Dhusar Pandulipi

kon kobitar chhaya

2010-07-05T23:13:00.000-07:00

Amar onekdin er swopnera
Ei chilekoThar gondhera
jonmo-mrityu jatiyo onukoroN
o ojotha joTil shobdobondhera

erai amar kaalpurush
eder hatei amar bNashi o dhonush
ei abohei ek fusfus
hawa
amar chawa pawa

kemon kore bNadhbo esob sur
ki niyome likhbo amar katha
amar chhelebelar swopnera
amar chhoTTobelar chhobi
hariye gechhe sob-i
bikelbatas niye gechhe
niyombhangar chabi.

Taai ekhon lekhar khoje lekha
gaaner khoje gaan
ar ase na kichhui amar pen-e
sob kobitay khuje beRai
kon kobitar chhaya.

puratan

2010-05-20T10:53:00.000-07:00

khonir bhitor theke uThe asa pathorera

sondhikhone dNaRiye thaka o udas manush

amar dalane ese boso --- chaal chaao, muRi, somudro-jhinuk---

amar dalane laal-kalo mozeic

samner uThone roder upor chaayar haat

ityadi ityadi bolte bolte golir ondhokare mishe jawa

office ferot jatrira, tomar opekkhay achhe

kono ek lukono kone, sabeki kayday

jara sob chole gelo, jara sob bole gelo

aar cholbe naa, aar bolbe na.

notune niche puronor majhe

tumi shuye thako.

Tag

2007-08-19T07:49:00.001-07:00

If I were a beginning, I would be the end
If I were a month : january
If I were a day of the week : monday
If I were a time of day : night
If I were a planet : jupiter
If I were a season : winter
If I were a sea animal : whale
If I were a direction : north
If I were a piece of furniture : chair
If I were a sin : inquisitiveness
If I were a liquid : water
If I were a fraud/scare : uncertainty
If I were a gem : sapphire
If I were a tree : banyan
If I were a tool : cycle
If I were a flower/plant : lotus
If I were a musical instrument : flute
If I were an animal : tiger
If I were an emotion : solitude
If I were a vegetable : cauliflower
If I were a sound : background noise
If I were an element : sodium
If I were a car : chevrolet
If I were a song : Vaishnava jana ko...
If I were a food : nuddles
If I were a place : my home
If I were a material : wood
If I were a taste : sour
If I were a scent, I'd like to be the scent of my dream. Don't have a name for that.
If I were a religion : the least followed one.
If I were a sentence : 'Let me think'
If I were a body part : head
If I were a facial expression : Pursed lips.Thinking
If I were a subject in college : philosophy
If I were a shape : round
If I were a quantity : boundless
If I were a colour : red
If I were a thing : roads
If I were a landmass : greenland
If I were a book : one that I haven't read
If I were an artist : God
If I were a landscape : Boundless green. Reflection of sun in the water. Guarding the horizon, are throngs of tall, solemn trees.
If I were a watch : one that has stopped ticking
If I were God : The God
If I were a vowel : o
If I were a consonant : s
If I were a formula : Bayes rule
If I were a Science : mathematics
If I were a theory : probability theory
If I were a famous person : future me.
If I were an electronic equipment : mobile phone
If I were sport : badminton
If I were a movie : hiroshima mon amour
If I were a cartoon : scooby doo
If I were an explorer: ronald ross
If I were a scientist : einstein
If I were a relation : brother
If I were a river : amazon
If I were intoxication : words
If I were alone : myself
If I were a question : 'who am I?'
If I were a hobby : calligraphy
If I were a habit : forgetting
If I were in an atom : I'd be having an overall view of the nucleous
If I were an end I'd be the beginning

The Lady with Circular Vision

2007-07-01T00:07:00.000-07:00

I know what I’m writing on this paper borrowed from the monastery will seem incredible to everybody. But still it’s hard to resist the urge of putting it down as ink on paper.

I’ve been here in the monastery for over two months. Before coming here, I’d heard some rumors about the place from the local people in the village of Tsang-Zai. I depended on my memory and imagination to figure out the sources of the rumors. (And if the legends were true, this little effort of mine had also been looked at from every angle in a very distant past.)

