Tuesday, January 30, 2018

Happy Birthday Enazori

Life throws shapeless, happy colours at you;
Among this countless happiness, you get to choose a few.
Paint a line in red, blue, yellow or even grey,
Write your own happy ending stories, as you turn four today.
Happy Birthday, Enazori!

You feel the sun and you get soaked in mist
You sing Dylan and Jude to have your own playlist.
Though you see faces around to make new friends everyday,
You will still find your mummy finger close as you turn three today.

You sing and dance on the love songs of this winter.
you refuse to abandon the lap of your mother.
You run we hug, you smile we melt, you ask we say,
Feel the beauty of the world you turn two today

Play with the stars if the night seems to be long
Live your life with sand, rainbow and a country song
Carry a pocket full of sunshine we gift and we pray
Feel the beauty of the world you turn one today

Thursday, April 20, 2017

I Still do not Trust the Phone Call

I never trusted the phone call
A lost tempest, a heartbroken forest
And a wild colorless wave crossed betwixt the call and my realization.

A disturbed, lost and unknown tempest left a scar
To let me realize your emptiness.

A heartbroken forest un-drenched for ages
But grief stuck tall bamboo trees
Rub between them to weep and drench
The Bermuda grass, to let me sense you are not close.

A wild disturbed wave sinks
The newly carved house, yet dried are my lips
And colorless eyes to knock my heart
Which says you are not to be touched.

I still do not trust the phone call.

Monday, September 26, 2016

Drenched in Your Color

It’s been few years that
I have been playing with a canvas.
Canvas of some ambiguous yet striking lines.

Painting the lines with hope,
On hope there is a tinge of some love,
On love there are some sketches of dew,
And on those dew there are shades of curiosity.

The color of the nest where the mynah lives
Is golden
And golden are her dreams.

Today, looks like there is a strong bond
Among all the lines.
Hidden is your smile, your additions and subtractions,
Your ups and down and
The captivating tune of Enazori in the lines.

Today the mynah plays with her golden drenched feathers
And she gets submerged in eternity –

I feel a lot of your color in my wings

Sunday, July 6, 2014

Where have you stored your dreams Enazori?

Where have you stored your dreams Enazori?  
In your palms or betwixt your sharp sword edged eyebrows?
In between your strawberry fingers or beneath  
Your coiled naval painting?   

Where do I go around searching your trances Enazori?  
Last night I kept my ears on yours,  
To listen through the hollowness  
And also plunged in your brown eyes -  
A stream of fantasy touched every wave of my soul.  
Now I want to store your dreams in an app of the iStore.   
Want to create a blueprint of your dreams  
And would knot it to your Ma’s Sador.    

Tomorrow when it rains will play the seventh string of my guitar  
And will do it every evening when it rains.   
When the summer heat will soak your Ma’s Mekhla Sador,  
Will make her listen to the lyrics of your whimsical dreams.      

Saturday, January 18, 2014

Dear Enazori, From Ma

Dear Enazori

We bought a piece of land few days back
Dry and barren
The color was almost like the color of my mom's cheeks
Some vermillion mixed with a pocket full of sunshine

The waves of your tiny legs 
Shiver each of my aspiration. 

Now a days I have started painting:

The brush picks up many beautiful colors
To measure your length and breadth. 

You must have felt a green leaf sometimes
On your legs or on your forehead.
Waiting to paint you green
The green leaf too waits with the dawn and dusk. 

One day when you arrive will make you understand
How many times, even I had the shade of this green leaf. 

When you come, the rain drops will make my barren land smile. 

