Boro dirgho ei path
Boro salpo ei kaal,
Tahar majhe cholte giye hotath
Samne eshe darale tumi dekhi;
Shirno tomar deho khani, jirno tomar praan
Tabu jeno michki heshe bolcho amaye:
- 'Tor nei ko poritran'.
Hotath tumi phirle keno abaar
Moner kone proshno othe kende,
Beshto chile puratoner khataye
Amar lekha smritigulor pataye
Uthle keno natun kore jege?
Proshnoguli kore ami jakhon, santo mone chahi tomar paane
Chupti kore tumi mridu paye, bolle eshe amr kaane kaane;
'Atith ami! ashbo baare baare, somayer haat dhore,
Klanto mone thakbe jakhon eka
Smritigulo natun kore abr bandhbo ami tomar beenar taare,
Atith ami, ashbo baare baare'!
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While some facets of Life in India is peculiar to the Indian way of living, other aspects are universal; the despair at the way things go wrong from state callousness, the daily issues that a normal wage-earner has to overcome, the life or the lack of it in a metro city etc. etc. Mixed with this is an appreciation for the beautiful moments, that make life worth living, and voila the blog is born. Initially solo, the blog is currently a joint effort, and it's a mirror of the inner us..
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1 comment:
A poem for Robin..
I am writing a poem for you, Robin,
Because I have to write a poem for someone,
And I am out of ideas.
Tonight I started a grease fire in my kitchen.
Great white clouds of smoke, like ghosts
Made my eyes water, and I opened all the windows.
The moon was there,
Looking at me.
It looked like you, looking at me
From the outside of a window. I remember.
Do you think I don’t remember? Of course I do.
Fire! I kept the oven closed.
It burned itself out – No more fuel, no more air,
Nothing left but smoke hanging,
Irritating the walls, hurting my insides, making me squirm and seem to cry.
I’m tearing up.
I had a white dress on. Do you think I don’t remember?
It was warm and dark.
The kitchen is warm and dark, and filled with clouds,
Like summer.
Your arms were warm and it was dark.
Your skin was warm and it was dark.
It was warm and dark, like summer.
Do you think I don't remember?
I'm choking.
I'm out of ideas.
Standing at the window, breathing deep.
Dinner's ruined. Sorry, sorry.
Maybe we'd better go out instead. Leave the windows open, for the smoke.
Turn on the fan, chase out the ghosts.
Sorry, sorry. I remember
Nights and moons and words and whiskey and you, Robin, and tonight
I nearly burned down my apartment
Making dinner. Not sure why I thought about it.
Go somewhere, turn out the light. Fire's dying in the oven.
Warm, warm, warm and dark.
I remember. I want you to know.
Not that there's any point. I doubt it troubles you much.
But I have to write a poem for someone.
That's just how these things work.
I am writing a poem for you, Robin.
No big deal. Nothing special.
Just warm, and dark, and you and me.
Warm and dark
And you and me.
Submitted by Cecilia
http://shakesquill.blogspot.com
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