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Someone gave away
that I had met God
My heart missed a beat
From where has
this pious soul emerged
I sent out a toothy ‘emoji’
Riding the crest of WhatsApp
in an instant the news went viral
It infected the brains of
one hundred people at least
These trivial chats
rolling over the phones
are said to be the ‘strokes’
of the modern life
Water has been found on Mars
There is a scramble
for land deals on the moon
Heaven and Hell have keeled over
At night I gazed at the sky
The endearing weave of the sky
is still intact with the moon and the stars
None of them has been infected till now
But on the people and
on their listless faces
the infection of pain is visible
(1)
To dispel the darkness of my mind
take a bath in moonlight
Or else the mind will fling itself
into the mossy pond
(2)
A *keteki’s call comes
forcing through the woods
The mind makes a dash for it
Gale-like it rises and falls
– that picture
of yore
(3)
I die in my books
In the creel
a russet afternoon
lies dead
(4)
Digging the sky I gather stars
And at bottomless nights
beyond the dreams
I dream another dream
*Keteki: the Indian nightingale
Taking it as God I looked at the stone
knelt down in obeisance
The stone toppled over
and hit my forehead
I saw the hard heart
of the stone
lifeless numb
Who will the stone light up
Whose tongue will it make to speak
Who will it bless touching the head
In the stony darkness of its own heart
it remains submerged
itself
day and night
Are you a river or a woman
Spreading out the spotless white scarf
In pain you keep tossing and turning all night long
Tomorrow the news will break
Her neck began to droop
The grief-stricken souls will say
A woman killed herself
A waterfall crashed face down
The river burst into a frantic dance
In the name of preliminary investigation
the neighbours would be harassed
The police would arrive
The woman’s post-mortem would be done
Everything would be noted down in the case diary
Who arrived at her door every day
At what price did she sell her smiles
Did the moonlight turned into milk
and a scented river
Nobody asked
how many hills had crashed down
over her breast just before she killed herself
And then the police
handcuffed
picked up the frantic river
Her heart was brimming with love
She was the charming buddy
of the disabled woman
Whose identity is the river
Saraswati
that got lost under the sands
Unawares I didn’t ask you once
your whereabouts
Charmed by your depth
we counted the waves
we called Sita our ‘Mother’
age after age
And clearing the throat
I brought out from the deep
the elixir of life in my palm
When I fell at the sound
of the sun going out
that very day
a treasured word
was poured over your writing quill
Give out your own light
grope along the twilight path
Never touch the word
your body will be polluted
Do not bring the word to your tongue
it will be cut off
Do not tie the word to your thumb
Dronacharya will take it
as *gurudakshina
Do not keep the word
at the front door
he will keep standing
at the backdoor
Do not fall in love with the word
you’ll end up in the hangman’s knot
Neither the temple
nor the mosque
not even the school
the word can step into
Why has the lexicographer
entered the word in the dictionary
If the word has occupied
a place in your heart
and if it melts your heart
brood over it once more
*gurudakshina: fee given to a guru (teacher) or spiritual preceptor
In the heart of Hell everyone saunters
They strip off their body and soul
There is no sentry as in Heaven
none of the activities of disciplined life
Passing through hundreds of doors
Yudhishthira too fatigued as he reached Heaven
The dream garden of Hell
the fertile field of insult and agony
No need to maintain the decency of
language and dress: This is Hell
This is the favourite haven of all
gods demons kinnaras who failed to make it to Heaven
From here none is deported
Everything is up for grabs
murder rapine sycophancy prostitution
All law is prohibited here
No scope of query, what a strange place
With firearms you’ve filled the earth with ashes
Yet you can stay here without fear
You’ve killed your dear ones, your parents
let your children die of typhoid fever
That brutal truth too is praised here
The equation of suicide is solved here
in the uneasy flapping of vultures
In the geometric miscalculation for son or daughter
the foetus is throttled in the womb
In the void of sense and nonsense
the conscious thoughts get trampled
The sorrows and sobs of Hell are burned away
Whoever steps in here gets drunk
Having forgotten the differences between truths and lies
everyone comes and stands in the dark abyss
It has starved for ages
In silence and loneliness
its face wears a sad look
The family boy growing into youth
once opened it a hundred times
for a few gems of roundhand letters
as if lying at its bottom
His father too had looked into it
everyday with affection
before he got a job
As its lips got parched cracked
the body lost its sheen
like the old man slouching
on the veranda
it too dozed off at the gate
mocked by the passers-by
Who has now time
to conjure up a sea of affection
on a sheet of white paper
Nowadays everyone feels joy
just pressing the buttons
A smiling picture came up in a dream
All around kids singing and playing in glee
on the soft meadow
flocks of wagtails
The masons raised it
by hacking and grinding
iron rods cement grit and sand
for years
Now and then I came
as in my pleasure trips
Striking off the draft I undid what was built
and built it again
At that time I saw an untamed bird smarting
Startled I asked myself
Why do people build houses
to raise their love
or to make themselves captive
The work was done one day
The masons and carpenters went away
picking up in their tool bags the awful noises
The house freshly painted and burnished
invited one day
Come on and enjoy
a golden evening like a morning
I invited my friends
The house brimmed with the symphony of
melodious songs and laughter
Saying goodbye everybody left
for their home at a time
The clatter of cups saucers plates died away
Breaking through the floor a sad tune
coiled me around
I gasped for breath
I opened the window asked the moon
Where have the birds flown away in a flight
deserting this place
Treading on the fallen ripe leaves
I felt a sensation shot up
Yellowing
At the rustle the oriole flushed
to greet **Bohag
O Rain, spread out your hands
In the soft soil let it take root
Let it sprout
the pure seeds of gold
***Bordoichila dashed this way
snatching the smile of the laburnum tree
stripping the old peepul tree
*Fagun: early spring; the 11th month of the Assamese calendar (mid-February – mid-March)
**Bohag: the 1st month of the Assamese calendar (mid-April – mid-May), associated with festivity and
fertility
***Bordoichila: the storm that wreaks havoc in the Assam valley in Bohag
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