The Things That are Left & Other Poems

This Side, Alone 12322465_991613440896943_4003452324251139831_o

The tune makes a suspect

Whether it is ghostly enough

The household mimics

I set the debate on a tree-top

 

It gets fruitful

Hey…

Who else mesmerizes all day long

Tell me, who else is there except you

This journey from who to whom

 

Water overtakes the veins

Obliterate these healing nerves if you can

O unknowing, take me to your wonderful unknowing

 

Bring me to your passion face to face

A Vacuum

These to and fro in this path

These comings and goings become epic

We hanged them on the wall, we forgot

We were to drink some water

Yet got stuck and stared at the framework embroidered with thirst

 

Stared at from the perfect mistakes

As if eyes of the sculpture would become alive

 

You have seated in such gaze

That’s why its dead branch likely to fill vacuum

Reincarnation and Sex

These are diverse provocations of the hills

Simple things folded with a ribbon

Here, even you walk by imitating shoes

Such reincarnation that can’t be described

 

Sounds of an unearthly woodcutting about to begin

Veins of sex about to sound

The piston up and down inside

Abandoned houses even long before humans

Someone familial is searching with a raincoat

 

Such reincarnation you can’t describe

The Things That Are Left

I insert myself into my shadow

Within the cage, music’s world and world beyond

And all that other pouring

12719210_1065632650141938_6255776582077621049_o

The bird couldn’t give a full flight

Old feathers fly

Bird loses here and there every now and then

 

If I didn’t come I wouldn’t know

How do the little coins sob

How does the old wizard steers his boat

 

My own death-wish tells me to grow up in the sun

The Half

The picture opens up but fully not

The half of a leg is bent from the window

Light falls on perhaps quite meek

As if someone is doing a trick, not stretching it all up

 

We suppose that moon is crawling

The man will go out just now buttoning his shirt

WhiteBlack

Days of North South lane generations. So, mostly dark. In the slick opening of neighbour’s window I see a bucket of water overflows. Cups-dishes. And I play some music in my room as though the sunshade doesn’t get wet. Apparently I keep alert in such way. Those wasteful days…

Sex is like the bi-lanes only

Extinguished if light comes through

 

Songs play in the neighborhood homes

Songs of desert

 

Water knocks tenderly

 

I do nurse its every finger

One Bad Writing

I see that I am being gossiped132580_168026729902539_7718513_o

In the colony of words

The extent of borderline and vices

that loom in the character’s map

here and there, sticky

 

My neighbor words do suspect

Whether anyone wipes off the ink

 

How promising is a bad writing

No one can understand until you don’t look at its movements

You can’t understand how much breath it exhales

into the wall of its neighbor words

 

About author

Sanghamitra Halder
Sanghamitra Halder 1 posts

A Bengali Poet and non-fictional prose writer. Born in Kolkata, 1984. Studied Master of Arts in Bengali Language and Literature. First poem published in 2004. Till now she is the author of three Bengali poetry collections, NAAMAANO RUCKSACK (2010), DEERGHO-EE (2014), HEY EKTI SAMBODHAN (2016).

You might also like

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

This letter won’t be long…

“But we, by a love so much refined, That ourselves know not what it is, Inter-assured of the mind, Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss.” – Chapter 10,

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

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

It is a Habit & Other Poems: Laltu

It is a Habit No different from other days The struggle for tea in the morning The morning misery in the eyes of my daughter the border defined by her

Christmas & Other Poems

Birth of a feeling And the dogs groan … to make them satiate and sedate a night was made Intercourses, cold – to be performed crossing the greedy voyeurs of

Kite & Other Poems: Bijoy Sankar Barman

An accomplished Assamese poet and translator, Bijoy Sankar Barman (b.1980) already has nine published books on different genres to his credit. The recipient of the prestigious Munin Barkataki Award in

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

Dreaming of Freedom: Palestinian Child Prisoners Speak: Yousef M. Aljamal

Shadi Farrah was just 12 years old when he was arrested in November 2015 with his friend Ahmad alZataari. They were held for over a year until January 2017 when

The Cadaverine Man & Other Poems: Rajosik Mitra

OUR WORLD She shone against the obsidian night, The great blackness of the sky.. Like a half moon, a light from beyond The known, and notions Of life that glue

I’m a dropout horse

I always suffer from the dilemma whether poetry can at all be “translated”. These one-liners have been translated, with necessary changes in some texts, keeping in mind the main spirit

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!

Escape: Saikat Baksi

He scooped up one triangular slice from the soft round pizza smothered with a molten crust of cheese. “Little more of oregano please” He told the young man at the

My Elder Brother & Other poems

An important Bengali poet of 80’s, Dhiman Chakraborty was born and brought up in Kolkata. The first edited magazine by Chakraborty was ‘Aalaap’ (Introduction / Conversation). In the year of

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

‘Television Of The Rotten Soul’ Poems of Falguni Ray: review by Aaron Murdoch

“When blue darkness of midnight comes down on, the stars of your own iris, no, I won’t make you naked now.” ‘Television of the Rotten Soul’ by Falguni Ray, translated

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.

TRADUCCION POEMAS VIKTOR

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

The One Who Brings Density of Haze & Other Poems: Marifé Santiago Bolaños

Writer Marifé Santiago Bolaños (Madrid, 1962) is a Doctor in Philosophy. As Professor of Aesthetics and Art Theory at the Rey Juan Carlos University, Madrid, her research focuses on the

0 Comments

No Comments Yet!

You can be first to comment this post!

Leave a Reply