I see you at the stand, my window stopping in
front of you.
The light goes red, perfect timing?
Still, our eyes don’t meet.
For once, I didn’t chant that silent prayer
which always made you catch my eye.

Do you call this getting along with life?

Poet: Abhijit Chakraborty
Dated: 8th June, 2006, Kolkata

English transliteration follows:

Aj marane kA din AyA hai,
chalo, chubhate is kahAnI ko
Aj dil se nikAl hI dUM,
kyA KxAKx rakhI hai do gaz ki jawAnI me?
Ao miTakar Ko jAeM Aj jahAnnum me
Aj marane kA din AyA hai|

Dated: 7th June, 2006. Bangalore.

[to be continued...]
 
English transliteration:

subah subah Am kA pattA
os me Dol rahA thA,
mAno bachapan ke rMgaraliyoM ke bIc
Am ko laTakatA dekh man JUm rahA ho,
mAno lambe din ke bAd skUl kA ghanTA bajA ho…
to usI os me DoltI,
bUMdoM me TapakatI

This poem was inspired by a charming young lady I found in Orkut, while browsing for beautiful women. Since then, however, I have fallen out of love with her. As a consequence, I am afraid, this poem to her must remain incomplete.

Like a vapid vapour rising up in the air,
Rubbing against my rough skin
That I could not even feel,
Like dreamless osmosis, it departed from my soul
Snatching all life away. Yes,
The dream came to depart, leaving me
Gasping.
And I could hear the rough voice of dead men,
Rasping.

तो पूछो, किधर है छिपा सपनों का कब्र?
किधर फ़िसल के गिरा वह उछलता हुआ ख्वाब?
किधर से मुड़ा इस अन्धेरी गलि मे आज,
किसने किया मेरे बगिये को ख़राब?

झुके सर और रहा नही जाता,
कुछ और भी कीमत है मेरे आरज़ू की,
कि शायद आया है वक्त बग़ावत का,
छिड़ा है जंग ग़म के तराज़ू की

[to be continued...]

मेरे दिल मे चुभी है खन्जर की तरह,
वोह एक नज़र, वोह एक ख़ौल्ती निगाह,
वोह एक पल का वार अर्सा बन रह गया,
चमक्ती है कभी ख़न्जर की सतह,
टपक्ति है ख़ून कभी बारीश की तरह.
जाओ, कह दो दुनिया से के आज
मर्ने कि चाह नही,
पूछो कि एक और पल कहन बिक्ता है?
कहा है वोह य़म कि पत्रि
झो मेरि ज़िन्दगि लिख्त है?
कहंआ है वह वैध की बूटी
जो सांस को ख़ीन्चे?
किधर गयी वह तप्ति ज़मीन
जो था मेरे पैरों के नीचे?
आज भिखरी हूं, आज हूं दरिन्दा,
चाहे जो भि हूं, आज रहूं ज़िन्दा,
कि वो नीली आंखों वली ज़ालिम
फिर से एक नज़र घुमाये,
और येह दिल पर चिप्का ख़न्जर कुछ और अन्दर जाये.
कि वो कज रारि आंखों वली साम्ने आये,
मेरी ज़िन्दगी की कहानी लिख जाये.

[Transliteration in English is given below]

Merey dil mein chubhi hai khanjar ki terah,
Woh ek nazar, woh ek khaulti nigah,
Woh ek pal ka waar arsa ban rah gaya,
Chamakti hai kabhi khanjar ki setah,
Tapakti hai khoon kabhi baarish ki terah.
Jao, keh do duniya sey ke aaj
Marney ki chaah nahi,
Puchho ki ek aur pal kehan bikta hai?
Kehan hai woh Yam ki patri
Jo meri zindagi likhta hai?
Kehan hai woh vaidh ki booti
Jo saans ko kheenchey?
Kidhar gayi woh tapti zameen
Jo tha merey pairon ke nichey?
Aaj bhikhari hoon, aaj hoon darinda,
Chahey jo bhi hoon, aaj rahoon zinda,
Ki woh neeli aankhon wali zalim
Phir sey ek nazar ghumaye,
Aur yeh dil par chipka khanjar kuchh aur andar jaaye.
Ki woh kajraari aankhon wali saamney aaye,
Merey zindagi ki kehani likh jaaye.

