Throne of a Sinking Mind & Other Poems



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 relationship

Reasons form cloud

This is fashion, some people point out


Your model is in front of me

My pores in front of you

Innocence is being naked gradually


The things that are seen in the sidewalk

Are called writings



From the Other Star

Comes to facebook from another star. Loses the ring in a proper place.

The fish of the surface level. Its reasonings are like water. Cliché’s candidates initiate teak wood forest here and there. When fever severs its crust, bring him some newer panic. Tell him that there’s no compassion of insurance for his bridges. Days of gentle explanations are now gone. The mists haven’t become urban even by plentiful physics

Using the Demon of the Lamp



Has been lost in such a way that you cannot forget those exclamatory marks.

The memorizings cannot be removed off the skin. From the sixty-four types.

Came budding biology. Hope came. Sunshine’s embroidery came on the proper planters. Even his mirror shattered by good-byes. He will withdraw his name from his future. He kills his letters by using the demon of the lamp. Prepares mind and demeans farewell

Around My Body


Around my body

Close to the door

The baritone of a singer loiters

I sense a mild smell

Something is being rotten somewhere

I couldn’t sense the fear of it

Somewhere in someone’s heart

my past-present-future is boiling up

Fear’s conscience tells me to go to dim light

Tells me, you have been living so long

as a memory of someone else

So long like a human being on the earth


I see, my organs are fear

My colour slips off in the group photograph

I see, I’ve gone for a mild walk

In front of the mirror

I cannot look into my eyes



I too observe people

Accommodate my body within the shadows

I see markets like people

Excite my furs


Various hunger in various woods

The outcry of trees

swings lantern


How many places

In faces how many would I belong to

How much shadow of the shadows would I become

In many a brotherly tales

I lived stealthily and became a hero at last



I am mainly the weather

Live in your homes

And surprise you

The New Skin

Writing’s dying

And I’ve got sap and became afar and rainful and reigned like a blossom

Its virgin neighing

Thrusts stuff into my throat

Its drying jelly

Has already told me to go away

Don’t engage your hands in bad jokes like waiting


Actually, the pre-history has not been ceased yet

As if I have got a new skin on the Christmas day

I start newer ages by wearing it

Writing has been losing its ambience

Since some previous life

After all this, I think, that ancient and dying writing

Will engulf this writing with its last tentacles

Will tear apart the lively muscles of this writing with harpoon


I won’t mind these wounds

I am another person- this kind of woods

I will hoist around myself



Gradually become human


Fever of coziness fades out. And the railway platform turns lonely

The army of a flute brings numbness to the eyes

This acid of illustration

Reveals the lies of the landscape

Now there is a doctor found in an old cinema hall

who opens up the door of blessings

As if there is no danger if you stay near the fairies

The light of your inner home will burn with other’s fuel

Chemistry of a concept held its ground

Although nobody knocks the exam door of other people

Only, they light up the flame of whisper

Signal moves within the ribs


He posts letters to himself

He appoints a detective in his own name




O, wander path

I cannot bear this reticence anymore

This walk and those rocks are true only

The road that isn’t touched by sun

has been ancient like a civilization

Inside the breaches of those rocks, in its fertile soil

I want to be elevated by entering into and standing upon

I want amongst those coniferous trees

the lifespan of the eternal pines

Inside the dead cloaks

I have been leaving by bodies one after one

As soon as the turning of the face

The wood and rocks of other preoccupations are being burnt


I have been writing many days since

Nobody can identify them as poems anymore

About author

Animikh Patra
Animikh Patra 1 posts

Essentially a poet. Fictional and Non-fictional prose writer. Occasional translator. Birthday: 16 March, 1983 Education: M.A. in English Literature ( Calcutta University ) Profession: Teacher Publications: Three books of poems: Patanmoner Kursi (2016), Kono Ekta Naam(2013), Jatadur Boidho Boli (2009) Contact:

You might also like

Authors 0 Comments

Inception and the Philosophy of Mind

“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

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

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

Nostalgia and Other Poems

grief I stood there, awash with sand dunes I never visit one foot twisted inside of itself: coquette, doll-thing. my father’s words washed over me, this script my antique. I

Ghazal for Goregaon & Other Poems

Alone When my friends left the country, one by one, I ate and drank and sang at their farewells, talking of how true friendships last across the tunnel of distance.

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

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

The Rain and Other Poems: Shankha Ghosh

Shankha Ghosh (born 6 February 1932) is a Bengali poet and critic, born in Chandpur of present day Bangladesh. He is a leading authority on Rabindranath Tagore. Other than that,

Ostrich & Other Poems: Adrija Chakrabarti

WOULD YOU LIKE TO JOIN ME Not everything has a meaning I walked to nowhere today My feet touched a lost day’s dew My heart felt the thrill of speed

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

“Viva la Poesia!” Ahmed Tahsin Shams reads Sudeep Sen’s stunning new anthology

“I will read to you, read to you from / this book of forthcoming, this / text in variations: / an index to ask / of what / you meant

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,


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


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 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

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

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,

How to become a Latin Lover : Juan Pablo Sánchez Hernández

The simple mention of Latin will first evoke in you some vivid scenes of the Ancient world with the people who spoke such language: gladiators, Roman generals, senators in their

Authors 0 Comments

The Lobster, Yorgos Lanthimos’ latest masterpiece

« I’m sure that there are people who really like what we do and others who don’t[…] I just think it is interesting to start a dialogue », Yorgos Lanthimos, leading figure


No Comments Yet!

You can be first to comment this post!

Leave a Reply