Sekhar Banerjee is a bilingual poet. He has three collections of
poems and a monograph on an
Indo-Nepal border tribe to his credit. His poems in English have been published
in some of the major literary journals in India and abroad . Lately, he has
been selected as the Author of the Month by Setu - a bilingual
monthly journal published from Pittsburgh , USA.He considers poetry as a spurious medicine
which, if administered sincerely, can cure even the deceased.
The
Pseudonyms: An elegy to Fernando Pessoa
Every
contradictory pseudonym of a poet
visits
him in his death ; on the dividing wall, they sit
and
silently read
hymns
of forgetting
from
the pages of a poetry book, sonorously blank
like
a traffic sergeant’s head
You
tap the periphery of bottomless sleep
It
clangs like a cymbal
And
you return from your carefully
preserved
levitation in autumn ;
We
have heard so much
about
common bliss and the poetic ache; they coagulate
the
days and nights together
I
consult the sour smell of parting in the air
and
try to know ourselves – the distant pseudonyms
through
constant forgetfulness
Cloud
Barracks
I
count everything -intricately carved minarets
and
manholes of the capital
in
the cloud barracks ; the forgetful gods are waiting
in
my thoughts
as
if, nothing has ever happened
without
any reason
I
refuse to be taught anything new now– I resolve
Far
from the capital, I am lost
in
this assembly of unending
future
and the prospect of the present on a holiday
in
a retreat
There
is a fresh coat of paint at heart
And
there is a tourist smell in the air
In
this resort, everything is now almost delicate
Downfall,
social scenes the palace intrigue,
the
celebrations next week, floral bedspreads ,
women
copiously decked up,
enginemen
in striped ties and branded suits
stare in my holiday sleep - punctuated
Scarlet Balloon
Every
bamboo in south-east Asia is turning
yellow
in the groves
in
November – the month
of
eating oranges in loneliness
Idols
of owls and elephants hug
the
warriors in sleep , licking the scars
of
the massacre and huge defeats .
Colourful
balloons
go
up between old immigrant’s buildings
gasping
for baby food and oxygen
I
know I need to mend my shoes
clip
my nails
shampoo
my arm pits, take extra medicines
for
my shadow in grief
I
have to search the alleys and back alleys
of
autumn
for
a scarlet balloon in my sleep
Voices Within-2020 :: Setu, February 2020
beautiful poems, deftly crafted, imagery great,
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