Thursday, November 22, 2012
A vast cliff separates you and me.
I cannot go back on the road I’ve come.
By day your home is forbidden,
At night the world keeps you away.
Those like me, without a bridge, have no choice.
When I step into my world of dreams
All the grand canyons cannot part us:
I am superman, I can fly.
In the folds of this book lie the petals
Of what was once a beautiful rose.
She had plucked it from the garden, laughing,
And handed it over to me playfully,
“To remember me when I am not here”…
What had been the pride of my garden,
Lies as stiff and motionless
As the pages that have bound it now.
She who had laughed is not here,
But her laughter echoes across the empty room.
Where have they all gone, I ask myself,
That fragrant spring, the one who had laughed?
Nothing remains the same, nothing stays.
Our shadow falls and our touch remains
Even when we have gone somewhere else.
But in some corner of our battered hearts
There is always spring, where faded roses
Escape from the pages to bloom again.
There she’s always laughing, rose in hand,
Waiting for me to find myself again.
Diptesh Chandra Ghosh
I wake up alone, late at night.
Something silver shimmers and gleams
Outside my dark window;
The sleeping world, the row of trees,
The road that leads to the gray mountains,
The leaf-strewn fields, the babbling stream,
The baker’s shop, the temple bells,
All lie bathed and sparkling
In the silver light of the moon.
Everything that I ever loved,
All things that have been dear to me,
Wobble in this vast silver sea.
I am now adrift, a lost sailor,
Among the shimmering silver waves.
Only the faint sound of music
Playing in some invisible home
Keeps me moored and steady:
As if the notes are an anchor
That ties me with unseen strands
To the shorelines of reality.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Time and Love
New love tastes like fine Tuscan wine.
You roll it in your mouth gently,
Relishing the Oaken flavors,
The touch of the warm French sun,
Till the sweet grapes lift you to moods
You thought never really existed.
New love can be seen from afar:
It sits on you like a silk dress…
Embroidered, a lovely work of art;
New love is always a journey:
Every day in a brand new town,
Fraught with million possibilities.
Old love is a different kind of fish.
It tastes like a plain home-cooked meal:
Simple, but it warms and fills you up.
Old love is the frayed cotton dress
You wear when you set out to sleep.
It is soft and smells of happy days.
Old love is the purpose of your quests:
When you traveled, your roving feet
Were always leading you to this place…
The familiarity of the boring house,
The narrow walls ringing with laughter,
The need to never travel again.
The first rays of morning fall on the yellow leaves:
Each dew drop sparkles like a small diamond…
Or what I imagine a diamond must sparkle like.
I have been down with unsolicited sorrow.
Somewhere under my ribs lies a beating heart
Smashed to smithereens with unrequited love:
I ought to feel quite terrible, I tell myself.
There is much in the world to brood about:
And while I insist so, some unseen bird,
Breaks passionately into a song
Like his life depended on it.
If you think so, or feel so, in the end,
There is not much difference between
The dew drops and the sparkling diamonds.
Likewise, when your heart is free to feel,
Sorrows and joys can be quite alike…
Especially when the birds are singing
And diamonds sparkle in the morning grass.