Sikkimizing & Other Poems

The Dawn
Half the globe is played by the children

And the rest gem-studded on rich man’s hat

A poultry befitting into this little earth
where morning starts with a half-boiled egg

It has dawned everywhere

On wheat-fields      the dustbins      in a village of Assam
Beauty is the thing we travel for

Beautification is drawn in time swell

Many took their belongings along touring
Multiplying in numbers they wished to swell with joy
All those dreadful fears and flowers in the jungle

You see      look there      come and see

Over the top of our poultry fond of pomatum

a cock is cheering up dawn

The Tuner
Black pianos are out of fashion now a days
Decayed in floods

like gossips on chopped fingers

An ancient log bridge and

I standing

a spud in hand

A chopper sometime or        with pain-killer drugs

In dream I often see black hairs flowing down
Adrift from a bowline of decayed syllabus

Banks splashing up hunger

Musically dumb and dead in eloquence

They go down and down to the charitable

On reeds many had bedsteads by the piano
So many reeds and so many destitute like those reeds
The night over log bridge

Gallay Fifteen – 10

We mount and we mountain

We fount and we fountain

We-o-we were in air-downs and up talks

Raising glasses turn on a song

in northern accent

A limited bird prepositioning

Fleeing we win Windsor


We mineway
has earth as tooth-cleaner for termites

Letters are being sieved from loose earth

Waves rippling down in smooth death-yards

Some manpower searching quality-ruins for blessing

Gun is Gunis when waves anonymously lose beauty
Nothing happens save we mount and we fount

Sikkimizing -1

Misty white noise, a phon

Hopes ablaze like a forest fire, dawning

and the winter sun–chill fidgeting along

a versified trekking is slated

for a foggy ascent to Varse, today,

at Hille, among hills up alpines
and footing in …. they …. so cool

Day time May

Earth Sikkimized

Floral chips ‘been arranged on a moss palette
Log-delogging algae’s in my thermo-cooler
breathing and panting at the same time I
brake as that car under the shadow beyond scene

I have my tea sitting among the firs

See a shanty slanted like the stooping one

See a chair grow long and tottering tall.

It clocks bitter fifteenth of that server girl

And the trekkers still are out faded.

9000 feet by foot I saw writ on a board by the gate
And the still music ! Wao ! Mathemetized over sky !

Rag-pieced clouds were those

wanting real sun

Wanting sun but for a scorching one

I am attentive still

Did anyone else hear that axe-hits, Gosh !
Sunning in stunning noise,

sparks are spattering around

fading in are cottony’s wrapper of country cloud worn
counting and discounting alike

Poem Anonym – 2

Barin’s bearings are reeled

He is dumb found in reverse mirror

Local name of the leafy town river is phloem

Western boat ……. A reddish blob of departing mail van up

A bough

This much for reading on the fortune spread

That star

A barn dormer ….. the ear ….. audition …… augusting sound

Let it rain reluctantly ….. let the rice crop pile up in the field

This ricing as Arabian alphabet and rusting spring song and
the bonsai century squeezed into this poetic notations
Honyline in the bifocal

with goon qualities we remain

Word meanings are acting mute over orphan thread

of a blown paper-kite flown in wind

the way Barin is looking up

Willing to come out from album

The centurion express is just so missed for nothing

Poem Anonym- 3

Another fossil poem was admitted today

in fossil hospital

Those who knew fossils by smell
Wanted to become fossil themselves

Formless is such a chair four legged

Erection of prime chimney …… articulated iron …… dumb books
In those arranged letters denoting is the glow of May-sweat
and broken pieces of the symbol Archon hymn of their marriages

House gossips will no more be out in any manner
Mental conditions will not leak out

The flaming dhak is prepared to confect today

Oil    coal    hydrolyzed heart and museum of poem watching

So not the June and only the bedridden poem

All around the ladylove-life that is in the ninth June

…… the moon …… the sand …… the ice ….. all today
are skeptical fossil-smiles in freeness in exhibition

The Folk Dancer bg-1

Breaking apart and fusing again

here and there

in Bazaar entire

For the dance within matter

I ride a train this far and watch

kerosene pressure lamps undulating in dark fields

Like this in hundreds

In thousands

Dances are alive

But the dancers eluding


Putting up breakwaters

I devour baby-rolls

My stomach ailing up in putrescence

Boats cruising with cargo

with grief
With this refugee river I am at loss to be

Those babies play hung from trees

And to those guardians looking for babies in the garden

I choked and de-smiled

and drank the river dry

Office Bound bg2

The frustrated feet appeared running now

Head over rail line ….. the ear ….. the left ear
To hear that running sounds counting money
like it happens in anti-pollution seminars

