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Turn It Up.

Saturday, October 31, 2015

The Sky Company Finds Treasure

Clouds are stupid. We give them much more meaning than they actually have. Clouds are not meant to trigger our imagination. Clouds are not meant to inspire us. They are only meant to die for our crops.
Clouds are simple. They are not a backdrop for birds, or for our fantasies of heaven, or for our ideas of the endless. They are but meant to die so that someone can get wet and dance.
Many, many years ago, there lived a cloud that denied its destiny: and so it bore all the little showers of the spiteful wind and sea until it was far too burdened to move...
...and the rest is prosaic history -- on someone's window pane; in someone's drenched hair; mingled with someone's obscured tears. Hence we say: the story of the sky is well told; some truths are cloudy -- but those are best left to the clouds themselves, to be lost forever in rain.

Friday, October 30, 2015

Fantasy 5 : Between Places

Between Places

Dark little alley,
They say you're blind ended:
Blind you are, that I can see
But do you really end?

Perhaps out of the reach of poets
You bend and disappear
Into some Rabbit's Hole,
Into some oyster spirit's home,
Or into some monster's bed.

Well, you are a road, my dear,
Going but never gone:
Like all but Alice, down the Hole;
Like all but the pinkest pearl;
Or like Little Riding Red.

But, my little alley,
Though black are your flowers,
In my torn and half-lit hour
You are my only friend.

Thursday, October 29, 2015

Fantasy 4 : We Are Young

We Are Young

His infinite eyes,
His comforting arms,
His hands held in mine.
The night is well heralded.

Sounds of the city
Matter less and less.
Crackling fire tells me
This night is going well.

Sitting where he feels me,
Wishing him good night;
I know it when I see it --
His closing eyes are peaceful,

Rhythmic breathing tells me
Darling, time is quick
Now my blood is rushing
The sound fills my brain...

...the red sun wakes us up.
I had something to do --
Ah, now I remember.
Well, that wasn't hard.

The day is well heralded:
Those hands clutch the sheets.
Those glassy eyes stay fixed on me,
I make sure he's seen me leaving.

Tuesday, October 27, 2015

Fantasy 3 : So Let It Sail

So Let It Sail

Finest wisp of silvery air,
Darkened deep of caramel sweet --
Please let me know when she's there,
There's someone I'd like her to meet.

Her voice is not the nicest, but
I have heard her music, clear,
Not in singing, but in words
Of the ones that she holds dear.

He will love her when they meet --
I've seen it with my artist's eye
And I know I can't be wrong
For no one loves them more than I.

You think this dream I dream is stupid;
You think the very idea's cursed;
But if they do end up together
Remember, I thought of it first.

Dedicated to the holy art of shipping.

Monday, October 26, 2015

The Sky Company and The Big Brave Birds

One perched precariously balanced on the tip of a spear, and the others braved the recesses of unknown vegetation -- their only objective was to ride their home wind on their own terms. Tricked into servitude, they were always on the lookout for an escape route -- in life or in death. The leaves shivered in consternation at their recklessness, but they touched the leaves with their wingtips, soothing them to sleep, and flew headfirst into very,  very apparent danger.
Meanwhile, the sentinel on the spear fell asleep, sliding silently down the moonlit metal and hitting the ground with a squawk and a thud -- and then the leaves woke to the truth. But the flock had never stopped beating their wings even as their tears flowed for the fallen one, and one after another they threw themselves into new dangers: dying, finally, in honest sacrifice, much to the grief of many new tree-friends...
...until finally, at the very upper right of the picture frame, one little bird escaped.

Sunday, October 25, 2015

Fantasy 2 : Sound


Cricket cricket cricket,
I'll never be alone,
Riddles told in rustling leaves,
I shall never know,
Bells and whistles, country carts,
They'd like to take me with them,
Winds so proudly swishing,
Mayhem, mayhem, mayhem,
Drums drumming, cymbals clang,
They refuse to leave me,
Knock-knock-knock inside my head,
Who'd ever believe me,

Friday, October 23, 2015

Fantasy 1 : Sunset

Series pilot.


I used to know her tiny hands.
They grabbed the air when she fell.

She jumped off a building

I used to know her jungle pants,
I saw them stand out in the sky.

She jumped off a building

I used to know her singing voice.
It sang hello to a brand new world.

She jumped off a building.

