The Cadaverine Man & Other Poems: Rajosik Mitra
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 the day
To night, woven by the locus of tides..
All my swagger and pride, curling smoke
In broad daylight, rock and dope die
Where the world ends and mountains rise
As my paper and pixel-dream sheets together
What we felt, in the sudden fields
Of peacock-hill as she stood there,
Waving ‘mid tall-grown grass
And the sea-green breeze
Carried me among the waves,
Lifted me in the air..
Maybe, only idiots run in despair
When the day breaks above clouds
While kids turn in dreams
Of cream, vanilla and a hoverboard-high
Beside streets lined with doors all asleep,
And speed yanks the pituitary
Down high-school corridors..
I have visions of when I’m running
Through simulations of a world
I have yet to explore;
A world full of mortal souls
Floating alone, in the denseness
Of void, in all that we know..
Where saints make bed upon
High-born snow and watch flowers
In our only world bloom below..
Where clouds gather thick with joy
Raining down on table-top hills,
Quenching the dark and the albino..
Where frolic fills lit up streets
In the shape of my love,
The soothing breeze has it’s dream
Of a home by the sea,
And long rivers carry on..
All this and I’ve yet to be
Climbing down the chasms of mystery,
Questions and answers
To what all of this is meant to be;
All this music I hear,
My life, and the only world known to me.
AN AUTUMN DUSK
Light-bloom windows somberly
Gaze streets and alleys
That run into each other
And merge and melt.
Propped up against the rooftop tank
I could see the shape
Of all Creation bent
To the whim, of this moment.
You have me on my heels,
I cannot read symbols
On an evening sky,
As all heavens convene
Of matters to be seen,
You have me floating upstream
As my life rushes by.
I have been the ocean’s blue
In visions that are half untrue;
Still, the evening’s reddish hue
Burns autumn in your hair..
Floating above barb wires,
That await the winter.
Balanced at the edge of my dreams
Is a vision eluding me;
Like the rain falling soft in the dark,
You hear but cannot see.
To have once heard the lore,
To have it linger like an image
From an old dream of long before-
Is the key to a strange truth.
Truth that will guide you soon,
Like moth to a distant moon.
I have loved the things
I see and hear, in vain.
Searched every back-alley
For a fix with a higher sustain.
To now lie forgetful and just breathe
In the air that fills my breath;
Somehow keeps me beating and I see,
Shapes that thrive
In the love of death.
THE CADAVERINE MAN
Thoughts are only neural noise now,
No straightening it out.
Weave them into
Overgrown cobweb tangles
That noodle around the fork..
Sleep straightens things out
In the dark as I know,
All pathways lead to a noisy
Static before the dawn
And break into a thousand barks
At a homeless wretch lying by the park,
To straighten things out
With his past, the pawn-broker
Is up feeding
The scavenger crow.
Then there will be noise and
Blood and intestine
Rattling chains around
Chickens and their guts
Shall be splayed in the market
While someone shouts
Sausage-news from the papers
Besides the price
For a limp-white horse.
On a heap of golden sunshine
The glorious f*cktards
Shall comb and water their
And swim out to the
Pale blue sky..
And glass and steel burn
Bright and high
Since the hours of morn;
And even when the streets are left
To men playing with their shadows
In the dark
Bringing in billboards
To light up a moonless night..
To carve a city
So gaunt but gold,
And black smoke rising from behind.
There’d be drains like canals
A million souls
To the final sea of rest
Unlit by neon and strobes
Of past life, their perfumes,
Dressed in their best.
My city glows, it’s windows bloom,
And gutters shimmer-scatter
Light from the slippery
Skins of mermaids and plastic
Ballerinas of late..
The taxi-cabs whizz upon the tramline
Near killing me at the crossing today
As rebel among rebellious men..
The cadaverine man
In another night, another town,
Shall walk again.
You might also like
The representation of women and its evolution with time, has played a significant role in Bengali celluloid. During the 1960s when films like Mahanagar (1965) were shaping up, there were
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
Ángel Guinda (Zaragoza, 1948) received the Premio de las Letras Argonesas in 2010. He is the author of poetry books Vida ávida, La llegada del mal tiempo, Biografia de la
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
…and the silence rolled up to a clandestine College Street junction, Subhas-da (Subhas Mukhopadhyay) cracked the silence with a soliloquy – ‘dekho bhebe dekhlam potrikata bodhoy hobe na’..(I think, the
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
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
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
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
Heartcage v/s Sealedlips, Shuteye: A Reaction on Reading Tanvir Ratul’s Bawkkhopinjawr Bawnam OshThho aar Chokhbawndher Kobita
Tanvir Ratul first started writing when he was at the end of his high school. Over the time, the list of his published books grew to a considerable number along