In my memory resides similar stories (or, so I think) of succession and deterioration. From where I come, no miracles occur any more. In the perpetual light, everything is too obvious and commonplace. We see the same corner of the streets, the same slope of the mundane rooftops, the same street shops (whose other sides we never looked at, or never thought of looking at, as if they had no other side). Things have been falling from above to below with certain acceleration from our Old ancestors’ time. Nowadays nobody cares about that. For us every event is as indispensable as birth is and as inevitable as death is. For us every moment is the end of our time here.

I have been running away from that stagnancy for 70 years. I have traveled far and long. I have been to the kingdom of Noble Akhuyam :-
Marhan, the poor slum-boy, was exalted by the prospect of seeing the noble king in broad daylight. He hasn’t been able to sleep in excitement last night. The king has been his idol for a long time, ever since he came back victorious after defeating the tyrant ruler Singmon. Marhan of Delayum, the slum dweller, under the primitive sun, has spent infinite hours fighting the invisible enemy with a sword ( a cane, actually). He has played the game of kings with his friends, he has become the King and the Provider of Justice. Sitting on a broken stone pillar imagined as throne he’d pretend the Ancient Legend of Solitir has come true :-
A long time ago, the mountain of Solitir was inhabited by an ancient tribe. It is said that they were the first wise men in this phase of the time. They didn’t have the custom of naming objects and people, or speaking or writing. They believed in visions and thoughts. The famous legend says that there was a wise stone chair that nobody knew came from where, in their midst. Anyone who sits on it possesses the infinite wisdom bestowed in it. The source of this wisdom is not undisputed. Some say that it was the first thing God created. But there are others who think that many many years back, this served as the seat for the great philosopher Ciang-nitse and one day he will reincarnate to wean away the darkness of our ignorance. The stone seat will again go back to its owner:-

Mystery shrouds the early ages of this world where memories falter. Nobody now knows who were the first people to set foot on the bank of the blue river of Pen or where they came from. But the fact that left its imprint on later times is that they were different. They were the first Lin-ear people and founded the advanced rural civilization of Tsang-Lin.

They were the first to realize that civilizations grow and will continue to grow along the banks of the rivers. They dug deeper into the earth to find the secrets. They unmade everything that was there and tried to make everything that was not there. They played with shapes and symmetries to find the thing sought for. They figured out that mysteries are hidden in experiences not experienced ( i.e. granularities and abstractions).

To model the unknown mystery they first developed the game of incertitude : Life is a stream of words. Replace some of them randomly with the contradictory word. To decode is the game. The main challenge is that every life then would yield innumerable possibilities of verity. Some would seem completely meaningless i.e. inconsistent and abrupt while some others would seem more fluent and meaningful.

In the glorious hours of Lin, was born the great philosopher Ciang-nitse who studied the game intensively. He was considered as the greatest master of the game. He devoted his whole prime in formalizing a method of finding the original sequence of words from the tangle of reverse meanings, contradictions, deviations etc. He was searching for the primary point when the game originated (and that is shrouded in oblivion). But in the end he came up with this fact that the game never originated. The contradictions are intrinsic of the language spoken. He wrote his last book called ‘Zong Chiamon’ (The Deceitful Doctrine) when the twelfth mountain was still there guarding the edge of the world( After that all path was open and he fell silent). This was a confusing story where cause and effect, verity and falsity, past and future got convoluted in a maze of parables and mind games. In the great library of Tsang-Zai, I came across a passage of this memorable work (and that is all that is left of it) :-
When I asked him, he said that there is no such person in the monastery of Zinad (Infinity it means in my native tongue) who can see everything from all sides of space and time. For that’d mean she will be able to see the contained and the container as two independent entities without realizing the relationship of containment. But as the claims go, she should be able to see the ‘containment’ as a whole, too! This is leading us to a contradiction. His logical clarity amazed me, though I secretly denied to believe these words. Something in me whispered that this decision is going to be important for me as the luminescence is crucial for the cricket. Also, he added, that’d mean that for her every memory is a glimpse of the future and future is nothing but a collection of memories. I’d admit that these words made me think.

I strangely felt like coming back home. The name of the monastery also suggested that I have walked a full circle somehow. May be the whole landscape has changed by now due to an earthquake. Old people have died. New people have been born. They have given birth to new languages and cultures. The unchanging age has taken refuge here in this monastery amidst fickle civilizations. But still the basic essence has not changed.