Thursday, October 22, 2015

Nearly another decade

With Compliments

In any corner of the earth
I'll bring fire to your hearth.
I'll sell my soul to find you warmth.

Don't take this the wrong way.

Carcasses of days that pass
Rot away on doorstep grass.
You stay young, shielded in glass.

This isn't meant to ruin your day.

Broken tiles and bitten shoes,
No longer of any use;
Torn-up sheets, irrelevant news...

I just asked if you're okay.

Bravery is underrated:
You know how the future's fated.
Happy Birthday belated,

Répondez s'il vous plaît

Monday, October 19, 2015

The Sky Company and The Dead Detective

It looks like he's dead -- I swear it does. He doesn't breathe, he doesn't move, he's white all over; and his pipe is clenched so tightly between his teeth that we couldn't remove it. Is it him, you ask, are we certain? Well yes, we are. No one else could ever dress like that and still command respect, no one but him could bring the police cars all rushing to a humble speck under an angry sky just to look at the crumpled body of a careworn old cocaine addict; most importantly, though, no one else could make the entire city cry like that.
Nightmares are not exclusively held in sleep. They are held in the cruel heart of the cosmos and in the inaccessible and inexplicable corners of our own weakened bodies and minds. In the dead of night when the sane mind sleeps, the gears turn with scalpel precision, working to bring us nightmares that we can only blame ourselves for. The tears that flow afterwards hold no meaning -- trapped in the vortex of our own misjudgement, we slowly but surely sink into the depth of perpetual wrong.
When he was here, he could smell the evil from afar. He could warn us against being too trusting, he could nearly predict in exact sequence the axes that the enemy would line up above our unsuspecting necks. We liked to pretend that we would be fine without him -- but when we see his shadowed ghost floating away, away beyond the aeroplanes and beyond where the stars dwell, we realize that we are lost.

The Sky Company and The Circle Of Error

Nights become days, and days the nights that came before them, until time goes back an exact cycle to where it was. Only, this time, the mistakes are being repeated on purpose. Music tells us about triumph of good over evil, but we lie here thinking of all the evil that befalls those that sincerely wish to do good. The regular rhythms of procedural living bring trials variegated -- normalcy is painful. Sounds that have been altered by mistakes of cleansing have resulted in apprehension and hurt pride. The speech of homeland becomes sweeter than ever, and so do the images of the unidentifiable past. Identity varies much, until the mirror back at home no longer recognizes you when you smile at it -- or so you fear. Meanwhile, well-intentioned saints continue their good work, oblivious to your growing malice towards nothing in particular. You want to understand the new map of the familiar sky, but you cannot... next year, perhaps?

Sunday, October 18, 2015

Sorry, Non-Bong Readers

ভালবাসা-র উত্তরে 

আঁকব আমি গাছের গুঁড়ি
বেগনি রঙের ক্রেয়ন দিয়ে,
অনেক দিনের লম্বা চুলটা
করব ন্যাড়া সেলুন গিয়ে,
ইচ্ছা হলে মাছের ঝোলটা
দুধ-চিনি-ভাত মেখে খাব,
গাইব আমি অবাধ্য গান,
নাইটক্লাবেই নাচতে যাব;

করব আমি মারামারি,
অসভ্য প্রেম, রাজনীতিও --
নিজের সর্ব্বনাশটা আমি
নিজেই করব, দেখে নিয়ো।

Saturday, October 17, 2015

Kobita Bug Bites (Oh Crap)

Not again. I blame a certain (former) Bangla poet who showed me his poems.

ছন্দ ব্যতিরেকে

যতদূর জানি, আমি
এই পুরানো হৃৎস্পন্দ​ন
বারবার শুনতে চাই।

কেটে যায় এত কথা
যে ভুলে যায় তারাই
যারা বলেছিল;
নেমে আসে চোখের পাতায় ঘুম,
যেমন একদিন নেমেছিল
তোমার কোলে শুয়ে। তাও যেন

কেন মনে হয় -- আমি
এই সময়ের গানটাই
বারেক গাইতে চাই। 

অল্পদিন পরেই আবার
পাল্টাবে হৃদয়ের ছন্দ:
যেমন পাল্টেছিল
পরিচয়ের প্রথমে। তখন, 
কোল হবে অস্পর্শ; গাইব 
অন্যদিনের গান। তবু দেখো,

যতদিন বাজবে সেই
পুরানো হৃৎস্পন্দ​ন
ততদিন যেন শুনতে পাই।।

Having an aantel brother has its disadvantages. Arrgh.