This poem was written for Aishwarya and  Kajra re community in Orkut.

Phir sooch kar kaisa lagta hai…
Saawan ki aadhi bheegi galiyon se hokar,
Kabhi kisi ganney ki khet mey hilti lahar se hokar,
Kabhi kisi aam ke bagiye mey sar ko chhupakar,
Daanton mey phansa woh dupatta aaj bhi peela hai,
Par hanstey chehrey wali woh pari aaj kanhi ghum hai,
Woh aam ki bagiya aaj maatam main sunn hai.

Aaj bhi yaad hai woh chaney ke chhilkey
Jo khaye thhey hamney saath milkey,
Woh dhool mey gira angoor ka dana,
Golgappey khatey wakt woh sharmana,
Us gali kinarey dheemi aanch mey tapti
Bhelpuri ka makkhan, Kumar Sanu ka gana.

Dhokha diya baadal ney jab phir bijli karki,
Woh maatam ka shor phir simat kar aaya,
Daanton mey phansa dupatta ab sar pey sajaya,
Bedard us baarish ney usey bhi bhigaya.
Us badan ki failti chingari aaj bhi tapti hai kahin andar,
Jalti hai kabhi yaad banker, satati hai kabhi adhoora khaab sa.

Arsa beeta. Peela dupatta aaj na jaaney kehan hai,
Shayad kisi khirki mey pardey ki terah failti hai aaj,
Shayad kisi bazaar mein raddi bikti hai.
Shayad kisi aashiq ki chhaati pey lipti hai,
Kafan bankar kisi adhurey khaab sey chipti hai.

Dedicated to Parul Bali. See this for more.

___________________________________

English transliteration follows:

kacche hAthoM se likhi un aksharoM
me kahIM gum ho gayI thI,
wah khoye akshar jinhe mai
dostoM ke TahAkoM se CupAtA thA,
kabhI kisI jeb me paDxI khajAnoM me,
kabhI makhxamal kI rUmaal se DhakI khazAnoM me,
aur kabhI bAbar kI kahAniyoM me ChupAtA thA.
na jaane kahAM un akasharoM kI daastaan khxatm huI,
kab muThThi bhar khxushi aMguliyoM se phxisal gaI,
kab un ThahAkoM ke beech zindagI ChooT gaI.
tarAshe huye un phxeeke pannoM ke beech
wah Adhe adhure akashar aaj nikal paDxe,
mAno amAvas kI raat me hazaar taare chamak paDxe,
khxoI khxoI si yaadeM, khoyA khoyA sA sapnA
Aj phxir gale milkar jhoom rahA hai,
yah dekho, ye kacche hAthoM ne kyA achambhA rachA hai,
sapnoM kI parI aasamaan se utarI,
saare jahAM me aaj dIwAlI machA hai.

____________________________________

This poem is dedicated to Parul Bali, an enchanting beauty found smiling at me through the webpage, and who is torturing me this past hour.

To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief
               – [Immortality Ode, Wordsworth]

Image copyright belongs to either Parul or the uploader. It does not belong to either Priyatu or Pygmalion. Fair Use solicited.

_______________________________________________________

I found myself accused of a common complaint about all poets. Incomprehension. For the benefit of those who are more comfortable with English, let me furnish as part of my aquittal, an English translation:

The woman of my dreams

I found you lost among the ruins
Of my feeble words,
Words that I would hide
From the laughter of friends,
Among a dozen useless papers in my breast.
At times among the treasures hidden is soft fine silk,
At times among the stories of a Babar from Samarkand.
Where did this tale of words end?
When did this handful of bliss slip through my fingers,
When along with the riotous laughter, I lost my life?
Among the treasured yellow memories
The feeble words in ruins staggered out,
As if a thousand Venus are sparkling on a new moon night.
Those half forgotten memories, those incomplete dreams,
I find dancing under a new moon today.
Look what spectacle have these worthless hands wrought –
As the woman of dreams comes from a heaven far away,
The world is having a ball today.