I tried to imagine who the lady could be. None of them have ever seen her. When later I asked the monks, they smiled. “you’ll see”, they said. My mind started this impossible job of searching through the infinite memory of lost times. In fact, I was astonished how clearly I could remember the faces of people who once were part of my life after such a long time of drowsy oblivion. My mother, the dreamy blue eyed aunt who almost ironically never slept, the downcast and lean housemaid girl with a very shrill voice and all others. Anyone of them could be the lady of the monastery, as they all relate to the sense of absolute through their sense of static. They never thought of future as something different from past and have never expected anything.

(I am excited by the progress of my investigation. Several days passes by)

Yes, they live in a self-contained totality, there’s no doubt about that. But still they have never seen this sign anywhere :

“This is one sentence out of infinitely many such”

they have spent their lives in a fragmented whole , while I have tried to look beyond it. They can not be the one.

Amidst the gongs of bells and clement air of the monastery, I was left with only one option. But as soon as this revelation struck me, I knew it was wrong. It had to be wrong. Simply because I have witnessed this revelation which was not in my past. Because never ever, not even while writing this manuscript up till now, it crossed my mind. Orator was right. The only way to achieve absolute vision is to avoid all communications. Expressions, however abstract, creates imprint of inherent details on mind. And the details blind our eyes against overall vision.

There is no lady with circular vision because I myself completely overlooked the fact :

“I am the lady with circular vision”

itinerary

2007-03-17T06:34:00.000-07:00

Aaj onek poth hNaTa holo.
Onek onorgol roudro
Onek progolbho hawa

Eso ei gachhtolay bosi,
khudha o klanti niye kichhu katha boli
je chhobigulo ekhono banano hoyni
ba,
je shobdogulo onabishkrito
tader neRecheRe dekhi.

Je chhonde amader fuTiye tola hochchhe
se bishoye kichhukhon bhabi

ar hyan,
agamikaaler itinerary Ta baniye felte hobe.

Fire Elaam

2007-03-17T05:48:00.000-07:00

amra etodin nijeder bondhuder
biday dite byasto chhilam.
bhulei giyechhilam tomader...
tomrao hoyto amake.

ebhabei somoy bodle dey
prithibir sob rekhachitro, somporko.
amra haste thaki
majhemodhye kNadi
swagoto janai ebong biday
asha rakhi, astha harai

eisob-i besh kichhubar kore holo,
majher ei niruddesh somoye
ar kichhu noy...

পাঠকের প্রতি

2006-08-06T01:51:00.000-07:00

এই কবিতার পাঠক,
তুমি কখনও পড়েছ,
নিজেকে নিয়ে লেখা?

এই যে তুমি
অফিসের শেষে নিজেকে
ছড়িয়ে দিলে ঘামে
বাসে আসতে আসতে
দু লাইন মাথায় এসেছিল
কিন্তু বাড়ি এসে ভুলে গেলে
বেমালুম;
ছোটবেলায় ভেবেছিলে নাবিক হবে
(পাশে একজন বকবক করছে
তুমি কোনরকম হাসলে---)

একবার শক্তি চট্টোপাধ্যায় কে দেখে
লিখে ফেলেছিলে অনুপ্রাণিত কিছু শব্দ
কেউ পড়ে দেখেনি;

বাড়ি ফিরে জামাকাপড় ছেড়ে,
চান করে এসে
একটা ম্যাগাজিন তুলে নিলে হাতে
একটা তরবারি তুলে নিলে হাতে
একটা অদৃশ্য মোড়ক জড়িয়ে নিলে গায়ে---

এই কবিতা টা পড়ছ এখন---

পড়েছ কখনও এমন?
তোমাকে নিয়ে লেখা?

Tui Ekbaar Bos

2006-06-20T08:26:00.000-07:00

Ishwor

2006-06-20T08:24:00.000-07:00

Eibhabe kormobyastota chole...

2006-06-05T22:35:00.000-07:00

Asa jawar golpo

2006-06-05T22:32:00.000-07:00

Somobyatha

2006-05-25T09:55:00.000-07:00

Dwi-bochon

2006-05-20T09:27:00.000-07:00

Beejomanota

2006-05-18T23:15:00.000-07:00

Prothom Bosonto-1

2006-05-17T21:54:00.000-07:00

Smriti o Biborton

2006-05-14T10:38:00.000-07:00

Ontorleen

2006-05-09T00:08:00.000-07:00

purono smritir atur,
bondho morudyan,
motsyochokh,
esobi sroter sopane nich theke upore
swoto:sfurto hoy|

shubhro potaka name nirmaN theke
Dhake obogahito dehotol; beshkunchan-----

taropre sudha ase, smitorobe,
ohornishi dwondwo somapone,
golito golok theke sohosro mombati jwole,
pakdonDi beye ontordaho nichu hoy krome
chita hoy| fer oThe ebhabei kichhu
olos samay kaTe ekhane------

kintu onyotro aro kichhu kaaj chhilo,
kacher dharer pare---
protibimber nabhe---
khatoker aro kichhu Rin,
seo bhule gechhe, amio, tobe
eikkhoNe rekhar odhare kichhu protidan
daner motoi swoto:siddho;
se ashaTuku achhe|