Btw, bonus points for putting funda on dedication/inspiration of above poem.

Thursday, October 15, 2015


Benglish poem, kinda-sorta on request. Translation will be offered on asking.
এমনি এমনি

কখনও একটু adversity,

আপন-ভোলা city lights,
গাছের পাতায় diversity,
নতুন বন্ধু,  মিষ্টি fights.

সবার থেকে দূরে আমি,
মনে আমার একলা song:
ঢ্যারঢ্যারে গোবিন্দপুরে
লেগেই গেল পুজোর রঙ!

জন্মেছিলাম অনেক আগে,
হয়েছি বড় ইদানিং;
ফাঁকা playlist -- নতুন রাগে
উঠবে গড়ে Now Playing.

আজকাল আমি অন্যরকম --
বদলে গেলাম কখন, কবে?
বোঝার চেষ্টা থাকুক এখন,
আসছে বছর হয়তো হবে।

হাবভাবে তো যায় না বোঝা
দাদা তুমি, না ছোট্ট ভাই...
না-ই বা পারি হালকা ছড়া !
লিখতে বললে, লিখছি তাই।।

^_^ Ritwik da, who asked me to write something less serious for once. He is convinced that this poem is less serious. Are you?

The Sky Company Makes New Friends

The sun is learning to make perfect peace with the mist. The blur, the hue, the blending -- it's all just so. Life, however, is making a decision to change from a state of uncomfortable perfection to that of serenity interrupted by the course (crows?) of nature. Myriad new things are happening -- only the bricklayer knows what makes and breaks the shifting walls between reality and comfort. It is not quite clear which is more desirable: to be ambitiously diplomatic or indulgently spontaneous. Hitherto we have tried one; we will soon try the other -- the calculations are ready. May the sunrise wish us luck.

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

Trouble Meets The Sky Company

My world, viewed through different eyes, seems both sweeter and harder to believe. Old arcs that few of us predate tell stories of unavoidable trust -- perhaps misguided, but nonetheless comforting in the ability to simplify.
The blueprints of today's morning sky were drawn behind the scenes of an altogether different theatre -- one of confused consternation pitted against indignant defiance. On the new stage, however, the roles are often reversed -- nature is laughably stubborn in its love for symmetry.
Poetry born of a head comfortably cradled in warmth will never have the fire that can light the poet's path for the hard times to come; and hence the sun begets a need for itself -- cleverly played!
Sitting atop an unfinished column of brick and mortar, one cannot but think of unfinished stories that, despite incompletion, make great vantages for other tales yet to come -- one looks with cautious anticipation upon the ever expanding sphere of possibility surrounding every sheltered corner and every burning forehead and every sleeping friend...
...tomorrow, then!

Monday, October 12, 2015

An Experiment

A poem with what I think is a new style for me. Title credit to my own past poem. :P

Since You Mentioned Independence

I will stand between
You and the world.
You will fly, but never fall:
I will find a way,
We will find a way

To be precious, to be strong,
And mysterious,
And erroneous, sometimes.

I will stand beside
You, in the storm.
You will ride the waves
But never sink:
Will navigate

Wrong roads, messy oaths,
Bloody meals --
Cannibalistic, sometimes.

I will sit where
You will always see
Me being there for you
Always, always.
Won't be alone:

Not in sleep, nor in dreams --
My love for you
Asphyxiating, sometimes.

Whew. Comment comment comment. :D

Sunday, October 11, 2015

The Sky Company Tries New Things

Beautiful things can sometimes be so intolerable,  especially if you know that they don't intend to be beautiful. With every note of this deceptive music, a part of me dies because I have seen through its sweetness and found a heart of uncaring pride. My consciousness hurts, but my body is too weak to even care.
The filth seems to be receding, but I know that it is only a cruel joke -- I still have a long battle ahead of me. My army is feeble because it derives strength from me. I can't shift blame: they are but children!
Tonight's clouds have disappointed many, but I never expected anything in the first place -- I never do. My path is clear but I don't feel like walking. I need my army...

