Nostalgia and Other Poems
I stood there, awash with
sand dunes I never visit
one foot twisted inside of itself:
my father’s words washed over me,
this script my antique.
I have not bothered to learn
the lost pages between us
the zillionaire babe fantasy
in the Lisa Frank diary
spontaneous stories of twin girls with 23 siblings
green-lined paper & stained blue pilot pens
scarred against blueprint, I mean,
Geneva font on my mother’s first Mac, before
Mombasa and FM music. before rehearsals for The Crucible
lying legs up in the heat,
pyjamas collecting at my hips;
no neat matching sets.
instead: marker stripes,
more ladders than snakes
R ma’am smiled & I tattled;
I was afraid of anyone who could make their toenails bleed
but now mine do, too
warm rain, barefoot, lice shampoo;
twigs and bugs in the swimming pool.
& then it’s drama club & the cool girls wear thongs and pretty bras
& straighten their hair & she comes into the bathroom & tells me
stop being so cocky
swinging on K’s grounds
I don’t know why I didn’t call her
trying to sing in My Fair Lady but I’m out of tune, or
it’s M ma’am’s fake British accent.
crowded vans and sitting mesmerized.
fluffy ruffled dresses fade into cheap facsimiles.
my friend made her maid pull the hair out of her brush
we smiled at all the elegant pictures in Europe and I am done with inspiration
done with secular white teeth, or
making friendship bands with slum school kids
I am a runaway bead from America to America
glass and Czech, the clasp of a whirring fan
a train berth
a turmeric treatment.
my hair like skin memory,
hearing aid betrayal
I won’t listen anymore.
Himalaya shampoos and conditioners everywhere.
rose water and almond oil.
the neat tiled floor, nothing like stone and peeling plaster.
water heaters waiting to fry us alive.
everything was risky, like being nearly naked on the balcony
and the little boy staring, staring.
and all I remember of Manhattan
is yellow lamplight sitting on the sink
my father draws wires above my head,
plastic coating don’t touch.
all this cheap red yellow blue and then
thin metal escapes: frayed snakes.
I guess he’s immune but not me.
I want to write the scenery of Chandigarh
but I already forget. hapless dung piles and soil
blend into Hyderabad.
I want to be shivering again
at the bus stop in my Vivek school blazer,
marveling at wisps
of breath in the cold fog.
and now I don’t need a hat, no;
thin tights are enough.
I want J pushing and hitting me against thin leather.
(later he also throws desk corks at me)
I want to argue again, over up top
in the side front seat with P.
I want to be hot as flies again
on rudimentary festival red carpet.
and I’m so glad I never have to go through any of it ever again.
You might also like
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
everyone thinks they used to be happier thump thump you wake up to the sound of your heart pounding against your ribs anxious to go back back to the day
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
This Side, Alone 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
The Syrian civil war and refugee wave are among the most dramatic events in recent years. Most of us have read or watched the news on the disastrous situation of
“Admit it. You no longer believe in one reality. So choose. Choose to be here. Choose me”. These enigmatic dialogues, directed towards Dominic Cobb are spoken by his subconscious which
One of the most significant poets of Greece after World War II, Manolis Anagnostakis was in reality a practicing radiologist. The distraction created by two completely different facets of life—poetry
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
The Yanks kill and me I read Mao Mao The jester is king and me I sing Mao Mao The bombs go off and me I scoff Mao Mao Girls
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
March Embryo of death will bloom I am being lost like a madman Observe my struggle Month of March is lagging behind this journey These rocks define
…..and the search continues. A poet, bewildered, observes the very similitude of every tedium of life, whispering “ekta rasta/hothat-i arekta rastar moto’’ (a street, all on a sudden, seems like
Translator’s Note: Akkhay Mulberry Vol.1 [Trans. Eternal Mulberry] is an auto-biographical sketch of Manindra Gupta – an eminent writer of Bengal who has been penning poems, short stories, and novel
Amar Mitra won the Sahitya Akademi award in 2006 for his novel Dhruva Putra. He also won the Katha award for short story in 1998. Aswacharit – Chronicle of a
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
Name : RAVI LAXMIKANT KORDE. Born on 14th Jan. 1979. Place: Jalgav Mete, Aurangabad District, (MAHARASHTRA). Completed Masters Degree in English Literature. Poetry Collection in Marathi entitled ‘Dhoosar Zale Naste