Of Princess and Elves

[For S, thank you for giving me back those lost memories]

Susan, last night i walked with you
To your cabin by the river
And there i found the answers, to
The questions i have searched forever.

We sat together by the light, amidst
The darkness on the wall
Searching, for those purple evenings
Moments that i thought were
Forgotten once and for all.

As the night went by you took my
My hands in your,
And took me to the promised land
The land of fables, of fairy tales
Of the Princess whom i adore.

And then you started to sing, a hymn
That you had long forgotten, while
Dylan played by the river
And in your eyes i found the answers, to
The questions i have searched forever.

Rain ( Part - I )

The downpour had finally
Abated, outside the jet black
Sky metamorphosed into
The various shades of gray.


I opened the window to get a
Sneak peek into that other world,
And my life was set in a
Flurry of unsettling thoughts
By a gust of cold
Welcome breeze.


The sky was still drizzling
Its tears of happiness.
It touched my face with its
Ice cold hands.


I could not deny the call of
Those virgin drops of speckless
Water
They made me step out on the
Open road.
Drenched, wet, soaked in
The first showers of the April
Rain. The fresh smell of the
Muddy earth, the bright color
The green dazzled with her
Unkempt pride of a teenage girl.


Another burst of cold air pelted
My soul and I shivered in the
Blissful Silence, listening
To the steady sound of raindrops
Falling on the leaves.


Then I saw you, standing under the
Steady dribble of rain. Wet, from
Head to toe. Eyes,
Those kohl eyes ready to cry
In search of a shelter, in need
Of a familiar embrace.


Your eyes met mine, and I lost myself
In their empyrean blackness.

Love

O Love, I know not what thou art
But thy gave me the strength
So that I can love my Heart.

St. Paul's dekha

sediner muhurtogulo dhora nei
amar nokia 3230 te, dhora
nei da vinci r canvas e, ba
sandip ray er camerar kono angle e

sediner sei matal kora
brishtir phota, dujone ekaki
dhoronir majhe, sediner sei st. paul's
er playground, r bhije
sopsope hoye jawa kolkata

rituporno ghosher "okinchitkor" kothatar
maane sedin khub bhalobhabe bujhiye
diyechile tumi, bujhiye diyechile
ei ushko khushko chulwala cheletakeo
tomar moto ruposhi nhalobase kotota

mone pore sediner sei holud
taxi ta, sei punjabi driver ta
jar sathe hoyto r konodin dekha
hobe na amader, hoyto bosbo na tar
garite tumi, ami r konodin

mone pore red fm er sei gaaner
bhandar, mone pore paser taxi te
bose thaka kakima o bus e
ladies seat e nischinte bose thaka
kakur okaron kotakho

na, egulor konotai dhora nei
kono kobir kobitay, ba ajc bose road er
dewale aaka kono graffiti te
sobtai dhora ache amar, tomar hridoyer smritite

Who am I ?

Today once again I have been bestowed with the daunting task of writing "about me" on orkut. During these situations I usually find myself at a loss of words. I have spent so little time of my life to know myself that I hardly can remember anything that would be apt to describe who I am. So I should say that I am a stranger to myself. I do know my ancestry, I also know my abode. I am aware of my scholastic attainments and my religional habitats. But I am in great doubt whether these are just enough to describe me. Still I would try.

I am a dreamer. I believe in my dreams. The fact that whether my dreams would come true or not does not concern me, I dream because I love to. I love to dream because I can see my unfulfilled desires come true in them. I can see my dreams come true in my dreams.

I am a poet. I love to express my deepest emotions with words that best describe them. Sometimes I find success, sometimes a lot remains unsaid. Still, I love to write.

And, I am a simple confused soul.

A New Year's Gift

I had a notion that for the past 25 years of my life my only constant achievement was failure. I have failed in every aspect of life. Be it as a son, as a student, or as a careerist, I have always failed. I started thinking that I would not succeed in anything and had come to accept it as a bitter truth of my life.

Very recently I started writing once again. My previous failed attempts at writing had yielded a single or at the most two pieces of no merits at a time. Although my computer suffered from diarrhoea of words when I started writing emails to my friends. I had accepted this also as a distention of the facts of failure.

But surprisingly, this time I had completed writing a number of articles and had them posted on my blog. Although every now and then I questioned myself when would this infatuation for writing going to end this time, I found out that the untimely demise of The Chronicles of R was nowhere to be seen. Then I received the first comment on my blog. It was from a person whose writing I adored the most. I was very excited as I felt that maybe, just maybe I am good at something.

And as my writing spree continued I kept on receiving comments from that friend of mine. It seemed that someone was really impressed. But I could not write in volumes as in reality I don't write those poems and letters, they make me write them. They tell me their stories and I publish them.

Finally came the day. I posted a poem named "Be my Woman" on my blog. But in the hustle and bustle for the preparation of the New Years bah I completely forgot about that little work of art, my creation. On 31st night when I was sending New Years wishes on my phone I received a call from that very same friend of mine. She told me she was overwhelmed by that piece and told me that she had already left a comment. I promised her to read it before I go off to sleep and with that we ended our conversation by performing the usual episode of exchanging New Year wishes.

Hardly did I know about what was coming next. The next few moments would always remain as the most remarkable moment of my life. I went on to quench my indomitable thirst of the curiosity to check her carefully crafted comments for my posts. And what I saw was the best new year's gift that I ever had or would ever have in my entire life. She had written a poem as a comment. Her own poem. What gift can be more befitting for a fellow writer who wants to tread on the similar grounds.

Thank you very much S for your gift. This would always remain close to my heart.