Friday, October 9, 2015

The Sky Company Splits Up

Horizontal lightning and diagonal light -- there is nothing trivial about today's sunrise. I pity those who fear the red because it had burnt them before.
I wonder why, today, the geese fly so low! Do they, like me, yearn for a change of backdrop? Lights that are out of place flash once and flicker out, as if in fear: I consider it a triumph for the gilded truth that peeps out sheepishly from behind differential tact, its sensible sibling. Hence, give me the strength to conquer myself before I conquer the world.
The filth is fighting back, but now I have my army in familiar songs, comforting times and unchanging space -- and what bigger, what better could I possibly have?

Thursday, October 8, 2015

Letters from Bengaluru

To Maa, from the returning bus

I am an adult. My world spins, and for the first time I am facing it without your help. I am responsible for myself and for my comrades. I am responsible for my clothes, my hair, my money. I have others, but they are not you -- hell, they are not even me. This place is interesting. It has taught me a lot. When I come back to you, I'll be more of an adult than when you last saw me.



To R and R, from Wonder-la

At the top of the uncertain world, when the fear of life is gone, there is a strange sense of peace. The view and the breeze, for once, become meaningful for their own sake and not as reinforcements to one's sense of existence -- perhaps there is some truth to what the sages say about letting go. Right now, at the still moment between anticipation and exhilaration, I am torn between a deep ascetic longing for absolute Himalayan solitude and a childlike stubborn wish for you to be here with me.

Your sister.

P.S.: I'm bringing back food.


To the world, from everywhere

I have been reminded that while I am within you, my consciousness is forever beyond your reach. Thanks for having me, but aside from the mandatory gratitude for survival, I feel nothing for you.

Your umpteenth reject.

The Adventures of The Sky Company

Five fifty-nine is my favourite time -- especially when the trees glow red in the blackened sky. For the first time, a star was more rebellious than I was.
Bottle caps on the ground don't matter as much as the waste that I need to get rid of; careless laundry in the sand can seek attention elsewhere. The filth is now a part of me, but there remain tiny hopes that the sun can disinfect.
Fine lines divide the said and the unsaid, but I listen intently -- lie to me. The tears that the concrete has tried and failed to absorb have left behind stains of disappointment on cheeks that cannot decide how old they are; a divergent mental age can be a severe impediment to a judicious rebel.
Today's sunrise has been a bad Photoshop job -- even the crows found it disgusting. In conclusion, sunrises mean shit if you share them with the wrong people: clever folks just want to watch things burn.

Tuesday, October 6, 2015

Natural sequel to Apparitions

Best read after Childhood 1 : Apparitions.

Laureates speaking rousing words;
Honours, laurels, sweets galore;
Hats and coats and glittery robes;
Festoons across the party floor --

Questions and answers paused to think
Of dead beliefs and twisted fate;
Of olden charms, now waned and pale;
And revered wisdom, out of date.

Still cradling the starry night,
The words will sleep, no strength to spare.
Somewhere back on memory's ledge
Wheels will stall, in bad repair...

...the hour'll come when all the tales
Will write themselves into a rhyme:
Scooby will find all he seeks
In the depths of space and time.

Then, one day, the lights will dim
The trees will sway and the ghosts will sing
The glasses will, then, swell with wine
And then Scooby Doo will be fine.

Sunday, October 4, 2015

6 am thoughts


Far away from home
No place to call my own
The ravens carry names and faces
From here to where you are.

The sun we see, the warmth we feel
Were never ours alone;
What is irreplaceable
Is what we used to be.

You found your dreams after you left
And once I left, I mine.
But mornings never begin without
Our ancient sunshine.

Sunshine! That bone of contention
That fails not to unite
And the rain that falls and falls
In spite of you and me.

The olden trees bear golden pods
That burst, and seeds fly far.
I wish that one lands on your yard
And the rain there gives it life

Then we'd gaze at mother and child
And realize how, new bonds despite
It's impossible to ever forget
What friends forever are.
To the past and present Durgapur guys and gals, specifically Shriyank and Nihal.

Friday, October 2, 2015

Childhood 9 : Eighteen (via Fifteen Point Five)

Eighteen (via Fifteen Point Five)

Infinite kindness resides

In corners closed to the world.
Fear of discovery ruins human completeness --
Shit, not again.

The caffeine runs stale in my mouth:
Nightly cravings for spray-dried milk.
The best of times are sometimes
Borrowed ones. I think
Now I can sleep.

It is your childhood that ultimately gives you the strength to be an adult. And hence, with a child-sized poem, I conclude the Childhood series. Much love to you all.
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