Sunday, January 8, 2012

If on a winter’s night a traveler - I be-

*Pre Script*-

As I write tonight I see a lamp shade a writing table and a ceiling
I see the materials that define me and I want to rebel
I want to stand against the non-living
I want to forget conventions and rules
I want to free myself

I see Jarsmusch laughing along a camera
Berolt Brecht creating a play inside another
and Calvino saying come lets puzzle words and ways


If Sayantan would ever remove his minus two spectacles
and just look at my eyes while talking of Neruda
If he would ask me about Bolivian diaries
If he would perhaps deepen his voice
and call my name with the'a' sounding as 'o'
If he would ever talk to me
like he talks to the nine year old Nando from the tea stall
If he would ever tease me on my small nose
If he would ever graze me by and smile

I would tell him
that it’s not just Socialism or Caucasian Chalk Circle
connecting us
its love too.
If he would..


Sayantan meanders through my story
as floating leaf on a slow summer water bed.

He has no identity

Hardly a name

And a faint scent of life.

Yet he gives meaning to Tanima and all paraphernalia’s.

Tanima shall grow in my story
the woman who shall render to all your poetic fetishes

she will be your Bonolata Sen

or Helen of troy

or Nefertiti

or Labanya

as you wish.

As of now
she is a character in all of Sayantan's verses.
Sayantan is..
Sayantan is Calvino's traveler


If I look at her while reciting 'If you forget me'
I shall never forget her
If ever I ask her of Guevara
I would be lost in her idealism
If I pronounce her name in bangla
she would remind me too much of Maa
If I ever touch her
I shall not let her go
When she gets to know that my smiles at Nando
are when I want her to see me
She shall probably love me

And then I know
like Brechtian's characters
we shall grow in love more than ourselves


I am a passing moment
or a piece of
a broken memory
left on the wayside
and there is no sound
just a chance morning shower
like the day is yet to be
and the night is too afraid of the dark

am a candid emotion

I just put words besides each other
and decorate them
making void a beauty
I foreplay verses
going round about the same circle
I create nothingness
in my hollows am a genius

And I do not idolize standards
disfiguring reality
I paint
an essential life

Come with me
and we shall be lost
and forgotten
and happy


Sayantan walks back and forth along his home at Ekdalia Street
The brewing breeze shall make it rain
and every drop shall make a sound on his heart
He needs to be loved tonight

He is a nomad jostling through his and Tanima's life

He is a seminal thought in my mind
and a perceptible reality in Tanima's

He is a sketch of all my impossibilities

He is my grown up Holden Caulfield

He is the boy next door
and yet a Shakespearean tragedy

He is my peeping tom to the world

And even after all that love he has for Tanima
we know he shall just take it slowly

Thus there's no reason in it,
it just is

No comments: