Malla Sahitya || june || Editorial Note

|| Malla Sahitya || Cover concept : Avijit Daskarmakar

Malla Sahitya || june || Index

|| Malla Sahitya ||  INDEX

Malla Sahitya || june || Editorial Note

|| Malla Sahitya ||  Mandira Ghosh

Editorial Note

One language sets you in a corridor  for life. Two languages open every door along the way.'

                           ............Frank Smith

Language is the river where the lily of words blooms. There are numerous rivers in the world and so also languages. In today's world, one cannot restrict himself in his mother's tongue only. One needs to explore the vast horizon of language by becoming  international. A poet or a writer may be located in Siberia or in a remote pacific island and writing in his own language. But his poetic thought may be shared universally through a common language only which is international. English is the universal language that knocks on the door of all. Most of world literatures are either written or translated in English.

So a  poet can exchange or interact with world only if he transforms his creation in English.

With this end in view, we have taken up this issue exclusively in English to showcase the thoughts of poets of different languages in this universal language to reach globally. Hope our readers will appreciate our humble attempt.

Malla Sahitya || june || Bibhu Padhi

|| Malla Sahitya ||  Bibhu Padhi

A LONG NIGHT’S SLEEP

The night carries itself

far into the day.

The cellular dreams continue

despite daylight sounds.

 

The eyes open and close;

coffee waits.

 

In the dark, shadow figures

move, awakening from sleep

every little spot of wish,

persuading each to its fulfillment.

 

There are rootless smiles

that flower around

the body’s exquisite folds,

reproducing every human sleep.

 

The eyes open and close;

coffee waits.

 

The body begins to remember

each small thing lost, as if

in a dream, including

its own doubts and fears.

 

Then delicate fingers

find their ways through the hair,

a small tap on the shoulder,

a loving word whispered to the body.

 

You open and close your eyes;

coffee waits.

 

A pair of keen lips

perch on the eyes that open

only to close for further

dream and sleep.

 

In the kettle, steaming

coffee waits for

you, eager to be your

mouth, your lips.

                                               

And then, the quietly emerging

feeling that you are not alone

even in your longish sleep.

Someone else waits just like you.

 

Coffee waits.. Black coffee.

You take your first sip.

 

NOT BEING WHAT THE WORLD IS

 

The white clouds move away

towards another place, another time.

The day-light blue appears and lingers.

 

Somewhere you feel the weight

of the world, its responsibilities

filtering through your mind’s thin,

 

transparent layer of skin to its

very centre, asking you to be

what you have never been.

 

You review all that you have done,

all that the past has pushed into

its own future, try your best to find out

 

what went wrong, where.

All explanations seem to be only

an extended illusion of what you

 

promise yourself to be, every day,

every hour. Now the big world

looks at you with a suspicion

 

that challenges your small achievements

and pleasures, your inherited right

to remain yourself. And then, suddenly,

 

you begin to notice what life is, how

feather-like, how much sincere to itself, how

clear, and you, so difficult, so incomplete!

 

Malla Sahitya || june || Kynpham Sing Nongkynrih

|| Malla Sahitya ||  Kynpham Sing Nongkynrih

Consolation

I want to send you words

that will massage your soul

and wipe away your sorrow.

But how do I console you

when your ailment is a virus

mutating into new forms every day?

You would not even tell me

what ails you exactly!

You sit by the window watching the sunrise;

you sit by the window watching the sunset.

Let me be the zephyr

from the Brahmaputra,

fanning your luminous face,

caressing your luminous hair.

Let me stroke your back with chiropractic fingers;

let me rub your chest to ease your breathing.

Because I cannot be with you,

I silently fold you in my arms

and kiss your head repeatedly.

Bury your face in my chest, Nameri;

I want you to feel the great love

beating there for you.

Pour your troubles into me,

let your soul be with mine,

do not speak if you can’t.

When you feel what I feel for you,

you will understand why

you will never be alone in this life.

Be brave, be strong.

What happens to you today

is what you are becoming tomorrow,

and pain may set you free.

