Anathpindat & other Poems


Rotten sea shell gashes your opium dream

Before the morning prayer dance floor dishevels.

While taking coffee in this bordello city

Sleep evaporates from checkered table cloth.

With cloud on your shoulder like lithe santhal1 lass

Oh mendicant sraman2, mackintosh clad,

You traverse Sudder3 Street alone, without Buddha.

Neither a merchant nor a slave comes to you,

Mirthless harlot yawns after sleepless night.

Rain of gold is not for you, flouter of the order

Leaving sanguine banner or path of Ahimsa

You enchant beauties to the darkness of taxicab

A dandy, celebrating with a venal sick rose

Indulge in wonder lust, as life is just pathos.


* Disciple of Buddha, was a rich merchant, who left all his wealth to join the order, Tagore wrote a poem on him.

  1. A tribe situated in the plateau of Chhotanagpur in India.
  2. Buddhist monk
  3. A street in Kolkata, popular for cheap restaurants, hotels etc.


Pan and Kolkata

Psychedelic memory returns at last

Mystery of neon night, endangering seventies,

Love for Krishna floating to Hendrix,

Oh Gopvala1, wars quenched your thirst.

With Bugle-flirted red and blue banner,

Earth striptease to dollar divine,

Your adulterous natures pine

For the ’marican brigands’ pelvic shrine.


The creek deepens as you forget Raag Mallhar2,

Serene secluded land gets Petro-Lust ravaged

Foreign Deodorant’s odor is a just waste,

Even As spring god in your body holler.

All that pleases will get murdered at the last requiem

Guitar in his hand Feresta3 will come to condemn.


  1. Women of a clan of dairy farmers
  2. A Raga related to rain
  3. Angel



It is better to fall like a leaf than burst out,

it is better

in this cloudy morning to walk away steadily.

I will get inside Mangal-Kavya2,

a silent car’s somber velocity is calling,

like glittering water

mixing with blood I will lie upon the road –

as if in a fondness to lie.

Days of my imprudence careened

on the bonnet of a cab.

We haven’t seen mirage on water much,

but seen other mirages a lot on the nocturnal body

longer than Arabian Nights.

Open window’s carelessness makes us wet,

bringing the sea to our bed.

If we keep it inside our eyes

can we taste little bit of salt,

like this, unblinking?


  1. a coastal city situated in Orissa, famous for its beach and Jagannath Temple
  2. book of poetry consisting tales from middle age

Now I know days of my hassle have begun

A death, which was ascribed to us,

under the foggy gas lamp by broughams wheel,

and resurrecting like pious murderer Raskolikov

– it was denied to him.


He wanted to keep on your bosom’s cleft

spine of  the poems and turn pages.

On your skin, like spotted clothe,

will shiver the warmth of the words.


but winter evening doesn’t have any hue,

while the old garret waits

for the darkness to pounce.


See, the inert body of poetry

sleeping on my table

killed by calculated math.

like your unmindful scarf, which you left here.

Now it lies upturned like a

chloroformed frog

to cease under my gloves

and he hasn’t learned the trick of begetting.


I still remember the silk scarf,

flakes from cigarette wrecked it

ink from my pen wrecked it

absence of your neck, shoulders, breasts, wrecked it


Now I know days of my hassle have begun.

Blue Muffler

It rained much in this winter.

This winter in Kolkata

we talked about pollution, global warming,

arranged many Seminar and meetings.

But while I walked through the fog,

you haven’t even noticed me,

forget about recognizing.


I walked through the grey road of rapture,

the light from traffic signal kept me warm,

it was warmth of a sparrow’s breast.


And my shadow got lost

in the mist covered Gariahat.

Your shadow got lost too.

Did our shadows walked together

in this city, did they had tea

from a roadside shack?

Before trying to know their whereabouts

I had traversed quite a distance

and my blue muffler

got wet, wet and wet.


N.B: Translated by poet himself

About author

Subhadip Maitro
Subhadip Maitro 1 posts

Subho Maitro (Subhadip Maitra) is an author, translator, and journalist. He is a bilingual writer who has written poems and short stories in both English and Bengali. He has written two books of poem Jadukori Boighar (2014), Adar bapari jabe Armeni Ghate (2016) in Bengali. He was invited by Sahitya Academy of India’s Juva Sahiti poetry reading session in 2014. He was also one of the 25 feature poets selected by the Prakriti Foundation for The Hindu Lit for Life, 2014. Subhadip Maitra also writes short stories. His Story was selected for Shunya Doshoker Golpo Sangraha, an anthology of Bengali Short stories of first decade of this century. He has attended short story workshop of Kahani Punjab at Dalhousie on 2014. His poems, short stories and essays have been published in various magazines and web journals of India, Bangladesh and USA. Sahitya Academy’s journal Indian Literature published his poems and translation works.

