The infant

Morbidity eludes
The wondrous expression
Untouched by worldly woes

Minute clumsy fingers
Wound in a tiny fist
Grasping the world within

Imprisoned in our lives
Hopeless in our dreams
Stagnant in our thoughts
We stand miles apart

But distance collapses
The burdens evaporate
As we draw closer to
That toothless smile.

Untitled

Black are the dreams that pierce

The grey shroud of sleep

Drenched is the pristine pillow

Through which the tears seep.

Faces marauding the pensive mind

Some smiling, some stark

Snatches of time that shaped my life

Penetrating through the dark.

At the murky night sky I stare

Searching among the stars

Beyond their twinkling facade

Is it where the departed are?  

A few random memories

This is something I wrote to commemorate the centenary cele bration of our family Durga Pujo in 2009.

How tender was the age of six

When Mejda set the trend

Put Chhoton’s hand in mine

Said, “This brother is your friend”

The rhythm of our childish hands

Melding seamlessly with our minds

The dhak beat and the kashar toll

Spun the eternal thread that binds

How fragrant were those misty dawns

When Dida and I were flower girls

Picking shewlis with vermilion stalks

Dew teardrops glistening on the whorls.

Buckets full of khicudi and labda

That we trudged around and served

On sweltering days and breezy nights

When laughter was never curbed

The corner seat for chandi chanting

Where readers changed with clock chimes

Little did we envision in our content

That some will get plucked by time

In a distant land across an ocean

A universe apart from home

Those faces flash before my eyes

While the memories silently roam.

I have no flowers, O my mother

No garlands to adorn your feet

Only these pictures from my soul

I weave together and offer thee.