I give you my soul in this life;

I leave you my love when I die.

I am your safety net;

fall on me, Nameri.

Festering Wound

When I spoke about you to the moon,

he hid his face behind a cloud.

I knew the night would not be joyous.

I thought you were displeased with me,

but your tears flowed

from an ancient well of sorrow.

The festering wound in your heart

needs the healing salve of sympathy,

but those around you, Nameri,

only want you to do

what you do not want to do.

It’s not your happiness

but what the world thinks of you

that matters most to them.

And nor will they stop

unless you become

what they think

women should become.

I want to hug you,

stroke your hair,

caress your back,

kiss your tears.

I want to whisper in your ears:

those who follow their hearts

are never let astray.

Though far away,

my love knows no distance;

my words are passionate

in their desire to serve you.

Collect your tears in a glass bottle, Nameri,

I will add mine to yours, and together,

our sorrow will spring into life

and sing of the sweet sadness of things,

the essence of our song.

Malla Sahitya || june || Boudhayan Mukherjee

|| Malla Sahitya ||  Boudhayan Mukherjee

CHANGE

whenever i come

i see something new

this time a pond

has been dug

the volute casing

churns gurgles of pump set

they will transplant 

high-yielding paddy this year

the deep-litter poultry farm

bursting with torrential life

the Jersey cow , spruced

milking profusely

river Ghia is tame

akin to my brothers

they parched the floods

watered the drought

their bodies are stronger

minds broken cashewnuts

they daily plant a tree

to get their oxygen free

whenever i come here

i return a better man

Old Age Home

He will lose in transit , the stillness of his icy shadow carved on the grey years of his Old-Age Home. He's a leaf , drooping to reach darkness pooled in the center of his grave. At dusk , wooden stairs fold up as he reaches the street. He no longer knows his city , trembling in the mist of his ambivalent wishes, tears and heteromyopia.The bells chime at Park Street , dullness revives as silence ingests the sounds. Silence parches his lips , frail eardrums . He murmurs ambiguously , Son , my son , I now have limbs of a child , your child. But I'll run to your flat , wobbly- legged to see my grandson, if you call ...

ON MY CORRIDOR

Sunlight drops with a whisper

On my corridor floor at twilight

My sunlight is now abendrot

I spread out a soulful esraj

On the soft carpet of light

To hear the classical whims of your love.

                                  (** esraj is an Indian musical instrument, a stringed one ,

                                        primarily used in classical compositions.)

Malla Sahitya || june || Aloke Mukherjee

|| Malla Sahitya ||  Aloke Mukherjee

A death in a library

   A death in the library, he is still warm circled by dead geniuses 

on the shelves, he is stretched like still living, the warmth of the black coffee lingering on his lips, a ring for long life on his finger,  some dirt

under his nails and some dreams on the closed eyes

Those fingers touched tales of a thousand years.

Now he is gone, nothing this moment

Silence alights on the windowpane--

the sun gathers--

The long night swoops on flapping its wings

"Why,  buddy, don't you see, this boy could beat 

death by his hara-kiri"-- Aristotle guffaws and says to Descartes.

From the third shelf, Nietzsche mutters, " Aye, Aye, sir! "

Burning Calcutta

Sun is burning you, dear Calcutta,

scorching your dear soul in burning sun.

smut swirls in April wind---

lonesome Krishnachura casting its mellow shadow

by the road, young couple sitting  on the waterfront,

 some ducks clucking aloud, two swans nibbling  at  hind feathers, Don’t you think the picture is quite good ?

Once I was there too, not now—

You were near me; you were within me, Calcutta!

Calcutta is burning today, how are you?

Why men, you are sitting calm, you are quiet like icy hell!  How long you are sitting there? Don’t you grow old? 

Should I go? Two more kisses on cheeks of my Sana!

Two more kisses and I will live forever in the stars and wind. 

I will be there in distant tang of an unknown flower.

Malla Sahitya || june || Alok Bandyopadhyay

|| Malla Sahitya ||  Alok Bandyopadhyay

A desire unfulfilled 

Whenever I look at you, I remember those memorable moments, those intimate moments, when I lost myself within you.