____________________________________________

Hi, if you are Parul and if you would like to get the Dedication message and the image erased from the site, please get in touch with me at priyatu@yahoo.com.

Aapki khwahish sar aankhon par.

दबे पावं आज वह याद भी ताज़ा है,
किसी पुराने ज़ख्म को किसी बेदर्द ने खंरोचा है,
आंखों मे तैरती उस धुएं को आज एक तस्वीर मिली,
नयी स्याही शायद आज अधुरी कविता रच जाये।
महौल का कुसूर है,
कोस लो इसे जी भर के,
जो किश्तों मे आती महोब्बत की तरह
दूसरी द्फा तढ़्पाया है।

___________________________
English transliteration follows:

mahoul kA kusUr hai,
kos lo ise jI bhar ke,
jo mIThI caTnI ke taDxke kI tarah
kuC acmaBA shor machAyA,
kuC tIKA dhUAM CoDxA,
garmI se thoDxA JulasAyA,
aur phxir farAr huA Sarbat me cInI kI tarah|
wo mere jawAnI ke din
jo UbAsI kI tarah kaBI kabAr AtI hai,
kaBI dostOM kI yAdoM se hokar
mere dil ko AhistA se CUtI hai,
kuC isI tarah dabe pAwM pICe se AyA.
purAne bistar pe kisI KaTamal ke Dank kI tarah
BUle yAdoM ko lAl me raMgAyA|
mere kore pannoM par syAhI kI dAgx
merI zindagI ki adhUrI kavitA likh na pAI|

dabe pAvM Aj wah yAd BI tAzA hai,
kisI purAne zaKm ko kisI bedard ne KMrocA hai,
AMkhoM me tairatI us dhueM ko Aj ek tasvIr milI,
nayI syAhI SAyad Aj adhurI kavitaa rac jAye|
mahoul kA kusUr hai,
kos lo ise jI bhar ke,
jo kiStoM me AtI mahobbat kI tarah
dUsarI dphA taDhxpAyA hai|
 _________________________________________

Dedicated to Trina Nileena Banerjee, the most talented girl of my MA batch. Written after I found a few writings on and by her.

[From Ovid's Metamorphosis, translated by John Dryden]

Pygmalion loathing their lascivious Life,

Abhorred all Womankind, but most a Wife:

So single chose to live, and shunned to wed,

Well pleased to want a Consort of his Bed.

Yet fearing Idleness, the Nurse of Ill,

In Sculpture exercised his happy Skill;

And carved in Ivory such a Maid, so fair,

As Nature could not with his Art compare,

Were she to work; but in her own Defence,

Must take her Pattern here, and copy hence.

Pleased with his Idol, he commends, admires,

Adores; and last, the Thing adored, desires.

A very Virgin in her Face was seen,

And she had moved, a living Maid had been:

One would have thought she could have stirred; but strove

With Modesty, and was ashamed to move.

Art hid with Art, so well performed the Cheat,

It caught the Carver with his own Deceit:

He knows 'tis Madness, yet he must adore,

And still the more he knows it, loves the more:

The Flesh, or what so seems, he touches oft,

Which feels so smooth, that he believes it soft.

Fired with his Thought, at once he strained the Breast,

And on the Lips a burning Kiss impressed.

'Tis true, the hardened Breast resists the Gripe,

And the cold Lips return a Kiss unripe:

But when, retiring back, he looked again,

To think it Ivory, was a thought too mean:

So would believe she kissed, and courting more,

Again embraced her naked Body o'er;

And straining hard the Statue, was afraid

His Hands had made a Dint, and hurt his Maid:

Explored her, Limb by Limb, and feared to find

So rude a Gripe had left a livid Mark behind

With Flatt'ry now he seeks her Mind to move,

And now with Gifts (the powerful bribe of Love):

He furnishes her Closet first; and fills

The crowded Shelves with Rarities of Shells;

Adds Orient Pearls, which from the Conches he drew,

And all the sparkling Stones of various Hue:

And Parrots, imitating Human Tongue,

And singing-birds in Silver Cages hung;

And ev'ry fragrant Flower, and odorous Green,

Were sorted well, with Lumps of Amber laid between:

Rich, fashionable Robes her person Deck:

Pendants her Ears, and Pearls adorn her neck:

Her tapered Fingers too With Rings are graced,

And an embroidered Zone surrounds her slender Waist.