SwapnodrishTo-1

2006-03-27T14:36:00.000-08:00

Ghame bheja kopaler uporer dike ekta nikhut brittakar fuTo. Tar modhye diye baa haat ta goliye ditei obak kanDo! haat aTke gechhe, fuTo buje gechhe.

Pichhone gaan bajchhe kono sonaTa. shoreer er romrondhro diye pilpil kore pipRer moto dhukchhe sohanubhuti. HaatTa bar na korlei noy. Khub joruri kaaj achhe khub taratari.

drishyopoT druto poriborton. Toshok er chhera theke chorabali dhukchhe ghore. ghorer nil alo gorom hoye saharar surjo. Thnot chumu khete khete lomba hoye gechhe. Aaar prochonDo shokto. Aami ek prokanDo kaThThokra!

Etokhone fuTor charpash beye rokto namchhe fyakashe. Karon e bochhor brishTi hoyechhe bhaloi. paRar pukur upche jol esechhe dorgoRay. sathe sathe loadshedding goTa shohore. Surjo gole giye mombati holo chokher samne.

Payer patay mridu suRsuRi hotei dekhi pata jhorchhe. Kichhu chhoTo pata ekhono konkal er ha(n) theke jhule achhe. niche jodio duronto nodi, tobu ghurNi ra mayer chokher moto dekhte. Nodir jole khub kore matha ghosar por chokh laal hoyechhe.

Bodh hoy jwor esechhe. Maa pashe bose achhe. Chokh er kone jol chikchik korchhe. Kintu eta asole chitro ba cholochchitro taai khata ber kore hiseb koshi. ProkanDo khata, khag er kolom. Chokh er jol ta matite porar agei sesh korte hobe. Khub tara.

Rastar dupashe sarsar dokan. Thhik baroTa bajtei sob dorja khule gelo. Haate stopwatch niye shaw e shaw e aami beriye aschhe. Bhagyis danhaat Ta achhe taai koromordon. Sobbai uRte uRte fuTo r mukh hyachka Tane khule beRiye esechhi....

Kobitar Atmoroti

2006-03-23T18:19:00.000-08:00

Bohudin age ekta kobita porechhilam. Kobita ta mone porchhe na exactly. naam tao bhule gechhi ekdom. Sudhu onubhuti tuku mone achhe. Aaj nijer modhye sei kobita pushechhi. Aaj kobi theke kobita hoyechhi.

kolom er nib theke chuiye pora kobita ke etodin kagojer dewale sentechhi mrito jontur moto. Aaj tara bonyo hoyechhe elomelo. Aynar gaye kobitar protifolon khub chena, obikol amar moton. kobita r purbo-nirdharito omogh antim achhe jaani, sob porikolpona sei chena sesh er sathe bandha. Tobu tar age sohosro ojana mrityu to nei.

Aaj nijeke ekbaar bhalokore chekhe dekhbo. chumo khabe kobita nijer sorbange. ogadh ontohin ni:shorto bhalobasa debo nebo, melabo milbo. mukhosh-hin nisonkoch atmoroti r ekraat sudhu baki. Ar keu nei kothao. Ei chand sudhu amar amar!!!

Jara chole gelo pata ulte bekheyale, onyo kono kalo okkhor-jale nijeder bandhbe bole, tader bhule jete pari aaj onayase. amake porte cheyeo byartho jara tader ke debo dirghoshwas. fire asar mithye ashwas tader jader mone ekdin khujechhilam mane, nijer buke mukh lukonor age.

Kobita nijeke nije porte pare na. Taai bolte parbo na aami ke, amar naam ki, aami ki chai. Kon bismrito swapno nihito amar gopone ba obyakto byatha.....jaani naa aami. Aami anonder kolahol na bedonar fisfas, ta bujhte pari na. Aami sudhu jaani nijeke nogno korar protyasha...jodi keu pore dekhe ekbaar...tarpor kichukhon nirobota...oite amar swapno, oite amar dabi.

