Poetry: Moinak Dutta

Moinak Dutta

A letter to belle amie
------------------------------
Thought for months
To sit at my desk
And write a long letter
To your address,
Facing the window
The gulmohor tree
Redness when will spread
All over me,
Thought to write a letter
Long and wide
Catching my mind's lull
And its high tide,
Thought to arrange alphabets
One after another
Thought to write archaic
Dipping in ink my feather,
But then these days
Time slips away
Like water through fingers
Absolutely slippery,
Thought to write you
How the moon drenched me
From my neighbour's third floor
Coming home, with glee,
Thought to ask you
'How are you going
From your nights of hope
To depressive mornings?'
Thought to write to you
'What you have cooked?
This weekend, pasta?
Or just chicken corn soup?'
Thought to ask you
So many other things
Like what new fiction you read
Which album did you bring?
But time just slips away
As it always does
Through my fingers
So sieve like, porous.


All about Hugo and Georges*
------------------------------
'But Georges! Why can't you see?
I am only trying to find a key'
Said Hugo , gathering some courage,
( afterall Georges had that rage
In his eyes almost always)
It was one of those days
When Hugo had to go to Georges shop
To find suitable parts for that automaton prop,
It did not move a single inch the way it was left
By his dad years ago , now half buried
In dust and negligence somewhere,

 ' But Georges ! Why can't you see?
I am only trying to find a key'
Repeated Hugo with a voice pleading
And God knows what Georges found reading
In his pair of curious and innocent eyes,
' Are you telling the truth? Or is it all lies?'
Georges roared, ( like the way he did always before)
'No sir, I am saying it right!sure!'
Hugo prayed; it was almost late evening,
The breeze brought cold air quite overbearing,
'Okay! Okay! I would allow you once
If you can make that automaton dance'
Georges sounded a bit indulgent this time, '

'And sir, You had been such a great maker of films,
Why are you rotting here without your dreams?'
Hugo asked the man even older than his dad,
Georges couldn't believe what he heard from the lad,

 'Hey boy! You're such a cute little one!
Who gave you that knowledge? Or is it a fun?
For you to joke with someone so old?
Are you trying to pretend being bold?'
Georges danced his silvery brow
And looked straight at little Hugo,

Hugo extended his hands for a shake
With Georges did he friendship make,
And later, much later , together did they reinvent
That automaton which could conjure excellent
Stories and tales and so many other things.
(*note: based on a movie titled 'Hugo')


My city
--------------------
You have been with me for ages,
Since I learnt to walk, almost,
You have walked with me,
Processions of people whence first gathered
Near that towering Ochterlony,
(Standing still, like a picture three dimensional,
Since eighteen twenty eight),

You had given me first call to my love,
My first beard grew and got trimmed,
At a barber shop, at that street, near Lindsay,
You were there when I took to words to be left unsaid,

You were there with full fledged form,
At football scores and mounted police hunts,
At cricketing calendar you were there too,
Catching live how the World Cup went away,
Away from us, a toss to lose,

At the garden of Eden you gave me rest
To sit at your green, your fragrant air
How I sipped heartful, blessed,
You have been there when
I thought of Youth
Going to that theatre ,
Watching A Friday night making moves
Down the pavement , music whence poured,

Then oneday at Esplanade,
When it started to rain sudden,
Held your hands moist,
Your face how then glistened kissed by the spray
Of water, first time after a sultry month of June,

Found You in my veins,
Writing oblique prose and rising poems,
Then another day came,
When saw you dressed like a bride,
Riding with me all through Chowringhee,
Hoofs of horses making curious noise,

Christmas eves you sent to me with blow pipes
And simmering numbers slipping from glass doors,
Air when carried scent of grilled fish, smoked,

Another day, early in the morn,
Pigeons when came outdoors
To hop under the canopy big
Of the terminus,
We went to you,
To catch a cab to go touring,
To the outskirts ,
Friends and family all singing,

You have been with me all through
From night till morning.


The thread
----------------------

The yarn that you left for me
To spin and weave a variety
Is a fabulous one filled with dreams
And as I work with it, as it seems
I find designs to emulate
Of that exotic curtain at the gate
Of the entrance of your room
I try to find something out of loom
And make it  beautiful and  enchanting
Much like that image of a setting
Of a story of our togetherness
You being lit up by meteors on your face
Telling upon me wonder and surprise
Your hair decorated by fireflies
And your lips supple and generous
Which mine forever long to touch;

All these are so part of that thread
Which you have for me just left
And how I keep on weaving out of it
Dreams, stories and poems as birthday treat,
For in you I am born every day ,
Every month in song and lay
And every year when end comes
I think of you and more of you I yearn,
The thread, that you left for me
Is the one which I spin to make variety
Of patterns, rhymes and reasons too
The thread yours brings me back to you


If there are those angels there
-------------------------------------------------
If there are those angels there
Who weave dreams in heavenly lair
I would just tell them about thee
So that could they help me write a story
Of finding thou in a garden flowery
Set sprawling and wide on a valley
In a dress white flowing in the breeze
Holding the reins of the day's lease,

If there are angels there
Who know how to create music fair
I would just them tell to sing for thee
So that in lyrical rise thou meet me,
In words arranged one by one in a string
As pearls oft give to necklaces meanings
And them would I then keep at thy feet
As offerings of music of my heart beats.

Setu, May 2018