Thus like a Queen arrayed, so richly dressed,

Beauteous she shewed, but naked shewed the best.

Then, from the Floor, he raised a Royal Bed,

With Cov'rings of Sydonian Purple spread:

The Solemn Rites performed, he calls her Bride,

With Blandishments invites her to his Side,

And as she were with Vital Sense possessed,

Her Head did on a plumy Pillow rest.

The Feast of Venus came, a Solemn Day,

To which the Cypriots due Devotion pay;

With gilded Horns the milk-white Heifers led,

Slaughtered before the sacred Altars, bled:

Pygmalion offering, first approached the Shrine,

And then with Pray'rs implored the Powers Divine:

Almighty Gods, if all we Mortals want,

If all we can require, be yours to grant;

Make this fair Statue mine, he would have said,

But changed his Words for shame; and only prayed,

Give me the likeness of my Ivory Maid.

The Golden Goddess, present at the Prayer,

Well knew he meant th' inanimated Fair,

And gave the Sign of granting his Desire;

For thrice in cheerful Flames ascends the Fire.

The Youth, returning to his Mistress, hies,

And, impudent in Hope, with ardent Eyes,

And beating Breast, by the dear Statue lies.

He kisses her white Lips, renews the Bliss,

And looks and thinks they redden at the Kiss:

He thought them warm before: Nor longer stays,

But next his Hand on her hard Bosom lays:

Hard as it was, beginning to relent,

It seemed, the Breast beneath his Fingers bent;

He felt again, his Fingers made a Print,

'Twas Flesh, but Flesh so firm, it rose against the Dint:

The pleasing Task he fails not to renew;

Soft, and more soft at every Touch it grew;

Like pliant Wax, when chafing Hands reduce

The former Mass to Form, and frame for Use

He would believe, but yet is still in pain,

And tries his Argument of Sense again,

Presses the Pulse, and feels the leaping Vein.

Convinced, o'erjoyed, his studied Thanks and Praise,

To her who made the Miracle, he pays:

Then Lips to Lips he joined; now freed from Fear,

He found the Savour of the Kiss sincere:

At this the wakened image oped her Eyes,

And viewed at once the Light and Lover, with surprise.

The Goddess present at the Match she made,

So blessed the Bed, such Fruitfulness conveyed,

That e'er ten Moons had sharpened either Horn,

To crown their Bliss, a lovely Boy was born;

Paphos his Name, who, grown to manhood, walled

The City Paphos, from the Founder called.

Kinerey wala sofa aaj soona rehta hai,
Subah ko ramu kaka kuch pochha kartey hain,
Shaam tak dhool mein sama jata hai.
Shayad aaj bhi gaddey par kuch chhap chhoota hai,
Shayad aaj bhi rajnigandha murjha pada hai,
Shayad aaj bhi harey churi ka kaanch gira hai,
Shayad.
To aaj, kinarey waley sofey pey gaya,
Dil ki dhadkan jyon ka tyon tha,
Na asmaan sey bijli giri,
Na ped sey nariyal gira.
Haath mein ek khali botal chamak raha hai,
Saamney meri TV par ek chehra nazar aaya,
Kahin dekha hai? Kahin dekha hai.
Dekha hai isi kamrey mein,
Pakda hai inhi hathon mein,
Chooma hai apney hooton sey,
Bithaya hai isi kinarey waley sofey pey.
Wohi kisi namakool shaayar key janazey pey taarif si khokli hansi,
Wohi baisakh key aasman sa bedaag chehra,
Aaj kisi ki kaali daari ko khanroch raha hai,
Kisi aur sofey par,
Isi shahar kinarey.

___________________________________________________

Vivek Oberoi thinking of Aishwarya and Abhishek.