2006-03-04T22:32:00.000-08:00

2006-02-26T20:13:00.000-08:00

Shanto samay er golpo

2006-02-25T14:56:00.000-08:00

ChhuTi

2006-02-25T14:43:00.000-08:00

Tomake chhara

2006-02-22T06:13:00.000-08:00

Anekkhon holo tomake chhere
Tin ghonta ba tar o beshi hote pare
Proti ta muhurto ke tomar katha bolechhi
cellphone ta ke chhure fele diyechhi dure
Anek kedechhi....chokher pata o klanto
sob jol nodi hoye boye gechhe aaj...
Nijeke ojosro mithya bolar seshe
Ekhon sranto osohay nirobota mone
Tomar chhobita roye gechhe laptop e
sorai ni....dekhlei je khub kosto hochchhe
Tate tomake haranor bhiru anondo pachchhi

Aajker tin ghonta bistrito hobe din,soptaho
maas bochhor chhuye anonter dike
Tomake chhara keu nei, kichhu nei
sob byastota aaj stobdho hoye gechhe......

Promise of a Poem

2006-02-22T04:08:00.000-08:00

I told you I'd write a poem for you
I thought I'd write a song for you
But my tears flooded my senses
Black fonts have all disappeared
White screen is blinking
as blankly as ever...
I hope you'll understand
I hope you will....

Futility

2006-02-21T18:08:00.000-08:00

How many more days
Shall I have to live
On this Roullette wheel
Where words
round and square
of varied colours
Are being thrown at me?

Like a medieval thief
I gaze at the crowd around me
Delirious with joy
Fierce in expression
And void in thought....

How many more days
Shall I have to live
With my ankles shackled
to the stone with chains
of pity and false wisdom?

Like a prehistoric prey
I touch the wound
on my damp chest
As I lie down and gaze into
My enemy's blue eyes

How many more days
Of this placid torpor?
Deadly blue dreams?
How many?

The Masochist Speaks

2006-02-16T21:32:00.000-08:00

Sometimes in the room
Of my deepest fantasies
I wonder...
How would it have been
If I could give myself
The pain beyond all pain
So that there'll be no pain after that?
If I could somehow scoop up my heart
From its bony nest
Lest it suddenly breaks?
Or could slit open my eyeballs
Before it longs for you
And gazes along the road
That led you astray?

How would it feel
To smear my variegated soul
On a hueless cold stone wall
To draw a collage of life
Before the wild dagger
Finds it's mark?
Or to pass on my light
To the next one in the line
Before the darkness
Nibbles me away,slowly....

Sometimes while brooding
In the dark dusty room
Of my deepest fantasies,
I want to face the ever-illuding shadow
And to press a kiss on its dead,damp lips
Before it shows its sneering black teeth to me
And takes me in for the numb slumber.

I wish I really could....

Darkness and me....

2006-02-12T21:12:00.000-08:00

Blue dreams....I love you! And I loved her, too! But now that both of you are gone, why should I live? This suffocating darkness is not where I belong. Why am I here? I remember very well how I always tried to follow your soothing glow, like a sleepwalking child. How did the paths of light lead to this insatiably hungry darkness? I saw a glint in your eyes that perplexed me...and that laughter of yours....or was it hers? She was delirious. She said, you know, she loves me,too. Why, are you laughing at me now, darkness, my dear friend? Of course, you don't believe in love. Me neither, faithful servant of yours that I am now! But somehow I feel like you also had loved somebody at some time! Was it light that you loved? Yes, you have inside your cold heart all the nuances of broken hearts, misled souls and unsung sagas!Let me love her for the last time, wipe her tears and slit open her throat! Then I'll embrace you and intertwined, we will whisper in each other's hearts, our little stories, that merry people of light will never come to know!!!

Down the Dark Passages

2006-01-31T16:14:00.000-08:00

Sometimes life seems so hopelessly unhaltered, like a speeding express train, which knows not the destination but the meaningless treading of path. If for a split second, could I stop this progress by pulling some hitherto unseen chain, if I could for an instant stand outside this whole capricious system and think steadily, I would have written down the story of my life in a long saga ornating with appropriate metaphors. But I don't have much time, I can feel. A dreadful fear is taking me in, a fear of uncertain. I am afraid that this train is going astray into dark tunnels and will never stop. So I'll write it down here, in the hope that anybody who is starting their journey will find direction early in their voyage.