Time flies. Scenario changes. Now even if we are together the distance is felt.

Yet I know, it is statutory social distancing, mentally we are still very  close.

Now when I frantically long for a tactile shelter, the void deepens.

I become very thirsty, I need water to moist my dry throat.

Let me reach that valley where these taboos and totems do not exist.

The Glass Window 

The window panes broke down under the strong gust of wind.

The hurricane that spelt disaster for this universe appeared  so suddenly that it took us by utter surprise.

It not only changed the familiar world, but it ushered  topsy-turvy dom.

We found the fragmented pieces of our cherished possessions lying scattered on the floor.

We tried to build up a kaleidoscope out of those broken pieces of our faith, belief and love but failed.

No captivating design emerged, only a blurred image gradually enveloped the entire canvas.

Malla Sahitya || june || Anjana Basu

|| Malla Sahitya ||  Anjana Basu

THUNDER TRYST

Thunder flash stars crash

in the darkness striking sparks of light

the leaves Quiver and

the trees trunks shiver

as the night flashes and crashes around them

There’s no need for light on that dark night,

a shadow within shadows the dark one goes to the river

Between the trees that tremble and blaze

as a spark catches quick lightning

the king’s path the lover’s shadowed tender walk

the river waters flow round him

fluid as spilt ink on ebony skin,

a kiss that lights a spark

till the night blazes

thunder flash stars crash falling

HE DIDN’T COME

dear one why so down?

heart's outrage, petulance, anger

and an empty train the special that ran

from mathura wheels singing speed

no heart stopper on board

no text of explanation

Malla Sahitya || june || Abhijit Palchoudhuri

|| Malla Sahitya ||  Abhijit Palchoudhuri

A Painting

Who painted that eluding

Rainbow on horizon

Like a virgin bust line ..

Set loose my restrained wishes 

Like a flock of white horses

Running ashore

Along the coastline of this

Proliferating sea and mute sand dunes that

Lay unconcerned...

Forelocks of speeding horses 

with their crests and tail hairs 

Flying in gusty sea wind

Like the flags of invaders

Chasing the enemies..

"Buck up ...buck up " 

Exclaimed my feeble voice 

Sinking in sands with

The fading sounds of

Running hoofs..

My body, my dreams 

All get smudged in

The windy sands

Gazes still my soul

At the run of those horses

Losing away

The rainbow silently

Vanishes in the looming 

night blues

Keeping my soul awake

With the agony of

Lost horses ..

Malla Sahitya || june || Gopal Lahiri

|| Malla Sahitya || Gopal Lahiri

Eden Garden

the days pass away, glimmer out,

I borrow a book on how to keep

the butterflies made of red bricks

a symbol of modern metropolis

though what do I understand

of land sharks and green crushers

that depends on greed and violence.

embers in the winter sky, everyone

hurrying to cover up distress,

trying to respire in unison

to the rhythm of the road rollers,

to the flying dust, dirt and asphalts,

only I am reading under the blankets,

fall asleep, dreaming of garden of Eden.

Therapy

My mornings fill with birds humming songs of welcome 

I derive a part of sensibility from them.

There is a merciless realism all around.

 

They depict a cynical social order,

mazes of deceit and exploitation. 

I want to deliver a really long speech

right when the curtain goes up.

Words come blooming out of me

but I can’t deliver with valid points. 

I can’t illustrate any idea with a twirl of the wrist

or slicing the air for prominence.

Late me hire a dialogue coach.

He can tutor me a conversation

in a mode of rich irony with a wicked relish-

How and when society can be better arranged?

I am searching for the answer.

Malla Sahitya || june || Subir Ghosh

|| Malla Sahitya || Subir Ghosh

IN THE PRESENT HIBERNATION

No longer well is the woman, the forlorn,

not even any ripple in the great lake ,

only a handful of rice ---- that too

                                    in the late hours ;

pangs of thorns do not leave the feet .

She allows water to flow beneath the creeper .

