Dilemma

I never know where I shall go
Sometimes left, sometimes right
Sometimes I stand in between
With hands full or hands empty.

I never know how I shall live
Sometimes its hard, sometimes light
Sometimes it seems I am living dead
As its only breath, no thoughts at all.

Don't know whether to go up or down
But I roam in the middle;
Trying to find what life is
Giving something or keeping something.

I am worried dear friend -
What will happen after I go?
What will remain under this sky?
That will remind you about me each day.

Cappuccino

Just you and me,
Sitting on this table.
Tired eyes soaked with dew
As I sit with you.

With such smell and color
Awaken me from dream, dear!
Give me new thoughts in plenty
Sip, sip till you are empty.

She is beautiful

She is beautiful, so I sit beside her.
With this hope that
Someday, someway her large eyes
May fall upon me.
Her black eyes,
My home of silent prayer.

It is few moments though
But thousand years for me
Don't wake me up O dear
Let me drink forever.
She is beautiful, so I sit beside her.

I find myself at the end of path
Deep gorge waits for me
Should I jump?
Confused I quickly climb down the stairs.
She is beautiful, so I sit beside her.

Beauty is pride, indifferent
Still ants come near the fire
To die - for what reason?
Will it give peace?
I need to know, so I sit beside her.

She is so beautiful, so I sit beside her.

Happy Bengali New Year

Today is the day perhaps the only day when the lazy, stubborn, copycat bong think that they are Bengali. Perhaps in this proclamation also they find some reason for celebration;reason to wear new clothes, eat bengali food whatever dishes they can still remember. Of Course various restaurant with special offers help them to remember that Sukto(mixed curry in which bitter gourd is used) was must for bong once upon a time in this hot summer. So very frankly today is an alibi for foody bong to taste bengali dishes who otherwise keep himself contended with Thai, Chinese, Mughlai throughout the year. Today some bengali businessman(You need a microscope to search them. Bengali businessman, these two words really don't go together. Bit of Oxymoron) do puja in their shop and start their new account year. But perhaps that remain suppressed by the food menu that will be prepared for his esteemed customers. Since he is aware that last year debt can only be cleared if the Food is good. Oh Bengali....Mar e Daloge. Throughout the year who love to wear western formal, today after much effort will manage to wear Kurta and Dhoti. Any idea how many Bong really know how to wear Dhoti? Perhaps negligible. Now a days even in their D Day (read marriage) they manage to keep their respect with the help of dhoti with elastic band! Still we are bong. We are gentlemen and are man of word. We cannot accept change, so we even don't change our city too. Hah...The day will not be far when all bong of bong land(Kolkata) will be deported and rest of ong-bong-chong will proclaim themselves as bong. Bong will celebrate their New Year with Whatsapp posts and will keep their legacy of food and culture only in this cyber world. Obsolete moron! Still today is the New Year for Bong. Long live Bong. Live with your Adda, Coffee House, long lost legacy, stupid ideology and blunt politics. I am proud to be a Bong. My bong land, I will love you for long!!!

Limerick

There is a young lad called Kapoor Mukul
Perhaps you have listen his howl
Silent, Outburst or vibrating mode
Reason or not he never brood
Hasmukh of our team Kapoor Mukul.

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Behold the Captain silent with his puff
Why he is afraid of his better half?
With brave heart he faced lot of Sev one
Still he find himself trembling before his woman
Free in mind still tied in handcuff.

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With long Aareee, Sharmaji sit tight in chair
And start depicting his elegy;
Sad still hilarious, but we show sympathy.
Innocent eye doesn't bring any tear
Chubby little Sharmaji turn pink only in ear.

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Escape

Don't stare O dear I'm bleeding! These eyes are spears Still attracting. This night is for dreaming O blue moon, take me somewhere But your eyes are following It seems my end is near. Not sure why the heart is paining, Today, why it is raining; The day is beginning I am dying!

Successor

Young lad, I want to give you

A lonely terrace,

Sudden flush of one afternoon

That took the slipper kept on the courtyard.

The backyard of ancestral home

Wiped out, but I still roam there.

Time is cruel, time passes by

Days gone will never come by.

But some remnants are

Still with me;

I want to give all to thee.

Hey young lad, I want to give you

Whatever good I have;

Love of a girl, smell of a crayon sun

Color of monsoon pavements of one lazy evening.

All these old clothes

No longer suits me.

Take them if you like

Else throw them.

I want to give you whatever I have of your age.

Auction

Yesterday night I finally decided to auction.
With arms wide open
Under the moonlight, I welcomed
Everyone who were there
staying awake, like me.
Who have renounced their sleep,
So that other can sleep,
Cuddling their beloved ones.

Yesterday was a windy night.
I have asked for the winds,
To come from Sahara.
I have asked all the dead stars
To put their soft hands on me.
Everyone who were once there,
Walked with me, talked with me
I have asked their shadows to appear.

With bunch of pages in hand
I have asked each of them
Whatever I have written till date
Hopes, desires, dreams
All that I have lived
Nurtured, cherished
Are there in these pieces of paper.
Evaluate them and if they are useful
Take them away -
In return, give me sleep
Endless sleep!