Aritra Chakrabarti

They had set out to walk Together on a road That had caught their eyes. The road to an unknown land A land with its unknown ways That neither had ever seen. Yet the rituals along the road Pulled them further still As they got so far That they knew not of time Or place or the space That between them had once stood. Time rolled on as they became one With the ceremony that led to the land. As the years did pass The land itself did tell Its age old tale. For years they took the tiny steps Each one at a time... They never knew when The land became their own Where the customs were old And so were they. How happy they were To have finally arrived. Years gave way to days As they learnt of other ways And one day a newer land did call. Would they answer back With a common voice? Could either one linger back And pretend not to hear? Will they walk that way Or choose to forever stay In that land that felt like home?   ...

I woke up one morning Found you had left the bed. The single cup of coffee stood unmoved, While the second cup had moved on Beyond time and all repair. A choking feeling- It got harder at night. I clung onto the pillow Hoping that the night will bury The flames that my words had lit. Night gave way to day And the days rolled on in a languid way But the fight only got harder. Still no sign of you… The single cup did slide Towards my lips as I took in the smell The coffee returned a void That was so hard to avoid. Not even a call… Did I have the face to face you? Would you ever know that I wanted you so?

The rattling of the chains, The resonating brains, The clouds of holy water Fuming behind the clatter... But it all froze down. All in a while A horrid, mangled pile Of flesh and bones and blood, Of hopes and dreams and mud... But it all froze down. From the bottom to the top They swore they would not stop. They pierced the lofty airs. They shook the mocking chairs... But it all froze down. Under the fateful tree There stood not two but three Daring to pluck the fruit To pass it down to their root... But it all froze down. A dream they now say it was- A dream fraught with flaws. A dream that had no hope Riding a downward slope... It all froze down.

Rain in my brain Friday night and an old glass- Full of sparkling old rain. An overworked brain Looking to numb the pain. Rain, rain down again Like the time when the world was young And the world was big Without a daily gig To impress them and depress the self. When the world had rhyme- A rhyme of ease, a rhyme of grace; A rhyme that left back a trace That now smells like rain That’s dried up under a life Of no purpose and a daily strife. Rain, rain down again. Rhyme, breathe and dance again. Brain, look for the rain. Two days of hope And two more after five. And again. There’s a lot to probe, A lot to find and a lot to win. Maybe again. Maybe again...  Rain... 

The young boy's eyes Catch sight of a pretty face- A charming lady With a beautiful smile... A closer look reveals A sense of style... Is she taken? Definitely worth a try... A few unsteady steps, A little grin on his lips. He approaches her, Breaks the ice. Up close she seems really nice. Two hearts talk, Two souls get tied. Life burns with years As their story shifts gears. Faster it seems that it had been Decades ago... That pleasant day When he had seen her first... It's now a race against time To cling on longer- When togetherness is on lease, When words don't come with ease... All those words- They form up a huge pile Of the remnants of what had been And yet so much missed... The fear lingers on As the intertwined minds ache For a chance to turn the clock, For a chance to be together For all of time to come... The fear looms large The pile of words grows But of their love no-one knows...

The tabula rasa, The black chalk… One step at a time- One stroke by man, One by woman, One by religion, One by fanaticism, One by politics, One more by artists, None by art… What is it now? An ugly, black slate of a mind Bereft of honour of any kind, Treading a narrow path Towards self-justification, Unfettered greed and passion And cosmopolitan fashion And destructive contemplation… A closure of a world- Where body rules the mind, Mind judges clothes, Clothes judge people, Money judges the clothes; Where judgement is casually sold And people have grown cold… A vicious cycle… A child is just born- Born to the world , Born to the demon And the she-demon Living in a high-rise With dark light sweeping the floor While the sun stops short at the door… Another tabula rasa, Another waste of a slate, At the altar of the human state. The artists of life are waiting The black chalks they are shaking At the face of the child Who is wet to go wild With ...

All the stars are sad As their princess Is behind floating walls. Lingering darkness, The frogs go on  With their midnight concert. Life is at a halt. The world is off to bed Like our friends up above. Inside the room The tip-tapping Of the keyboard Continues… A desperate attempt To remove the clouds And release the princess. Frogs will croak And dogs will bark And the men will sleep. But the heart shall weep Until the tears reach deep And then shoot up steep To reach the princess. Awake, my love! Shatter the walls, Sing out loud So that this dormant world Comes alive to your tunes. Come through my heart And come through my fingers Come through the keyboard And illumine the screen And the eyes beyond. The fingers still struggle, The keyboard keeps the beat To another pointless piece. The heart remains empty The princess remains locked And the frogs and the dogs And the world and the sky Remai...

Have you gazed out of your window? Of course you have. But have you seen beyond your little world of fears and losses and possibilities and refurbished hope? Maybe you did. You have a broad heart then. My heart, on the contrary, has always been of a rather unimpressive dimension. It has always locked the world away so that it can toy with its own compartmentalized issues. Should I blame it for what it is? Probably not... After all, this place that I live in- the town, the state and the country does not reveal too many encouraging pictures. I have stopped taking a look at the newspapers. Even when I do, it is mainly to read some sports or celebrity news or to see the economic developments, though the economic trend is generally negative. I hail from a business family and my job at present is to figure out relevant marketing strategies for our software-related services. In short, when everything around seems to be in shambles or at least going towards that direction, I am to look at...