I'll try to answer all the questions my conscience has asked me at several points of my life and which my rational, intelligent mind has put aside for some future time of introspection. That future has come now. I can't be very to-the-point in this as no introspection can be. At this point I am being tormented by questions, counter-questions and much more.

I am a "good boy". That's the worst part of my life so far. My parents had some dream of theirs and failed to achieve it. They put together all their dreams and thus I came to being. I was the ONE , the achiever, the winner in life. Nothing "bad" will ever touch me. My every action would be exemplerary to others. This "good boy" has guided me in every "action" all through-out my life. It has led me to do things that a good man should do, but not what I wanted to do. THERE, there I deceived the whole world, I deceived myself. This suppression of my will has been for long time, so long that I can no more hear the music of my own heart.

It is not sufficient to seek achievement, to achieve. And I have been an achiever. How did I do it? How did I become that "good" person? How did I ride this fast-running express train of success, in the first place? I have been intelligent, yes!!! What is intelligence? If the ability to adapt is the measure of inherent intelligence, I have been a genius, really. I'll elaborate on this point a little bit, as I don't see any opportunity for telling this in future.

I've tried to be a "good" son to my parents. At one point in my life, they were my only friends in life, and outside was an unknown uncertain place for me. I was introvert then, very much so. All I cared about was to please my dear ones by trying to achieve their dreams. I studied hard, with an one-eyed aim of becoming academically successful. Not that my parents forced me or anything. It was as if as a return of my existence in this world, a favour they did to me, and all my happiness after that. But it gave birth to a vice in my soul, my ego, for being the best, for being the invincible, for being the unsurpassable. It has been a companion for me, all my life. As a friend? as a disguised enemy? I don't know. Not even now, when I am writing the story of my psychological life. Actually I think friends are always disguised enemies. It's matter of perspective. But that will come later.

I've tried to be a "good" friend to my friends later in life. Now how do you become a "good" friend? I tried to be compassionate with them. I must have been, because otherwise why would they pour all their heart's content before me,if they didn't see true feeling in my eyes? There was a boy, three years junior to me in college, who used to think of me as an idol. Not simply because I was the only one who would listen patiently for hours to his deep thoughts about life, but because I was his guide in these matters. I used to tell him about mysteries of truth, ethics,life and love. He used to listen to me with indescribable awe and reverence in his foolish eyes. Yes he was a fool, unlike me, a complete idiot, who couldn't achieve anything, academic feat, friendship, love or popularity, because he failed to mould himself like others. Yet, the trust in those inane eyes was enough to
silent my voluble speech. As I knew very well that after this discussion is over this fellow would go to some lonely corner and think about that. And I? I will probably engage myself in another discussion with somebody else regarding a completely different matter. I had to be a "good" friend to him also!!!

Now I have been involved in this precarious way of life so much that I think my pragmatic existence is completely devoid of myself. It has become a collection of all the minds I have come across in my life. When I ask myself the reason behind any of my action amidst a group of people, answer seems obvious enough. But in solitude the very answer becomes as illusive as a mirage. Because there is no one to answer there. I have lived thousands of lives but haven't lived my own!!!

But my self and will is not lost. It never gets lost, simply due to natural laws. Vanquished from present reality, It has taken shelter in dreams. Yes, I am a dreamer. Not because I am prone to dreaming. That's not very unusual, actually. But in most cases, people dream of future. But I dream of past. No, I don't repent for my past, I simply dream about past. A dream so powerful that it is almost reality. A dream where my free will has taken control over my actions. I rebuild my past in my dreams . I cling to those dreams in complete defiance of the reality. I live in those dreams. This has led me to lie about trivial things and with no reason at all, with no purpose to deceive anybody. I have only tried to listen to my own heartbeat, my wishes, my dreams.

The self-hatred is slowly consuming me. Whenever, someone wants to put his/her trust in me, I am alarmed, I am afraid of myself. I am disgusted with my identity. Some days back, I broke a mirror. It reflected myself in such a shameless manner, I lost control. I wish I really could kill my reflection like that mirror. I wish I could jump out of this train, out of this never-ending journey. I wish I could stand quiet on my feet for sometime outside this world, full of people like me, disguised and masqueraded. Do they go through the mental turmoil I am going through? How to throw away these masks and put an end to this drama? I tried to stop it the hard way. I tried to forget the past and start afresh. I tried to live a life of my own.

