Another year. 

Sheen of that steel spoon

That dry taste- the orange through

The brown and yellow- swallow

And bile rises again.

To another year.

Wires

Through the barbed wires, on the fence-

I saw a corpse hanging last night.

Mouth open, uttering possibly

The loudest of unheard screams.

He wanted to escape, they said.

I retreat and draw more barbed wires

Around me- I want escape-I don't speak-

But I don't want pain- Death, I may want

Only that it should be painless.

And that day, long back when she came

And stepped over my wires- and we made love

And we had our daughter- I could not

See the wires from behind her silhouette.

And at times, when they tell me that

They are letting one go, I push my wires farther

I tell them about my life- about my little daughter

And the wires don't bite me anymore.

The Curtain of Silk

It rained a lot last night
and this water that has flowed
into the gutter
might have been the tears
that filled my eyes, unshed
that then the dark sky cried
at how things have now changed
between the two of us
I hid from it my eyes
It must have caused death
The rain falling - a drop
the last one sliding from the roof
It broke my heart in two
as it smashed itself into tiny droplets
on the pavement

I do not know what's left
It must have been my fault
but I am sure it is not
the rain that ran into
the bowels of the earth
That last raindrop
falling on the ground
The snow-globe that shattered
that had falling snow in it
and figure-skaters small -
It must have been my fault

And it must have been
when I bent down
to remove the lint from your skirt
and saw the burrs from the grass
attached to its silk
that this curtain fell
of silence, between us
smooth as silk
rough as parchment

I must pause now
for I cannot see anymore

On Dying

Do not talk of Death-
He listens with wary ears
And in wallowing wisps
Waving away, he walks
Slyly he makes you
One of his dear own.

While the distressed songstresses
Of the graveyard, sing but in
Selfsame violent chirps,
Yet the heart longs, silently.

Talk of Death- in the expect'
Of a new escape? Ah but
What of the hens and cocks
Who witness you leave the cage?

Life and Lies

The fine tightrope I walk everyday
With flailing arms, tilting askew
And they beckon me with white hands
Sadly like the lies that I live everyday
Knowing that armors are after everything-
Beaten metal with holes in them- however small.

And when a little part of me seeps through
Silently, unknowingly- I try and piece myself back
Only to see frayed edges, and gaping holes
Where the chunks of myself are missing- for I
Possibly gave them to somebody else.

And they cackle- at the oddity of a netted silhouette
With spindly arms and a sad paunch walking
A stilted tightrope- They know not that he has yet
To fall- Or maybe, the meshed vision of a fall too many
Is far too insignificant for the beast within.

All in all, I love the fog of lies.
I love how it protects me.
It is better- than the clarity of silence
Of course better than the transparency of truth.

Silent Symphony

And while these glasses are filled

With thoughts, and emptied of wine

Let's not spill ourselves tonight.

Let the moon- which slowly crawls

Past the purple-hued sky, remain

Ever silent- behind the veil of clouds

Not unlike us, with our veils intact

Speaking of the far lost time- or maybe

Of times to come, let us not forget

That roads are meant to walk on

To separate- to understand- That 

Emptiness is not the same as loneliness

Yet the heartless body sinks in the ocean

Of excruciating pain- the selfsame way.

And while these glasses are filled

With thoughts, and emptied of wine

Let us not speak of ourselves tonight

My love, for silence to silence,

Let us resurrect a dying symphony.

Neither yours, nor mine. 

I'm Here to Love

After a long time, hi. It's been long, indeed. These three weeks have been quite a lesson in life. You know, one of those lessons in life that just come by you and take you by surprise? Yes, one of those. Life already feels different. It looks more artificial and in all honesty, a little pointless, like a handful of clay in the midst of a sea beach. But somewhere inside, you know you'll get used to this. The waves will wash away the little clay, leaving nothing but the vast expanse of golden sand again.

I slept for 5 hours last night. Again, after a long time. I have tasks pending, yes, but those do not have deadlines. My internet history now only speaks of websites I download study material from, and portals where I upload my assignments. My stomach's grumbling today. Three weeks of continues fried potatoes in some way or the other takes a toll on even the robust of stomachs. A lot of people are down with viral. A lot of people got over with it, while I stand away. Apprehensive of the rhinovirus, as much as their friendship.

Yes, friendship is a tricky business now. And you know that. We're grown up. We're in a competitive world. People out there are ready to slit throats to get ahead. The good thing is, I've learnt to identify such people. I've learnt to not trust people easily. But the good thing (?) is that other people know too. So everyone roams about with a searching look in their eyes. The guards are down, as much as the x-ray machines are up. Some people are married in my group. Some are engaged to be married. Some are to-be engaged to be married. Some have girlfriends and boyfriends. Some do not.

The level of maturity fluctuates. But it's alright. I never segregate, I never judge. I do not make friends, but I talk to everyone. In the 150-odd batch, a lot of people know me. They can point me out in a crowd and call out "Dutta", knowing that I'll look back and not Aniruddh or Abhishek even though their last name is Dutta too. Of late, writing has become more of a latent thing. A lot of poetry comes to me the way it used to, just that there is no means to put it on black and white. So I let it run wild, in the wildest hope that it'll come back to me again. But like the clouds in the skies, even it comes back, there's no way of knowing so. It is never the same. That's also the mantra for life.

Mantra is the key word here. Everyone invents their abbreviations for terms as simple as Target Group (TG) or First Come First Serve (FCFS). I don't know- probably I'm being too anal-retentive about all this, but there is a certain 'thing' about full forms- is it that they are clearer? Objectively understandable? But nevertheless, in this respect too, I know I'll speak the lingo in a few days. I already jabber on about 4P's and 5C's to random people, I don't know what the future has in store.

And all this while, this little while that I'm up with no work (categorically, well, A LOT of work, with, like I said, no deadlines) I realise I'm just going with the flow. And I'm happy with that. I'm not one of these people who chase their passion and do what they really love to do, and let go of something really lucrative in the bargain. I envy those people, yes, sometimes more so than ever, but I know I cannot be one of them. The risk is very high. I always seem to look at the what-if-this-doesn't-work-out situation and I take steps back. It's better to not want anything so much in life that you have to specifically go upstream to get it. Going with the flow is better. Your muscles hurt less. The water is not in your face.

I guess this is enough. I have successfully lost track of what I was saying. My alarm has also gone off, which means I have another session in a short while. Just a little advice for this young ugly duckling out here.

Be yourself. Don't worry, honestly. Whatever you may think about judgements and senses. I love you, even if nobody else does. Trust me, the power of these words is immense. Whenever you're out there doing what you do, and a little cloud of darkness crosses your mind, a little tug of sadness pulls you towards itself, smile back. Know someone cares. Know that you can always come back to someone and be forgiven, unquestioningly. Know that.

Rant. Shout. Scream.
I'm here to hear. I'm here to listen. I'm here to love.