From Ma

Friday, September 13, 2013

Kingstork - Goa 6th July 2013

A handful of breeze whispered
And posted me about you.
You must be now amused with your soulful dreams;
Or must have stretched your both hands,
To fondle the golden rays of early sun
From our confused and messed up balcony.
The balcony where the white and grey pigeon 
Plays with her own dusky feather.
I am not doing anything like this.
Goa 6th July - why do I feel a less of everything in Goa this time –
The sand being dark like the remote clouds
Cuddled in anticipation but to burst.
Why do I feel that the waves do not intend to welcome me?
The sea has always been a witness
Of your fascination towards her
(She is yet to know your steady dislike)
Is it that the waves in Goa usually sense people
Who come with a heavy half heart?
Or maybe she is just teasing me;
So that I keep roaming around 
with the same damp and heavy heart.
Tonight it’s going to be a heavy rainfall in Goa and
I plan to get drenched.
Who knows, the rain drops might bring some news 
about you 
like the handful of breeze.

Monday, December 24, 2012

I Plan to Steal a Guitar Tomorrow

Tomorrow, I plan to steal a guitar
From a nearby musical store.
I will pet this guitar like a
Fish, a cat or a parrot.
When the strings of the guitar grow like those unruly hairs,
I will trim them off with lot of warmth.
With a comb, I will make them look tidy.

The day when my guitar gets a bad throat
Will feed him warm water
And will let him do gargle regularly.

I have also crafted a wooden bed for him
Where I have designs of human…a lot of beautiful human

I am still thinking what would he like to have for his meal?
Chicken or something vegetarian?
Some seafood or just some cola.
I somehow feel, if he gets an ice cream,
I will see a smile of a rainbow on his face.
So I am going to steal a guitar tomorrow.
Please come tomorrow to meet my new guest.

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

The Squirrel

I see a squirrel in my balcony.
It’s been couple of days -
He comes and peeps through my window.
He is not exactly black-
Neither brown nor maroon.
He is more like the dusk -
The dusk that reminds me of your hair,
The onset of the darkness is exactly the color of the squirrel.
Its eyes has the moist color-
Though it’s very milky
I prefer calling it cloudy-
The white clear ones but
Stores a tempest beneath.
I realize we are bonded with a mutual thought.
An unknown relationship but a strong stream of consciousness.

It rained heavily yesterday and
I see a clear sky since then.
The rain has stormed in my balcony and I don’t see the squirrel today.
The rain drops touched my arms today and I feel my wings in the air.

Friday, November 18, 2011

Today, When I was Coming Back

Today, when I left you and was coming back
As if all the music tumbled down the way.
The blanket of the dawn looks even moister today.

The story of the road
Where I lost my music once,
I told it to myself today.
Alas! You were not there to
Blow away the story with a smile.

What should I name this feeling of
You, not being with me -
The gloomy cloud or
The chaotic wind.
John Donne's poetry
Or Nilim da's nap.

My wheels want to break free today
Like a nomad, they wander.
Looks like the most musical poetry
Tumbles down the hill today.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

The Old Wooden Bed

Those were the days gone by
You used to sleep together with her.
Let father brings you the a talking toy
Or some dark chocolate .
But you use to come near
Her breast every night.

Those were the days
When your thin lips
Suck the nipple of her breast
With the eagerness of some milk.
You don’t let her sleep peacefully.
Every night you had a sensational
Touch of a women.

Today again you get lost in the sensuous scent of a women.
You love to get lost in the ups and down of her body.
You still kiss her countless
You still don’t let her sleep peacefully.

The age and time has transformed you
From the inner core of her heart
To her inner breast
What is still the same is Me
I am the witness of your desire.
I am that age long, stable
Old Wooden Bed.

BURDEN by Shobha Goswami

One of Shobha Goswami's finest paintings that I am so impressed with that at the first glance I could not resist myself linking it to my blog. She is one of the finest painters in the contemporary times and who is highly inspired by Nature's beauty. To know more about her works please click NISARGA Art Prints

my room

In one of the rooms of mine he studies,in another one he takes his meal, in one of them he sings ,sleeps in the other. He rents all the four rooms of my heart He is none but sorrow. - Nilim Kumar