Aritra Chakrabarti

An ethereal corporeal footstep Added to the multitude of thumps A monumental mechanical drift Diffused through a temperate corporate pump. Oft in a room full of caffinated keyboards Tapped with the same resonant feel One of the normalised overheads Fails to respond to the drill. As the glass lets in the sunshine It does well to keep out the rain But what would the good glass keep out If the room becomes a marshy terrain? Yet after a moment of murky silence The nervous fingers get back to tapping again. Aritra Chakrabarti, 8.45AM, 15 th July, 2017.

Out somewhere at the edge of the world A man in my dreams did I see, Deep in his eyes beneath unknown skies I could feel that he well knew me. Beyond the burning days of the world and its ways He had ridden over oceans and waves. He rode out wide against the stubborn tide Of thousands of pyres and graves. Beyond the walls of time, across the fields of rhyme, I could hear his voice call me. My dreams have I sold to world dry and cold To refuse him to set me free? Aritra Chakrabarti 5 PM, 23 rd July, 2017