 

In the present hibernation

She takes all the blame to her side

that’s stained by smoke from her old lantern.

 

But the female was not actually  out of company

even after she lost her colour and brushes .

Could she now recall when was the last rain ---

                                        the last heavy rain ?

And in those evenings full of muddy smell

her temple cann’t come out of the laziness .

In the forgone winter days

the unknown fog used to burst balloons.

 

SILENTLY PASSES THE SPRING

Why did you come , Rain ?

Don’t you know today is full moon ?

Moon has got hurt

and shouted a muck .

You melted the yellow of the chin

and put out the wasp

in the lock of blacky hair .

Who are now rolling back

and who do not stand by their  promise ?

Who else clipped the  wings

not having to fly away ?

Branches are lonely----morose----

the red Palash vanished .

Today is colour festival ,

where to find a dry spot ?

Not even your boobground is dry

to rub the powder colour.

 

Malla Sahitya || june || Nishi Pulugurtha

|| Malla Sahitya ||  Nishi Pulugurtha

Thick Walls

yellow tall thick walls

with a new coat of paint

walls that have stood as spectators

Mute

witness to the passage of time

that crawled and sped

for years, centuries.

They hold tales

cries and shrieks

that went unheard, heard and

ignored

Muffled and stopped

thick walls that divided

that broke

red broad bricks

laid in patterns

that now lay bare

The hot breeze blows.

Malla Sahitya || june || Kallol Chowdhury

|| Malla Sahitya ||  Kallol Chowdhury

A Haunted house

Smit had a haunted house

Nearby

After the dusk there was roaring

Sigh

When moonlight falls on the

House

There was running of mouse

People say the mouses are

Ghosts

Soon the premises covered with

Frosts

Sometimes mouses change to

Cats

Hundreds of cats begin mew

Mew

People become scary thinking of

Ghosts

The tarmarind tree there was

Home to bats

These bats change to any shape

Any time.

Will the kids play prank, shiver

And flee away?

Malla Sahitya || june || Meenakshi Goswami

|| Malla Sahitya ||  Meenakshi Goswami

A ROMANCE INCURABLE

Are we to finally kill our thirst ?

Why are you blocking the fountain of love?

While I stand resolute in my belief

that the well is not yet dry.

Through joy and happiness our love began

The little drops became a stream

and the stream a river..

We cried, we laughed

We cuddled, we fought..

There were times 

When we didn't feel like 

seeing each other,

But in the end it really didn't matter,

Because we knew that 

The stream of love continued to

flow silent and deep.

When anger starts,

To seep in through our hearts,

We speak volumes

We rave and rant

with blames and accusations 

That might have torn us apart..

So with the passage of time

We cared not to look eye to eye

for they we’re filled with 

Too much dishonesty,

Too much lie,

And perhaps too much pride

With no trust and no respect..

And then we wonder 

Where is the love that we created 

knowingly or unknowingly ?

Are we supposed to succumb

to our numbness

and dumbness ?

With no sense of why we are drifting apart

Through non-existent differences ? 

Sad to know that all have come down to nothing else,

But just hatred

and loathing that is as real as the love

that kept us together...

I, so lost amidst contradictions

can't find a place to begin

once again and mend the leaks.

But if you think you know the truth 

and you know the way

And your mind is at peace,

Am glad for you because I perhaps 

Am a victim of cynicism 

while you are stable and invulnerable..

Hope one day our love resurfaces once again

and once again the streams 

Flow in spate

while for now we move on hand in hand 

perhaps like two long lost Friends

in our reunion.

Malla Sahitya || june || Nilotpal Gupta

|| Malla Sahitya ||   Nilotpal Gupta

Resurrection 

The pot is spilthing

Don't be currish for a drop

Drink as you can

Night is itself nodus at this bend

No story can surpass the whirl

Come and take part

Time is ravished at your presence

Show the fingerprint and thumbrule

of the sport

An orgy of destruction churned the air from buttom

Spread the bough to clench the wave

to put it in bone's hole

Now moment is primal

Just brust and reborn.