You came into my room, You stayed for a while. You played a song, Then another, Followed by a few more. Words they strung That in my heart had hung For years and years- Collecting dust. I don’t know you. But you hold me... Stronger than ever With those tunes and words. They soothe me, They caress me, And inspire me To leap up To write and play and sing.     The urge and the upsurge, The drive and the pangs, The throbbing fingers, The shiny strings, The swollen eyes, The smoky room… Thoughts taking shape Around the corner of a drape And songs peeping through… The reborn at work again- Dying…And dying anew To let it all out, To tie it all up- All at the same time. Thanks for the songs Thanks for the words. You have left my room. But never…Never again… Aritra Chakrabarti 2.45AM, 18.02.2014

I So many of them Saying the same things So many of them… For years they have felt The pangs of time, The sting of loss, The warmth of love, The heat of lust, The angst of failure, The joy of victory, The wisdom of age, The glory of words Coined and arranged Rearranged and exchanged… It goes on… What is there to say? What is left to write? What is yet to be thought Or debated or won or lost? All seems to have been done- Beyond any use or impact. Nothing makes a mark Nothing touches deep… An empty mesh of pointless chatter- Ideas and words done to death.                                                                        II But late at night, Just before the dawn There dawned so...

Oh!You tired mind You sick and giddy timid mind… No more...Try to relax, try to sleep... It's past 2.30 now... Here I lie awake Trying to fight those images Of a dead man whom I knew, A man whose corpse I beheld- Lying prostrate on the floor, Ants inching closer While his family Makes the last lame attempt To protect this dead being one last time... Everyone cries, his old mother sighs... Moans of death and decay Fill the heavy air... The sun rises high, But the rays bring back memories Of deaths of my dear ones Some years ago... A fresh fear rises, A fresh agony of imminent pains- Who knows how much time later? More suffering to bear, More losses to live fear... The weight will only add on Till one's own exit... Life will bring blow after blow At intervals steady and unsteady. Sleepless nights will come and go. But the burden will steadily grow. Life is like a post-dated cheque To be encashed upon death By the ones left behind In cash or i...

I now refuse To be of any use To the ones who hurt me. I’m looking for you- The one whom I had to lose While I served these wretched few. The world pays back. I say- yes it does pay you back But that never does no good to us. Those bastards up there Grab all the lion’s share And we losers bite the dust. They have broken my trust Now is my time to run fast To deliver justice to the ones who were lost. Oh God! Will I be doing The same crass thing? Will I be burning a sick little child In flames so vicious and wild? Will I burn men at stake? Other men’s faith to break By feeding the dead With a few plastic notes?

I play the blues But I'm out of use For years quite a few. I strum some chord And ask old Lord "Will the magic return?" Middle-aged man, An old beer can Signed for a fan That never reached her. She died in a crash After my show. She was my last fan As in a real keen one Who could jump with joy When I glanced at her In that good old bar. Now alone I sing A tring-ding-ding. And I play a li'l bit And all day I sit Brooding if I can Have just one more fan.

How do you understand? How can you when no one else does? You take time out Day after day, month after month Years… Don’t you feel sick? Or at least tired or hurt Or wronged or misled? How do you deal with your friends And mine and the folks Who form the terrible circle Of semi-intellectual, all-knowing kinsmen? Tough questions they ask- “How do you cope up with his whims?” Or even trickier ones- “How have you been with him for so long?” Even I don’t know… I know I’m strange… Bitter and rude with awkward ideas and aims… But it’s easier said than done To be with someone Who doesn’t do the little good things, The silly old things, The love poems and those songs, The dedications and the holding of hands… Someone who shows less care,  Disappoints and hurts you… How can you say that it’s him you adore? You were a fine young girl- Bright and beautiful, A reader of romantic tales, A believer in magic, An ardent fan of Holl...

Your indifference Or your interference, Your subservience Or your obtrusive assurance- I love it all. I lift up my head From my faithful old bed. Then lazily I crawl And make it to the hall. Your smile greets me in my mind. I hit the road With a spirit of unrest, With a thirst To be the best. Your thoughts go with me. I have no regret, Not a single complain. Let me tell you simple and plain- How much I love you I can never explain.

A straight-faced adoration Of the self that you have become… A haughty denial of the past Only to be haunted each night By the memories that it brings. The body can hide. But what about that mind? That wretched rodent Which lingers on in the dark, Waiting to find its favourite meal Every time you switch off the lights… It finds its way back into the past- That kitchen of its choice Where it feeds on mistakes And blunders and warm, salty rain… Freeze the mind… Let it be all body… Let it be a rolling tongue, A wet lower lip, Turned scarlet after A kiss with an able woman… Let it be a five-star full course, Or a Versace or a Rolex… Hide away the failure Hide away the past Hide away the mockery The insult, the damned existence Of a small man, a faceless man… But this mind is a clock That keeps ticking backward… Bringing down the glorious body The tight-lipped elegant giant The man who made it big, The man who played it sma...

Glittering lights, wild amplifiers Crackers and loud voices, Drum beats and a crazy banjo… The brand new clothes, The happy faces… Plans of meeting friends And relatives and acquaintances… Decked up in the best new clothes And the gaudy new accessories… Durga Pujo is the occasion And Bengalis are lost in festivities… One old man sitting in his balcony Gazes down the street… A pandal close by… The idol is hidden from his sight… Too many people, a blinding halogen … He tries real hard…He can’t see the idol… He gets up, goes to his room Takes up his stick and walks out Into the street…Into the pandal… Mother Durga is yet to be found… The customary ritual Of bowing of a thousand heads That walk away in a hurry Towards a brighter gathering And a blazing speaker… A fiery glance at that pretty girl there Or that cute guy around the corner Or the discussions about a happy marriage Or a successful businessman Or a goon who’s made it...