Koushik Ghosh
1.
All alone in a solitary cell
Fingers so disobedient as not to
Allow expression
But speak I must
When Furnace blasts to helpless
Sensation
Boom
It shakes my doors windows
The innermost self of all my mortal beings
With dumb astonishment I think
I have the blaze on my whole person
Like an eccentric I find myself
‘midst the monstrous conflagration
That reduced a human habitation to dust
In a fraction of a second
Sometime past you know
Oh! where to go and how
To turn them away from carnage I can
O poet! What man has made of man!
2.
All curtains would fly up
When pulsating heart matures into quietened sobriety
Life bares its bosom to your indifferently penetrating eyes
That are the bliss of sorrow we suffer
The pleasure animal we disdain
Or should I say we turn a blind eye to
When you rise above the getting and spending
By which a poor soul lays waste its power
And see into the life of things
No I am not there then
But in you so much
As immortality.
3.
Twelve night it is!
Is the son of God at the door
Armed with Blast and Blaster!
Nay, the child smiled upon the destroyer.
These are but the wounds of Love!
Christ of Nazareth
With such a great Devastation
Thou are clothed
With what oracle to Judas?
Judas Kiss!
4.
Tagore is dead.
Dead and gone.
I am hardly an imbecile to exhume the grave
No!Nevermore!
Let me remain far from the hypocrites doing the rounds
I am one who trampled down all your stereotypes
Yes Tagore is dead
Dead and gone
I wish him a Paradiso to heal the bruises
You made on him
If that could be!
5.
Once but once
Time O Omnipotent Time
Allow me a room to erect myself
To stand up to the fear-ridden soul
To hold the self above
Above to dictate the ultimate dictum
Man has ever known
That an untamed gust blow away
The sky-high block
Self is confined by
The sky the ever-azure heaven
Be on my side
To lift and float me by
To land on treacherous line
To come out triumphant
And the world poor world of mine
Be restored to its human heritage
It was long oblivious of.
6.
All curtains would fly up
When pulsating heart matures into quietened sobriety
Life bares its blossom to your indifferently penetrating eyes
That are the bliss of sorrow we suffer
The pleasure animal we disdain
Or should I say we turn a blind eye to
When you rise above the getting and spending
By which a poor soul lays waste its power
And see into the life of things
No I am not there then
But in you so much
As immortality…