That brings us to the end of the story, ultimate defeat of the invincible!!! For once the "good one" tried to be truthful to himself in the present and search for himself in the midst of false personalities. But is there any present without the past? I tried to change the present, but my past wouldn't let me go. It would come in front of me and say, in the disguise of people around me who thought of me very highly once and now hates me for being truthful,that I am a liar, untrustworthy liar!!!! But I tried, really tried to be trustworthy, believe me. But wasn't given a chance by this world.

So here I am. In this express train of my life, running through dark passage ways, nobody knows where. It is likely that in some more time I will consumed by this everlasting darkness so much that I won't be able to contact you. So this is my last letter to you, the men of conscience. My last advice, Don't try to be what you should be. Rather try to be what YOU want to be!!!

Adieus.

morichika

2006-01-21T18:07:00.000-08:00

aaj theke bohujug age
kono dhusor morupothe
jekhane batase nirjonotar ghran
ar balir stup
chhure dey ghono trishnar bidrup
kono bismrito otite
dariye chhilam ami
sudirgho pother klantike
buke niye....

hathat puber kone
ekkhani morudyan
bidhatar ashirbaad hoye
dekha dilo dure
potonger moto nirbodh
anonde chhute gechhi
oi onabil ahwane
duhate dhorte cheyechhi
anondo, alibabar moto...

jogoter sob kichhur moto
nisthur khusite
amar haat dutoy dana bedhechhe
oporisor shunyota
morichika kobe jeno more gechhe....

tarpor,
hajar bochhor dhore
morupothe bose achhi ami
ek morichikar protikkhay....

The eye of the Storm

2006-01-13T16:34:00.000-08:00

Never did I think that miracles happen
I had my head held high in foolish defiance
Inane attempts to bind my world in threads
of feeble logic, and I was so satisfied
And the peace was impeccable...

Eerie nights and sudden pain often
used to whisper in my ears
conspiracies begged to be unveiled
But I, buried them in my sands of satisfaction
in my own hands, I killed them
millions of times....

I was unalarmed when that night
you crept to my door and knocked
The feeble you and confident me
I thought.
But never could see the storm
in those dark innocent eyes
you brought for me as a present
I opened the door and let you in.

You touched my soul where
The dreams were buried
You kissed the wounds where
conscience had left its last sign
My palace of rational pleasure
fell down...

I knew not where to go
But I wasn't feeling pain
All my dreams were
unchained again
My feet stumbled
when you held my hand
feeble me and confident you
I thought...

Amidst the remnant of my past
where life and love were to re-form
I opened my eyes with fear and zeal
To stare at the eye of the storm!!!

onadrito

2006-01-12T10:01:00.000-08:00

ekmutho rod er bismoye
ami bromhander shokti chusechhi
nirbhik alosye
teji laal ghorar pithe
nirdoy chabuk er chumbon
taja khoto hoye cheye achhe
sobhyotar dike
amar sadher nogorir daalpala
kete khat almari rokomari
khelnar aromborh dekhe
aami obak hoye gechhi
ar ratri ke ma bhebe
shoishob ke chhuye dekhechhi

aaj purono shunyota
ghrinabhore diye gechhe bhore
adhunik chintar dalaal era
manush er kanna store store
akash chhuye highrise er khope
dana bedhechhe chapa upekkhay
nirlojjo haater chhurir dogay
bibek bedhe aaj-kal-
porshur britha kolahole
hathat purono besuro sur
mone pore jay....

The Journey Begins

2006-01-12T09:36:00.000-08:00

There is no truth.

Suddenness of incidences vaguely leave impressions on mind.

I was reading a storybook. I was seating beside a window. The curtain was drawn back and the world outside was glistening in the mid-april sun. Yes, I was
reading a book. I don't remember the title or the authors name. I think it was about love. And life. The language was lucid and the words knew their way to the
readers heart. I was reading slowly. Like taking a warm cup of coffee in a chilly winter morning. I wasn't reading to finish it, I was reading to detain the end. That
is one distinction between love and knowledge.

The story went on. climbed mountains and swam rivers and digged deep in mines to bring me the evidence of true love. Somewhere in the future, someone was
waiting to say the exact same things to me. "Love exists, I'll prove it to you!!" was what she'll tell me. And she will prove it in a language of pain. And the story
will go on.