Just as a chimney rose up

Ah …… a pail splashed down into draw-well

Mr. Banerjee heads for office having lunched

An earring worn audaciously

….. How come raillery glittering as gold
Looking at brain matters it didn’t appear
that the bogies stopped onto scattered Intel
A resounding bridge under the dealt play-cards inside train coach
Eyes of the typewriter now is set across window
Speeches are condensing like scriptures

Left and Right margins in language

It was around 10.35

bout office time

Sixth Symphony

I die you god

The brain is starved today

It did touch ancient hungry time perplexed

In sensual body and hair

In qualifying colloquial thrust is absolute breath

This glee-ting evening ensemble

of weekends hummed in low minor

Save this there is no sensor in consciousness

Time has touched all six surfs of waterfronts and me

Tonic water of a stream close by

The deaf taste and smell gearing up boots

Hungry in head this is my vendetta

My poetry with selfish poems

Starry buffalo drawn two times

Seen twice over

And those cries of babies Ah God

Die you

Introduction of poet Shri Barin Ghosal has been copied from his interview published in Kaurab ( Photographs are collected from the net.

About author

Barin Ghosal
Barin Ghosal 1 posts

Barin Ghosal, co-editor and a pivotal member of the Kaurab group, is one of the most innovative anti-mainstream Bengali writers of his generation. Fom his very early years, Barin focussed on alternative literary pursuits, rigorously experimenting with the structure of the modern Bangla novel, as well as contemporary poetic language. In the early 1990s, Barin wrote a series of essays in Kaurab and other magazines, introducing "Expansive Consciousness" (or EC) - a new literary theory that provides a novel semantic-semiotic analysis of poetic language and thought. He spent great energy identifying, analyzing, theorizing concurrent trends in contemporary Bangla poetry.

You might also like

Paradelle on Love & Other Poems: Lyn Coffin

Lyn Coffin (born November 12, 1943) is an American poet, fiction writer, playwright, translator, non-fiction writer, editor. She has published fiction, poetry and non-fiction in over fifty quarterlies and small

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

Anathpindat & other Poems

Anathpindat* 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

Humans Without Borders: Atindriyo Chakraborty

The Bir Hors are a nomadic and traditionally hunting gathering tribe who number below 10,000 on this date, as per wiki wisdom. Presently, they have around sixteen settlements across Jharkhand

Eternal Mulberry:Manindra Gupta – Part II

Part 2 Calcutta A few years later of my mother’s death, my grandmother became eager to see me. It was then for the first time I visited Calcutta [Kolkata] along

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

Revisiting Ritwik Kumar: Parthapratim Ghosh

“I & my Pen are same”. This line used to be synonymous with Ritwik Kumar Ghatak during his life time. Its the same line, we hear from Nilkantho Bagchi, the

Parabash-A Story of Migration: Chakori Mitra

Parabash, written in 1975, was a story about a forfeited man who came all the way from a remote place of Bengal to the city of joy to accumulate some

The « Silent Nature » of Odilon Redon: Konstantina Moschou

As part of the national celebrations for the 100th anniversary of his death, the Bordeaux Fine Arts Museum proposed to pay tribute to the painter Odilon Redon by producing an

House With Legs & Other Paintings: Santanu Mitra

Santanu Mitra has obtained Bachelor of Visual Arts and Master Degree in Printmaking from Government college of Art  & Craft, Kolkata. His work has been exhibited in several Art Galleries

Krakow, Poland: Swagata Basu Pajor

The first thing that you notice upon landing on Krakow’s John Paul II International airport is the crisp fresh air. The drive down to Nowy Sacz is truly a sight

The Chemistry-Lover who doesn’t have a Nuclear Sense

As we returned from the proposed nuclear power plant, we carried a pamphlet with us. When we reached back our village, the electricity had stopped. I ran to the room

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


1 por la precisión supe que el tiro vino de dentro **** for accuracy I knew the shot came from inside 2 me oculto en la rutina   sonrío    reparto tarjetas

POEMS OF SHYAMAL SINGHA: Nilabja Chakrabarti Transcreates

Shyamal Singha was born in 1949. Died in 2003. Very strange. Born on Children’s Day (14th November) and expired on the over-commercial love-day (14th February). In spite of writing throughout


The boys from the neighbourhood are sitting on rented chairs and chatting away. They are tired of playing carrom, the board game. Those who were playing bridge, even they have

Blues for a Black Cat

Boris Vian (1920-59) led a rather too short life on this earth. But, within that 39 years, he wrote 10 novels, 42 short stories, 7 theatre pieces, 400 songs, 4 poetry

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

Excerpt from a Dream

And when realization struck the ethereal bird singing away a faint melody that scored the background of a vague dream, it muted itself. The virtual creature refused to carry its

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!


No Comments Yet!

You can be first to comment this post!

Leave a Reply