Monday, 30 September 2013


Being alone one day

I was walking around

The streets of Kolkata

Then I found

A new building is coming up

In the place of old building


And all old furniture

And wooden door and window

Materials are stacked

As if these are antiques

With a hanging notice board

Announcing the activity -

Inviting auction sale

Of all old materials to be checked

For further use

If one likes to repair and reuse

The old valuables, if one can find it feasible.



I am thinking of my life

I have everything

A house, wife, son, daughter-in-law,

A little grandson,

Yet I am moving alone,

They are theirs,

The baby is theirs,

Wife is in a mood

To farewell everything,

Their eyes cast shadows,

Over the scares and gathering

They want to get benefit,

And I cannot think I am elderly one

To say something valuable

As if I am lonely man walking down roadway,

Thinking of demolished building,

Wherein once lived old residents, with

High spirits and solvency held high

In the time of their sovereignty,

Their power to propagate supremacy,

Now their memorabilia are sold,

As dead great grandmother had not to worry about

What she had one to hold and what she had

Not to possess about on the passage of time.

And in my loneliness,

I am also sold to the art of buying antifreeze of a car

In the equation of theory and data retrieved:

If theory is true, data is true, depending

On hands those are already moved to selling content

That slips down old Sapphire glory

As if harvest morning dismisses cloudy sky.

Thursday, 12 September 2013


Problems of living
Like broken doors
With two words –

Two door-shutters
Finding no hinge
Stacked for auction sale
By the real estate owner,

No human touch
To open the door
To tell tale till
Living is beautiful.

The door's shape
Within bricked space
Refused to be primed,
To set up to the reality.
Two door-shutters
With no screw pans
With scratch of pains
Still begging love

For human holding
For repairs to activity
For future leap
For essence of loving.


Saturday, 7 September 2013


O dear one, my strength is linking to dryness,
Only link, it is my mobile phone
That appears only to voice of a child,
And I feel comfort; as he is able to say, ‘Eei’
My walking with life is full of tufts
And shafts of yellow grass, higher
Above the height of nothingness, yet
I do live as if I am no one upon the land.

For the link, I have to turn hard,
No new garments I bought, wearing only old ones,
I am always pressing my mind for savings,
For paying cost for internet and mobile phone service,
Where I have to collect connections, and
Never varies my mind, even if silver dreams do come,
The only care I do intend for making me contacted
With the boy for hearing his voice on mobile phone,
and to see his pictures on internet social sites.  

As the child, beloved one,
Separated, by some persons of home and abroad,
Lives far away from me,
And as the child is yet to learn speaking to return from war zone,
My agony goes beyond submission and subjugation.
When I speak about need of a doctor for child's treatment,
They shout at me, young managers for the child,
As if I am trying to diverge thinking for well being
Of the child, as he appears to be well,
and he is fit to gain their confidence.

As an old man, my endeavor limited to seeing only window,
And I have to go hiding from their propaganda over shadow.




Friday, 6 September 2013


The beautiful child

Wants to play with

Grandfather and grandmother,

The sooner parents

Take away the child

And keeps in a closed room.

It is time for his eating,

He started crying, and

When he finds he is away

From his loved ones,

Tears coming down

His tender cheeks, and

With his feeble body

He cannot resist and

Falls asleep,

Like a lonely person

Out of sibling ring.
Sometimes, the elderly persons,
Grandmother and Grandfather
Do not carry the child
And go to bed, differently and silently.