Slithering Dreams

She knows I can never be,
the man in dream she often sees.
Her touch, like tattered gloves in rain:
Warm but wanting, yearn in vain. 
Her nails like crescent moon at night.
She savors on the darker side.
Ploughing through my thick dark thews,
a skin deep scar with crimson hues.
Light trickle down my endless pores,
hairs dancing to her overtures.
Whispers, rustling like a rattle snake;
in cold blood, venom, she injects.
She knows who I often see,
dreaming of someone but me.

Dichotomy

I stand with one foot in an abyss,
toes pedicured by dangling anglers.
And the other on a mountain,
basking in crimson lava.

My fingers desperately wander,
over frigid extremities, benumbed.
I hold the earth from spinning
and then give up, pricked by it's axis.

As I raise my head over the horizon,
dark clouds appear and languidly disappear
breaking the melancholic monotony of blue.
Mizzling with eyes clenched.

The rest? I know little about,
hides and runs in spaces confined ,
hoping, that perhaps someday,
stars realign, abjuring the eternal hunt.

বিশ্বদেব মুখোপাধ্যায় এর অসামান্য কবিতা

প্রশ্ন
- বিশ্বদেব মুখোপাধ্যায়

ও নদী, ও নদী, উপুড় শবদেহটি কার ?
যাচ্ছে ভেসে স্রোতউদাসীন পার থেকে ওপার...
মুখ দেখি না | গোত্রবিহীন শবদেহটি কার ?

দেখছে কিছু? ঘোর ঘোলা জল | মুখটি নিচু আর
চিৎসাঁতারে অনভ্যস্ত  শবদেহটি কার ?

মগ্ন রাখে অংশত বুক, ভগ্ন দেহভার
বইছে নদী | কিন্তু কাকে ? শেষ অবধি তার
প্রশ্ন থাকেই -- শবদেহটি | শবদেহটি কার ?

ঢেঁকিঘর (২০০১)
 সবুজপত্র প্রকাশনী

Memories and me

I often wonder why,
good memories make me cry.

Like raindrops lost in time,
frozen tears with little shine.

Salty lips of bitter taste.
This is where it comes and rests

With a prancing of the tongue,
I hold it back before its sung.

As it trickles down my heart,
until death do us apart.

I hope I never die
good memories make me cry.

Butterfly

Merry!!! a rainbow sings,

As a drop of red trickled down,
my blue eyes pranced upon

and ripped its fragile wings

I looked away, not to see

Help! It made a sound,
still writhing on the ground

Pick me up and set me free

I placed it on the window sill

I prayed so my sins absolve
the the fairies heard my call

And the rainbow flew atop the hill

Dank

This cold feeling on my neck
Little fingers running across

A restive soul has connived
for long and that explains,

Explains my predicament,
I call it fate but He designs...

If only those hands were warm,
Warm enough to melt my heart,

I might have turned and held
your hand in love and despair...

Quid Pro Quo Non-Violence

Only a few weeks back, I had an argument with a friend of mine on the issue of global demilitarization and disarmament. Sensing my proclivity towards non-violence, he was quick to draw my attention to the home brewed problem of Indo-Pak relations. He asked me whether I truly believe that a non-violent solution is possible in the event of an Indo-Pak war. He questioned me on how, I suggest to tackle terrorism. My reply was somewhat brusque. I said "Fortunately, I don't share the feeling of animosity some of my countrymen have towards Pakistan and Pakistanis. I don't believe counter violence is a solution to violence."

To this effect I shared with him, an analogy, which I felt best described the global situation at hand.

It is as if we are standing with guns on each other's temples. The questions that really haunt us both: Who and when? Then suddenly I decide that I have had enough and decide to put my gun down. well, yes of course there is the possibility of you blowing my brains out. But my death was imminent even with the gun up. At least now, there is the possibility of survival. I can now expect the same behavior from you as I have been kind enough to spare your life. Can't I? No wait. How is that possible? I'm the saintly one and you are the devil. You will never spare me. I won't either. And the gun is back up. Or what reason do I have to believe that you are very different from me? That I am the one who abjures violence and you condone it? We both had guns pointed at each other even a while back. Why is it that I am driven to believe that you are intrinsically violent and I am not? It is possibly because I am too. If I can drop my gun, so can you just as you can pick it up when I do.

Ultimately we believe we are not so different when it comes to violence, but seem to think the diametrically opposite when it comes to non-violence. Why this non-homogeneity in our thought process? If we widen our ambit, it is quite clear that we are all on the same page where violence is concerned. It is quite likely that we will still be on the same page as far as non-violence goes.