You might also like

Merchandise of Camelia Sinesis & Other Poems

মনোপলি আজ মুত্তিয়া মুরালিধরনের মতো একজন ক্যানভাসার দেখলাম, শুদ্ধ বাংলায় দাঁতের মাজন বিক্রি করছে। অবিকল জনি ডেপের মতো একজন আছে, দৈনিক পত্রিকায় ফটোগ্রাফারের চাকরি করে। ফ্রিদা কাহলোর মতন একজনকে দেখেছিলাম—জোড়-ভ্রূ—বাগেরহাটের

The night train through Simultala: Vineet Iqbal Singh

I would start scavenging the house looking for the ancient, weather-bitten, faithful rucksack – signaling the end of my summer vacations. My itinerary would be in public domain – a

Gaajan -A Hindu Folk Festival: Biswarup Saha

Gaajan is a Hindu festival associated with deities Shiva, Neel and Dharmathakur. Gajan spans around a week, starting at the last week of Choitro continuing till the end of the

Wind-script, Trigger Happy & Other Poems

1. Walk into the eerie; and sense who drills thy tomb with the wind-stone. 2. The propeller turns as a maze. On whose flesh that maroon nightgown murmurs? Oh human-toy!

What I’ll Wear to Your Funeral & Other Poems:Vasudha Pande

Inspiration will not come to you nor will it lie hidden waiting to be put in your pocket this creature it is not a tease nor does it know its

Scent of Women & Other Poems

The last line Two consecutive lines of a poem Always have an ego clash. Who’ll seat beneath? Who cares? No one wants to… But one has to sit. The succeeding

Twin Peaks – David Lynch’s Unfinished Masterpiece: Riddhiman Basu

David Lynch as a filmmaker is acclaimed for his surrealist and often mind-bending cinema. The most celebrated among them are the films ‘Lost Highway’, ‘Mulholland Drive’ and ‘Inland Empire’, which

Sun and Light in Odysseas Elytis’ poetry

Odysseas Elytis was born in 1911 on the island of Crete and was a descendant of a family coming from Lesbos island. When his insular conscience met surrealism, the result

Why Not A full Fledged One

I begin to offload. Not mere  clothes but  more . . . those  thoughts  hanging  about heavily. Stubbornly unmoving, intruding even now whilst I  am  trying to  cover this nakedness.

The Testimony of God

Premashila’s seven-year-old son died on the train. Mother and son were travelling to their village from Hyderabad along with some daily-wage labourers whom she worked with in the city. The

Deed of Gift: Amar Mitra

Deed of Gift (drafted by Sahebmari Baske) Beneficiary: Sahebmari Baske, s/o late Muchiram Baske, race Santhal, Indian in an extended sense, address Mouza Sonarimara, in other words, the Indian republic.

Every day is Sunday: A Reading of The Sense of An Ending

“Every day is Sunday”…… as Tony wanted it to be. Once you open the book and start reading the novel, you will find the first line written, “I remember in

Diaspora, Critical Theories, and Death of Language: Ahmed Shams’ analysis

Avik Gangopadhyay has both critical and creative writings to his credit published in esteemed journals and leading newspapers. A post-Graduate in English Language and Literature from Jadavpur University, Kolkata. He

Argentine writer Gladys Cepeda in conversation with Mainak Adak

Gladys Cepeda is a contemporary Argentine poet. She is the editor of numerous literary magazines of which two most prominent are ‘LAK-BERNA’ and ‘El Septyimo Cielo En Los Ojos’. Her

The Minimal & Infinite

Our time, habits & nuances have been changing rapidly since ‘90s. It started from 1991, through Manomohan Singh’s reform & liberalized economic policies .Then  it started with more sweeping changes

Zen poems

1) These rain drops Fresh and full Drenched in the Touch of sky Come dancing Like a naughty child   2) A kite   Looks like a swinging dot At

Don’t Fear an Apology & other poems

  MANDU Too hot to hide under sheets Mandu lay naked in bed Her back sticky from sweat A voice echoed in her head     Get up, get up,


Back in the 19th century, the Asiatic Society had spearheaded projects for rediscovery of ancient manuscripts. One manuscript that was discovered by the erstwhile Vice President of the society –


We know where we’re born, we can imagine where we will live and we don’t know where we will die. Well, I would say that I am surely in the


No Comments Yet!

You can be first to comment this post!

Leave a Reply