  That is my job ,

You go and take rest.

When I finish I shall call you"

Malinee lost everything

But did she  love Moloy 

or  me ?

The Tables

by Amiya Chatterjee on Wednesday, 1 February 2012 at 13:50 ·

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It was a gift, 

A butterfly  coloured green sari,

Jhooma chose to hang herself

from the ceiling fan on one 

" Darbari" night.

The twentyone year old 's body  shuddered,

Then stilled,

The little note under  paperweight

on the table shivered and shrieked,

" No one is responsible  for my death,

Ma, you will be my ma 

life after life, after life...

Do not let Baba touch me."

The boy 

in between the deep theories of

Economic Intelligence in the cochingclass

searched  in vain 

towards the empty lane,

Then a hopeless  mournful sigh.

The mother  who lost her first child 

only three  years ago , a victim of Thalasemia,

Froze with her tears of blood,

Lastnights birthday treat 

stood untouched  on the kichen table,

  Red antsoldiers marching around.

The cursed Father Rocked and rocked  and

went on repeating again  and again

from the tables of life......

" Two one za Two

Two two z four....

Fathers , Fathers dont do it

Dont rebuke your unruly child

Do not ...

Two one za Two

Two z Two......

indulge

indulge 

Let her go to another repeat of 

Multiplication tables.

Or be cursed."

(On the basis of a news item . A father used to 

rebuke his daughter for returning late from

coaching classes .The daughter hanged herself )

A Rainy day

by Amiya Chatterjee on Wednesday, 15 June 2011 at 18:30 ·

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It is raining today

 It is raining in Galiff street

In chhatawwala gali and 

on the byelane where you live,

Incessant rain.

I am sad,

old faces appear

painful memories and some 

warmth in the confluence,

Miya Mallhar  and 

the intense vermilion desire

to put my lips on your crimson lake

and.....

to whisper , Ami tomakay Bhalo bashi"

Its raining ,,

And you ?

the large window facing that banana tree 

you let go of your mind.

Maverick.

Madhu babu with his broken 

umbrella  

passing by. 

But My priyotoma (Tr. Sweetheart)

dont you know 

Rainy day is the day of Union ?

The silent fireflies of passion 

flicker in our hearts ?

( This is a poem I  wrote and read during one of  Rabindranath's

Birthday celebration.Originally it  was written in Bangla)

              Rabindranath

Rabindranath, I have  written a poem

for you on your birthday,

a skeletal  naked poetry.

I am sorry

I couldnt write a gorgeously dressed  poem.

My poem is like a gangraped  vietnamese 

thirteen year old child, 

the casualty of a war.

Rabindranath, You didnt see that,

I did, she was my daughter.

When six yearold  girl was doused with petrol

and set fire

and her naked scream  made even the 

asphalts ashamed,I wept with her in my poem.

Rabindranath, You didnt see that,

I did

In a hospital bed  on a white bed sheet 

she  was lying,

Thre was not asingle spot on her body

where her mother could  put her embalming  lips.

Rabindranath, you didnot see

her burnt butterfly lips,

I did 

she too was my child ,

My poem is about that child and the 

Grieving mother.

In the land of Gita Upanishad

a girl child is  hurled  by men 

of a " GREAT NATION "

My poem is about the mother who

cried in helpless rage.

Rabindranath You didnt see that.

I did

How a single bomb destroy , and maim

the population of a nation generation 

after generations

I did see that My poetry is about those mothers

who gave birth to disfigured babies

after long expectancy.

Rabindranath You didnt see

You didnt hear their helpless howl.

 Rabindranath one Jaliwana bag made you angry

in protest you

refused to accept a Royal  honour,

we thank you.

In a crowded Harrison road junction

one mother was stripped naked

by her sons who danced around her 

in ecstatic laughter,

Rabindranath ,You didnt see that

I did ,

 She was my mother.

 Rabindranath, You cried so many times

in your life,

Rabindranath you made us cry

to heal ourselves,

You wrote beautiful poems

Poems of joy, of bliss of peace

You wrote poems of supreme consciousness

We Thank you 

We thank you for the great honour 

you brought to our nation

For all these

I present you today

a fleshless

Burnt 

skeletal 

naked 

Poem

On your birthday

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