Poetry: Jyotirmoy Sil

Jyotirmoy Sil

Nakshi Kantha

 

Eroded moments,

A forgone raga…

Grandmother weaving nakshi kantha;

The fluent flow of thread

With its furry stitched turns

Embroidered mystique images—

As if some archaic folktales

Entwined with oblivious faces;

Unknown humming of some inner voids,

Some tale of tales.

My eyes charmed

Admiring the colourful curves,

Narrowed furry red shades;

Its mapped edges

Harboured her melancholy

Hymns of her deep ignominy.

 

(Nakshi Kantha is a Bengali traditional hand-weaved embroidered quilt.)

***

 

 

 

Kirtaniya

 

Idle hours of morphed nectar

Dissolving with enchanted poesy;

Scripts embedded with melodious mystery—

Vaishnavic sobriety.

 

Dreamy flute

Kadamba and lute

Create intoxicating sensations—

Breeze incense.

Carefully woven hymn

Induces images of elixir—

As if elastic polyester spleen.

Khol-Kartal resonates with wind

And vibes of my conclave mind.

 

Melancholic corridor drenches

With this archaic choir—

As if a spectral noir;

In rhythmic coherence

My chaos fades;

Amidst the piety

I sense my solemn absence.

 

(Kirtaniya refers to the performers of Kirtan, the holy chant in praise of Radha-Krishna. Kirtan is an inherent traditional aspect of Bengal’s Gaudiya Vaishnavism propounded by Sri Gouranga Mahaprabhu in the sixteenth century.)

***

 

 

Essence of Radha

 

Your gleaming yellow skin

Brings wry mist within—

Images of thirst;

I make your essence with my crave,

Yearning for a few drops of your melancholy,

Imaginary sounds of ghungroo manjari.

 

Your veil floats…

Beyond my fancied horizon–

Like some marooned jinx;

Sombre cloud spreading within me

With loosely stitched glimpses

From your rusted tales.

 

Rhythm condenses within you—

Faint melodies bring in Spring;

I fancy creating a tune,

Flute of eternity;

Let it rain over me–

Over and over again.

 

If I succumb to your cobweb of desire;

Delving into a labyrinth—

In seeking consolation;

It's also your sin,

For my passion is your cruel intoxication—

A lured perversion.

***

 

 

Buddha in the Clouds

 

Foggy hollowness spreads against my mind

Primitive desires condense into a marooned jinx.

I yearn to breathe…

 

All of a sudden,

An echo comes amidst abyss of tempests

Telling of an altar hidden for the sacred breath.

Clouds create an effigy…

A face with a swoon mellowed smile…

The spiral coiffure of sage deep in meditation

Betrays of how

Everything is in a whirl—

Our tales

This faint murmur

Birds chirp…

Twirling cord;

Even my desolate soul…

How I owe to pain for my surreal tales—

Saga of nomads,

Of circus and desert camels

In half visible terrains,

Terrestrial musings in Tibetan horizons;

Serene, transparent and pathless lands—

Everything lightens up.

***

 

Author-Note:

Jyotirmoy Sil is a dilettante poet. Presently he is an Assistant Professor of English in Malda College, West Bengal. His English poems have been published in Muse India, Madras Courier, Spillwords, and International Times, Setu: Bilingual Magazine, Yearbook of Indian Poetry in English 2021, Boundless 2022: the Anthology of the Rio Grande Valley International Poetry Festival.

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Setu, June 2023