last crow

Poems

O, loner!

You and your sorrow—

Why are you here?

After the voyage of the last crow?

O, loner!

You and your sorrow—

Why are you here?

‘Tis early! too early—

For the morrow!

—dyutiman mukhopadhyay.

February 2020.

Picture © DYUTIMAN MUKHOPADHYAY.

I make those dusk clouds wander—

I wake that colt from slumber,

I tell the evening breeze—‘Blow’—

I tell the last light—‘Glow’,

I raise those mountains from dust—

I shield the twigs from gust,

I lull the night to dream—

I raise the night owl’s scream,

I drench the grass in dew—

I change the day to new,

I oblige the eyes to view—

I let the warm breath spew,

I make you sit with me—

I make me one with Thee,

It is I, It is I, It is I—

All along!

—dyutiman mukhopadhyay.

February 2020.

Picture © DYUTIMAN MUKHOPADHYAY.

I came to see you

From pages of past—

So many battles won

And wars lost!

And you still look the same—

When it’s dusk.

—dyutiman mukhopadhyay.

February 2020.

Picture © DYUTIMAN MUKHOPADHYAY.

Motherhood—Deity.

Childhood—Gaiety.

Autumn—Light.

Blossom—White.

Holy—Chanters.

Alley—Banters.

Glowy—Streets.

Showy—Feats.

Crowdy—Clamour.

Thready—Amour.

Balmy—Fiesta.

Dreamy—Siesta.

Enshrined— Divinity.

Entwined—Unity.

Ephemeral—Five days.

Eternal—Yesterdays.

Ahoy! My City!

My City—Of Joy!

—dyutiman mukhopadhyay

Durga Puja festival in Calcutta, India is one of the biggest street festivals in the world—an annual Hindu ritual originating in the Indian subcontinent which reveres and pays homage to the Hindu goddess, Durga.

February 2020.

Picture © DYUTIMAN MUKHOPADHYAY.

The dark clouds smiled at us,

And came to soothe the burning Sun—

The rain sheltered the crying Moon—

The city was shedding tears of joy—

As we kept on talking,

Of our long, laboured wait.

—dyutiman mukhopadhyay.

June 2021;

Picture © DYUTIMAN MUKHOPADHYAY.

I made a promise of return,

And a knock at our door;

I made my way—

Through lost wonderlands,

Through the dark Khamsin,

Whirling dunes—

Thirsting my breath—

Through starving quicksand—

I made a promise of return,

And a knock at our door;

I smell now, the first rain—

And its fleeting speckles

On your athirst hair,

And our laundry—

Soiled in dirt,

In an unbodied embrace;

I made a promise of return,

And a knock at our door;

And as I now trudge along

Our known, off-beaten tracks,

I keep on missing,

The turn to the woods—

And the smoke from the hearth

Eludes me—

From afar;

A disowned frail horse—

Drenched in forlorn gaze,

Keeps wobbling in fever—

And a jittery crow—

On the edge,

Caws on, and on—

As I keep on missing,

The turn to the woods;

I made a promise of return,

And a knock at our door.

June 22, 2022;

Picture © DYUTIMAN MUKHOPADHYAY.

Moments do not die a demented death.

Once they are bloomed—

They are caught in the evening dew,

For eternity.

The dew never dries—

Even though they burn the amorous grass

In vicious gasoline—

Moments do not die a demented death.

I lie with a thousand lines and lies— 

To breathe a thousand breaths.

Breaths do not die a demented death—

Once inspired from the abyss of ache,

They unfold in untold rapture…bliss—

Even though they silence the silent scream,

And savour the convulsing feet

In gluttonous gaze—

Breaths do not die a demented death.

September 11, 2022;

Picture © DYUTIMAN MUKHOPADHYAY.

P.S.

Also, see the Photo Essay on the same.

And—

With blissful forgetfulness,

You forgot—

Oh you forgot!

To forget.

—dyutiman mukhopadhyay.

May 25, 2024, Bangalore, India.

PictureS © DYUTIMAN MUKHOPADHYAY.

ALSO SEE: THEME—SUBLIME.