Sorrow – Samik Chakraborty
Sorrow is a sloth
unfettered by poisonous mushrooms growing around him.
Sorrow is the sleep
That tires the mind,
Weakens the joints,
Brittles the bones.
Sorrow is the senile woman
Stooping, with a stick
Amidst a snow covered Russian forest.
Not a starlit sky,
You a man of wood and soil,
Of virility and domesticity –
Have rejuvenating supplies of milk and eggs.
You don’t find
In my tavern
Where unresting spirits hover tirelessly.
Of their mortal bodies
Want nourishment –
Spring and bloom,
Smiles and tears,
Milk and eggs.
They follow you till your bed
And hide under your pillow,
Behind your mirror,
In your closet,
In the creases of your cotton shirt
Till you sweat.
Your body rubbed with mine,
covered with thick fabric spores in it;
I wore the fine cashmere woven by mother-
Your arms rubbed mine
Brushing my nose with your musk masculine fragrance
Your eyes had a determined stare
A stare of will
of hard work,
Labour of the body;
Your thighs apart from each other
A giant bag peeping in between
You pulled it while getting down.
Maybe I will never see you again,
Maybe you mix with the nameless crowd of Chandni chowk,
The Muslim cap of your father
Whose pointed finger made you sit beside me
Will float like a ghost when Chandni chowk will be empty,
With no man floating around;
You would pull your heavy bag
With those muscles stretched,
A feat of strength
O God of desire!
The marks on your fingers
Speak the spilled blood once pouring.
You have poured your fragrance onto me
The saltiness of the Arabian Sea,
the Cardamoms of the Nilgiris,
The Attars from Istanbul’s markets.
You get down at Chandni Chowk.
I continue travelling.
I must attach herewith that this is the first poem by me where Dilli peeps in. Maybe because I’m falling for the city. Slowly but surely.
My phone notifies that it’s your birthday
What was between us has drowned in the Ganges
I forgot you
Three years have passed since those tender overflow of sentiments
I did not learn anything from you
I touch the icon, it snoozes.
I feel a cold breeze tingling my bare feet
Did the breeze travel from Volga to my balcony
Bringing a piece of cold from your heart?
It’s 12:18AM now
I go to sleep
To delve into an oblivion of deep
Your saliva covers my skin
It dries and joins my body
Your eyes were the like of a meditating saint
Your tongue pushing the inside of my mouth
screams something incorrigible,
devoid of logic;
The fragrance of you lingers on my skin.
The exhausting labour of a metro
Screens your saintly eyes,
Unsettles my rest.
When I wake up
Beside your skin,
When I draw on your brown texture
You close your eyes
Dipping into a deep universe of senses
In a moment
– kept aside,
covered with care.
She was bathing
with a thick lather
in a steamy air,
when she saw
in the mirror,
a steamy Girl –
an unclean mirror
where she saw
only her eyes
as her own,
which felt repulse
for the beaming reflection
strange setting Sun –
unkempt, unawaited, uncalled for,
propelling her to dig deeper than
the two inches of water accumulated above her feet ;
hot Water drizzling
flowing through her body in unwanted streaks-
an invisible, unforeseen Artist
draws on her body,
in no fashion,
the strokes of his paintbrush –
now visible, now invisible.
A plaque is running through her mind
in a spree –
knowing no bounds,
She looks at the mirror –
and looks at her eyes –
to helpless .
Not illusive, I see myself in all of them with whom you have traversed so many roads, differently. Not only can I identify but embody the concern they bore for You.
You were unaware that you are with the same entity, having different names,
bearing different fleshes,
speaking through different gazes;
but my body aches with the familiar smell of your body.
I am in all of them the hands of whom you held, the lips of whom you kissed
and the hearts of whom you threw away with the pleasant smile intact in your fair face.
Now that you have come to me,
the Stars, the Clouds, the mighty Night Sky
are the testimonies.
Once again you have come
for I bear a different face this time as well.
How easily are you
On the face of this Earth
Consistent with your deeds claiming chastity from the new body gasping for breath underneath your Powerful Paws!
I am far away from your City, the city
where you are a cult,
which had a dismal sheen,
with scanning eyes and eerie breeze,
drizzles of gloom and deceptive smiles.
Did Enmerkar’s messenger reach your city in the quest of Lapis Lazuli?
I, in my forlorn, cozy seclusion, yearn to recollect you in vestiges till I meet you in entirety.
– Samik Chakraborty
The Roads fraught with guilt and sneer,
the Roads on which I used to walk past ,
now derive amusement out of this pitiable creature.
The Roads which we frequented time and again,
hand in hand,
keeping a balanced pace-
our hearts too.
The luscious lips that I glanced with feverish amusement,
surrounded by these roads
The confession left me bereft –
Now my heart paces slow
Pining for it’s companion.
Disgrace has embraced me
leaving behind aftershocks of stark emptiness.
It would have been better maybe
if the message would not have escaped
from it’s habitat- my heart.
It flew away-
leaving all floodgates open
in mere oblivion,
swaying the same to flood furthermore,
drowning all my fear , anxiety ,hope, love…
the Roads were still dry ,
piercing Me with a thirsty gaze-
reminiscent of unforgettable agony.
- My love is not real. It is too beautiful to be real. Someone said “it’s an enigma”. But no, it’s not that too.
The whole feeling is like a hangover-drowsy, confusing. It’s an addiction from the clutches of which you cannot escape, you don’t want to escape but you don’t want to stay either-it’s uncomfortable, you are not comforted when you need it, and when comforted your soul yearns to wander out like an aimless Bird in the azure sky-free, nothing to hold you back,but then, you need something to pull you back, something that will connect you with your roots.
Love connects people but then someone said love separates too.But when your love becomes your root, you become oblivious of the fact whether you reap happiness or anguish, you just want to experience it,go where it takes you like that Bird -shameless,heedless, incorrigible, boundless.And happy-even in sorrow ,even in pain as whatever he does he remains connected to his root. It’s his identity with which he will stride forward, but not hurriedly;with his own pace -relaxed, contented, having no liabilities , having no worries.
Well, love is confusing. The only mistake that God made was that we are supposed to entangle ourselves in a romantic relationship with a human- a different entity, bearing a different identity, whose root you might not be, might never want want to be.
But then society plays it’s grand customary part- you are liable, you have to stay, constricted , bounded, walled , you cannot escape.
Is that love?
I donot know.
Love is a confusion which I cannot disentangle.