Monday, October 1, 2007

The Truant Child

Ere the denziens of the forest mourn
Ere the muzzein calls
Ere Darkness again steals in
Wherefrom Lachit Borphukan had vanquished it

I would wring my hands
And cast my eyes down
A tussle inevitable
I would prepare for.....

For the truant child,that I am,
cannot any longer ignore..

the lure of the mysteries
the sheer face of the hills
a chance to throw a crooked stone
And chase phantasies that float in its trail

Genuine frustration,
Concern and apprehension
A storm rages through you....

the playground is yonder
and the hills right there
A gentle reprimand...
"what if you stumble...?"

a child I will be
in front of you...

With earnest eyes
and a silent prayer
A promise so solemn
only a child can make....

"I will return soon to you
bruised maybe but stronger and wiser"

(c)Atanu Prasad Sarma

Sunday, July 29, 2007

Rememberance

I sit alone in my room
the moon steals in
through the window
makings patterns
on a patterned floor

A whiff of breeze
spirits in a whisper
Of a thought
laced with passion...
Unspoken yet shared

Amidst a jugalbandi,
of esoteric music,
conducted by a turbulent & fickle old man
I seek a distant drummer
who can awaken...

Primordial memories of
dreamy moments...
and fantasies ...
snatched from a patterned & predictable existence

(c)Atanu Prasad Sarma

Monday, July 23, 2007

Coming back to an empty home

I want to ring the doorbell
-being in a hurry to see you?

Perhaps even a soft knock would do
-Lest I disturb you?

No!I wont!!!

Softly I turn the key
-incase you are far away on a dreamy trip?

Softly I close the door
-perhaps i can Surpise thee?

I can hear the wind flow
-through the open window

The curtains billow
-perhaps to caress you?

The rains cry
-bringing freshness and rejuvenation

And I wonder
If you would enjoy
Your stay here
At an empty home
As much as I do?

(c)Atanu Prasad Sarma

TWILIGHT

There is the left and there is the right. There is the day and there is the night.

And he had always wondered why it was and what it was. That is whenever he could take time off for wondering. Strange isn’t it? In the days gone by there was time enough and subjects no less to wonder and wander in and out of. An issue, an idea taken out, flirted with, tossed up into the air and poked into. Ultimately, it floats down for what it is –germs for further ideas. That was in the days gone by.
But, today it is different. He would muse in moments snatched from the day and the night; while walking on the road and off it. Yet somehow, he couldn’t place or categorize things. And while the day would merge into the night he would not exactly be thinking about it but it would still be there in the back of his mind. Somewhere there in the back of his mind.

One day his friend called him in to offer a few words of advice. You have lost your fire. Your mind, body and heart is here but not your soul he said. He stared into his eyes and through them .Let me not react. Please God, I want to respond.

If he has lost his fire, why did his heart burn-with acidity- every morning? Consequence of the junk that the city fed him with? If he has lost fire, why did his eyes sting every evening? Consequence of the smoke exhaled by the city in the name of progress. If he has lost his fire, why did his body burn, every night, as if in the grip of a vicious malarial fever? Consequence of all the things that he wanted to do during the day but couldn’t? Consequence of all the things that he didnot want to do but ended up doing anyways?

He wanted to react. Deep inside him a voice screamed: My soul is mine not yours. Not the goddamned company’s. Not anybody’s. Be happy. You got my mind .So why ask for more. Anyway, balls I care.

The last plaintive wail of a dying demon!! But, all that he did was smile. And all that he said was I will think about it. But all that he knew was there will be no time for it.

So, when she asked him what do you think and feel about what there is between us, he replied “I will think about it.” And think he did: while crossing the streets: while the kid beside him emptied his bag in the bus; while he got sandwiched in the local trains etc etc.

Then he remembered the days when there was time to think. And as his mind clouded with thoughts, he found himself walking in the middle of the road. And the sun, it was busy ringing down the curtains. Vehicles whizzed by in a maddening rush to get wherever they were going. Some had their lights on. For a moment he was afraid of being runover by someone whose sole objective might be to make it. But, then the richness of the moment overtook him.

It was that glorious time when the daylight had ended but night had not descended. The sun had set but the moon had not arisen. Some people called it twilight, but he would prefer the grey zone. Between day & night. Between black & white. Between left & right. Between passion & passivity.

I wish I knew.


(c)Atanu Prasad Sarma

Apprehension

I hurt my foot at the bottom of the stairs.
Now I am scared.
How will I climb up through the layers?!

"Minor sprain," the voice
from the aseptic shroud says.
Caricature of a comforting statement.

The ladder is long,
And shadows gather behind me.
Shadows, they instill in me
Things I would rather not have.

I remember my Grandma:
Picture of quiet & snow hair,
Telling animated stories of goodness and honesty,
Surrendered to the deep belief
Of her sons' dedication to duties.

I was angry then,
And I am angry now.
But an amateurish picture of Grandma
Is all that I paint.

(c)Atanu Prasad Sarma

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

After 14 years

Amidst those flickering lights
Amongst those moving flashes
Somewhere…

Amidst those darkened buildings
Hunched over a computer
Stooping over a phone
Perhaps she sits….

14 years…
Fourteen years……
Fourteeeen years……!!

14 years I wait
12 months to a year
365 days to each

And yet she says
Can we meet tomorrow?

14 years since she lived
in the vales of my mind….
grown from a duckling to a swan
from a girl to a lady

and back to a girl perhaps?

14 years have I dreamt of this day
And today she says
Can we meet tomorrow?

Have I broken a wing
That I cannot fly away?
Or am I afraid of the dark?


(c)Atanu Prasad Sarma

Saturday, June 30, 2007

Do I make sense?

Do I make sense
Or does sense make me..?
I often wonder
And probably I will be left wondering!

Incase you have an answer
please ping me

(c)Atanu Prasad Sarma

In a forlorn bus shelter

Standing in a forlorn bus shelter
kissed incessantly….
by the rain
that flies in the wings of the wind

Warm inside
as I stand Alone
in a motley crowd
of passerbys

the wind screams
as a thousand drums
the rain beat.
Flashes light up the sky
as the clouds roar

a primeval ritual or perhaps an instinct at play

I tug my raincoat closer
And wipe my brows

I seek your warm hand
and soft cheeks….

your sweet voice haunts me
as does the ghost of the sweeter half a night
Meander in my mind..….

(c)Atanu Prasad Sarma