Friday, February 18, 2011


am a morning cup of Malabar coffee
and The Hindu editorial peruse
am that old dilapidated crumbling building at chowringee

am illiterate with computers
but cook great finger lickin' biryanis
and am always on my way to happiness

am page four forty three
the postscripts of Kafka's diaries, unread
and almost all Salinger’s short stories, misinterpreted

am that guy you always feel
you've seen somewhere before
and am not that noticeable in a crowd of ten or less

am inside a cocoon
and i like it here
dark and peaceful

am a full moon on the night
it rained cats and dogs
even the last leaf left in autumn

am the hug of reassurance that is
absent when wanted like hell
and hazel eyes beneath costly ray-bans

am disliked and loved both
without reason or rhyme
am a fake multiple orgasm used to please others

am, i wish i knew you two years ago,
am half made, but left
a distorted paper boat flowing

am not made to love
and i can't love you
like that, you know

but i can write about it,
i shall.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Completing Me-

And when you come
if you do,
You shall see

That I write
...half poems
in three fourth prose
and a quarter of metaphors.

Somehow all my poems
await something to accomplish
like I do.

A word to rhyme,
a metaphor to consummate,
an end to the poetry
and all of you ... just you
to complete me.

-Raj Shekhar Sen

Monday, February 7, 2011

Oft Adultery-

It was before I became Dr. Mukherjee- One of the strictest professor in Calcutta University

Also known among students as the ol’ hag with cats

Before I had troubles walking up to your Park Circus flat by stairs fourth floor

Before you started calling me the eternal spinster

Before I got a gold medal in MA from Calcutta University and later a Phd

For my thesis on Enid Blyton’s work and its effect on the children

Before I read Albert Camus and understood that happiness is fleeting

Before my first kiss

Before I knew what love was

Before I turned sixteen

That was the time when I met you

And I started loving-

Rains and its tiny drops on my face

And good books and rhyme free poetry

And men with a taste in literature

And a sip of the Pinot Noir wine after nine past fifteen, your gift

And your occasional taps on my hairs and shoulders but platonic

And the way you love Di with all your heart

And sang-“Fools Rush In” on your anniversaries

And your recently gained oft repeated three Kgs

And all of you

You came smelling all Old Spice Lagoon

You sat eating nothing amidst a plethora of edibles

I had read pride and prejudice then

And we had seen your pictures before you

You were soft spoken, a little hurried while talking

Cute in a dusky Bengali sort of way with a baritone which did not quite fit in

And even your lame attempts at humor made me smile

You were the quintessential Mr. Darcy to me

Who came for the wrong sister

And then

You asked me- Do I know Noddy or have heard Blyton

I could not say anything

After a while I said “Elizabeth” and you must’ve thought I was queer

Later you said that I was blushing as if I came to see you

I wish you did

And it was then I decided that I shall read all of Enid Blyton

And even now

At this moment

Looking at you unconscious

After your first heart attack

I can still see what made me love you

And I wish


And relive all your gentle taps on me

Hold my crying sisters hand a little more tighly

Thinking of how I am a frequent adulterer

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Wish me a word

Wish me a word my love
and I shall spell Our
and all in between appurtenances..

Will You-

Gift me
two of your poems
and a plain old tattered metaphor

I shall
make your verses
my wings,
your metaphor
my heart

like all your poetry
I shall travel the sky,
all my sky
a couplet

Will you..

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Tumi Aamar Moner Moton-

Tumi aamar moner moton,
kintu tumi shey to naa.
Tumi to shriti'r bagan'e
krishnochura ekti phul.

Aami tomaye ronge gondhe prem korbo.
Aalo'r moton opekkhakrito thakbo
tobe phul tulbo na.
Shokal'er aalo shudhu amaar jonne to nei.

Aami jani tumi shey na
Aami jani eita prem na


You are like my soul's song
But you are not her
You are a daisy in the garden of my memories
You are a delonix

I shall love you in colors and smells
And await you like the morning lights
Though shall not displume you,
you are not meant too
The morning light is not just for me, dear.

I know you are not her.
I know this is not love, that I crave for.