Poetry: Bipul Banerjee

Bipul Banerjee

Bewildered

I stand bewildered on the realization
Of fragility of uncertainties
With such tenacity
The memoirs had been
Carved on bleeding hearts
In the split of a second
All threaten to vanish
In thin air
As there was none
Helplessness of mundane inertia
Choked for want of breath
The struggle to keep pace
With diluting seconds
Oozing liquefying atoms
That once jelled with life
Imbibed in body of flesh
All of a sudden
A stark revival
Miracle of a prayer
Sent aloud
Everything falls back
In place
The thunderstorm
Gone
Clemency restored.

Bathe me...

Smothered with withered lust
Enveloped in a crescendo of
Euphoric chaos
Battling cobwebs
Adhering in stubborn romance
Of impeding expectations
Cracked and scattered is
Demure of unseasonal grace
I am whole but in tatters
Lured to baits of expectations
Bathe me with your soul immense
Cleanse me of the anarchy
That persists for long
Pore by pore
I yearn to be cleaned
Atom by atom
I seek your fusion
Bathe me
Cleanse me
Rediscover me
The way I was
When I craved
To fuse in you...

The bookshelf 

On the shelf of your heart
Stand upright a series of
Bookish emotions
Sandwiched between
Intellectual chronologies
I stand as an unread
Book
Lusting for your sparkling eyes
Believing, someday
Your delicate fingers
Shall pick me up
Dust off the shambles
Of foggy times
Hold me close at
Your eye’s distance
Scroll through my pages
That have wanted
Only you for long
To feed them with your
Velvet touch
Every word,
Line,
Para,
Verse
Shall come alive
The aerobic organisms
Shall then thrive
On the warmth of
The steamy breath
Exuded by you
On blistering hot
Summer nights ...

Clown...

The masked clown
Weeps in silent tears
Juggling
Bumping
Making fun of self
An object of entertainment
A muse of satire
Ludicrous attempts to
Clone forlorn happiness
The spotlight shall shift
Once the stars take on
The Pierrot kicked to
Oblivions of greasy shades
In the wings
The mask removed
Emergence of a fragile physique
From rented baggy costumes
Feeding greedily on a
Hard earned square meal
Rehearsing again
To get ready
For yet another act of
Disgrace.

Colonial Cousins ...

Written,
Erased,
Rewritten,
Crumpled,
Torn
Paper and
Heart
Colonial cousins
Recycled to
Convenience
Used at
Ease
Neither they bleed
Nor scream
When torn apart
Just a whiff
Of melancholy
A strange
Silence standing
Beyond.

Setu, July 2018