I was convinced that it is the truth. Love is truth. But what is love? I looked around, at my room, at the mirror, outside the room into the streets.
Couldn't find anything similar to the story I just read. But the story seemed true enough and the things could have happened to me. But it didn't, at least at that time.
I decided to search for it thoroughly enough.

The book was lying open on the windowsill. The wind came. The pages skipped in the wind, settled, again skipped and the story went on. It'll not stop at the geometric
boundary of the book. Another book will come, then another. movies will come one after another. Poetry, cult literature, masterpieces and award-winners. knowledge
will engross my mind and a placid mist will veil the truth, if there were any.

But then I'll discover, may be in a coffee shop, or a train compartment or in some other place. The place is not really important. And neither is time. The ultimate truth
is that there is no truth. Life is accumulation of impressions. The grim world of pain and disbelief comes from our extreme strongrootedness in this world, our immense
attachment to everything.

Why do we live then?

It's like a movie. Completely fictitious. Still in itself it has a "reality" attached to it. It claims authenticity and claims it in a convincing fashion so that for the time being we assume
it is real. Rather we want to assume it's reality. That's why we watch movies, isn't it? It's same with life, I thought, because the illusions come one after another like bubbles and
foolishly claim permanence and in the next instant the bubble isn't there.

But we must realize that our "rationality" is also a part of that illusion. The harder we try to disentangle ourselves from the "reality" the more we get intertwined with illusion. Because that conscious effort is also connected to my "self" which is completely fictitious.

To live or to leave? whether to stop this grand movie show at once or to play our parts as a puppet? First point is what the criterion is. No rational gain can guide us to the answer even if there is an answer. Life it seems is like a game which continues until the player quits. To stop is to take the easier option, kneeling before the whims of unknown. But to keep on playing, weathering all pain,grief and despair,gives sense of victory out of which manifests sense of love!!!

The Night

2006-01-12T09:23:00.000-08:00

The night was asleep. The roads all seemed to whisper among themselves. A feeling of deep down conspiracy filled the void all around.
Often you have this uncanniness in a magic show or a political lecture. You can feel something behind the curtains but an attempt to
catch it threatens to subvert the existence. And hence this passive compromise between carrying on the journey and venomous but silent
waves.

The night was asleep. Street lights painted the roads in yellow solitude. But somebody was crying, rather weeping trying hard not to be heard.
Why do people cry even when they don't seek attention? What is the purpose of all these secret mourning? Why tears often find victims in
unlikely places? Why? And is it really someone weeping or my wandering mind playing tricks again? To love or to leave?

But someone really is crying. I think from the other side of the big market. The market, the exuberant painter of human lives at daytime, sleeping
like shadows of mountains over forests, caress of waves over stones. Yes other side of the market. A moan now, soft moan coming from there.
People live there. But are they really people? They are not like us. They are subhuman. Everybody says so. I never knew what makes one that way,
but people do say and believing them gives you peace.

But subhuman creatures do cry. Crying is something common between all creatures. It is laughing which is a human prerogative. So the subliminal
creatures are free to cry. The word "freedom" gives a shudder in the back. Like an unsatisfied apparition it haunts the mind. When the chain is of solid metal
it is easy to break free. But what if you can not see the chain or feel it? How do you know that you are chained or not? Again that uncanniness of sudden
realization paralyzes mind.

The grown-ups are wise. They seem to know all the answers. That tiny bit of smile hanging from the corners of their eyes say so. They know
everything. Perhaps wisdom accumulates with time and graying hairs. And surprisingly, their answers are short, really short, like "try not to think about
these" and "try to know why balloons float in the air, instead". The cruel torment of the soul is not a disease they are infected by, it seems. "Thinking
too much makes the thinking vague" is what they say.

Who is crying? The sound is distinct in this dry winter night. May be some foolish dream has broken somewhere, some inane expectation got trodden
by cruel life, cruel but wise and pragmatic. Life would have been much simpler without dreams and desires. Desire is the mother of despair and pain.
Why do we have to cry? Why? And there was the sound of music from some nearby house, may be television or a radio. The enthralling world of laughter
and the sharp mockery of the disdainful scream.

Yes, scream it is. Now it is more distinct than ever. Severing the stillness of the winter night, the cruel nonchalance of the nocturnal earth,it presented
itself. No pretense, nothing. Bare, naked existence of these subhuman species. suddenly streetlights went dark and hot tears wiped my face. A different sphere
of tangled emotion took me in. My shadows grew until the world became very small and the silent lament of the night audible.