Podmo hoye

Papri khoye

Poria,pochia

Jabo AMI moria,

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Kintu TUMI neer hoye

Chirokal thakbe bachia..

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The English translation:::::I’m the lotus which grows in water,then loses its petals and dies in water…but you are the water,in which I am born,I grow …you are water in which I die,but you never do so…

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Here,”you” is left to the imagination of the readers..it can be the universal God..or some one loves..i want my readers to colour it with their own imaginative powers..

Yours,

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-swastika

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Kagoj-er ful….

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Shei thikana

Pore ache bichana

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Alta paye chutche se

Megher chador urche je

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Gacher pata khoshe pore

Du muthoi se chepe dhore

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Snigdho alor melar khela

Ful tole se shokal bela

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Chul-e atlke shiuli ful,

Taare bhaloabeshe hoyeche bhul…

-swasTIKA

the evening touch

a winter evening..the sun had already set..and there lay no reddish tinge in the western sky..the grey veil of the evening slowly dropping in….somewhere nearby a song from a recent flim played on..the half done construction of a building nearby,stood alone….a white ambassador waited at the office door to carry the boss back to his family….far way,at the horizon,birds flew… I saw two minute feathers floating mid way in the air….. I smelt the burning coals,as the smoke curled up from a nearby hut,…..my fingers intertwined as I sighed silently….at the municipal corporation nearby,I heard someone bang the door shut….i saw officers and politicians dressed in white,leaving for their homes…

the room lights in all the neighbouring houses started coming into life…..to warm the approaching cold night……I piled up all the dried up clothes hanging in the verandah,………and walked back to my room…………

-swasTIKA

To stitch into

the stitches of my torn life..

A faint hope,

licking the morning dust,

does survive…

-swasTIKA

amar khela ghorer sinduk

bhanga rong pencil

chera kagoj

lal fite

rubber-er guro

sticker

putul-er bhanga pa

shuto

anka chobi

plastic kouto

khelar chamoch

shukno ful

pata

khela garir chaka

pen-er khap

straw

banshi

pathor..

-swasTIKA

Passive

I pushed open my window and leaned out.. I rested my palms on the window sill and let my eyes graze in the field of nature… it was eight-thirty in the morning,and the sun hadn’t left its bed yet..i could smell my breath ,the freshly brushed teeth..my toothpaste..i smelt it all.. .. there at a small construction site near my house,the workers had already set to work.. a girl dressed in red skirt and white shirt cycled down the grey pitched road,off to school…. Somewhere near by a cycle rickshaw honked.. I saw a grand father,combed white hair,in grey pyjamas taking his grand daughter to school…down there,beside my apartment,there stood a girl,busy texting to someone..i could hear a conversation between the locals vegetable seller and a middle aged woman.. I could hear the baby in the neighbouring house,fumbling with his newly learnt words….

A crow flapped his wings and flew by..the banana tree near my apartment building had outgrown.. I noticed the leaves hung over on the other side of the wall..parts of it had dried up,and drooped down..the building overlooking my apartment was an old one..i saw peepal saplings growing from the cracks of the building…it looked old,weary..experienced and weathered….

Along the window railing,I noticed a dispatched cob-web..no spider lay there..may be it was a failed attempt by a spider,I thought.. the air smelt musty,like spinach leaves..i heard the clanging of utensils …. Slowly the sunlight started filtering in,and in gradual succession,I could hear the noise of daily life amplifying…honks of vehicles,calls of vegetable sellers,shops opening…..i did not want to hear it all over again……..so, I pulledthe curtain,sat down at my table and stuck a book at my nose………

….the day had had already begun……..

-swasTIKA

conflagration

I let the spray of cold water from the shower to relax my pounding head.. I sat down and held my head between my knees.. I felt weak.. nothing felt good__the shower flowed on,and there under the showeri poured mugfuls of water down my hair…lukewarm tears flowed down..and even under the shower..i felt their presence,their flow,their warmth…. I closed the tapsand brushed my drenched hair with the wooly towel…. In the crispy,warm clothes and wet hair,I stepped out of the cold bathroom…. I felt giddy and rushed over and bent over the kitchen sink__my stomach churned,but nothing exploded out of my mouth..__the smell of bile that rose from the burps made me dizzy………….

I closed my eyes..wishing to crush my eyeballs____and pressed my temples against the wall… I pressed hard until,beneath my skin,the blood capillaries had burst open…… I clutched my feet,desiring to bang them away___i felt miserable

My veins seemed to be drugged,as I dragged my loathing body __to the bedroom… I pulled aside my bed cover and layon the bare bed,…..yes,I’m depressed………..

And all this afternoon,I’ve done so….

-swasTIKA

Back yard

The smell of the heated concrete back yard..splattered with the scent of the setting coal dust..infused with the smell of the pink and yellow roses growing in the brown pots in the yard..the setting sun brushes aside the clouds,spreads its clothes and lays abck..to fall into a satisfying slumber…..

I keep playing with the mud and the balsam flowers..making a curry of water,soil,stone chips,fallen flowers and leaves,which in my belief,is a remedy for the weak plants.. oh, I’m only eight years old girl..the frills of my frock bordered by the muddy water,and lapped by the white and yellow sand particles….the herons line up to bid farewell and leave for their nests………..i’ve already lost my flouroscent green ball in the garden ..and I’m about to be charged by my mother,for spilling mud water at the door-way….

But now I’m eighteen..far away from where I was,when I was only eight…I want to smell that air once again…here,I’m breathless..nothing provokes me to breathe,and I tend to skip breaths once in a while..the sun here has already set,and the mourning sky smoothened with grey-tinged clouds,without even a glimpse og the blue sky……….it makes me gloomy all over again….

Yes,I miss my home…there..where I lived as a child….at my father’s place..in India..west bengal…raniganj..

I sigh deeper and deeper..

-swasTIKA

Cholo..dekha kori…

SUDHUI KI ALO DEBE

NA KICHU ONDHOKAR NEBE—

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DUREI KI ROYE JABE

NA HAATHE HAATH PABE__

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KE JANE E KOTHA

TOBE, DEKHA KORO OGOTTA__

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KHELAI MOGNO ODRISHTO

BADHONE AMI AKRISHTO______

^^^

Onubhob er obhab

Debo ki jobab?

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Ontor-nihito ortho

Dekha kora ki jothartho?

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Toh asbe je kache

Tai bujhi spondon nache?

Odrishho rohoshho

Shobdo sohoshro..

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Sudhui ki kothar khela

na ki asbe o bela

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Paat-er dhare ektu nun

Jolche ondhokarer unun

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Ache koto pichutan

Koro a oto onuman..

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Bolo ki thik korle

Na aro pichu shorle..

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Ascho tahole aj

Porone khushir taj..

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Ta hole,besh..

Ei amader kotha sesh..

-swasTIKA

Breath

The night air stuck to my body,as I leaned against the verandah railing…my eyes spotted some dragon-flies in the light coming off the gleaming street light….the pale golden yellow light emitted by the street lights illuminated the dark lanes….my shoulder strained….I busied myself in unknotting my muscles…pressed the shoulder blades and twisted my head sideways..pressing relief on my body…I looked up at the sky,while my hand glided down and searched for the verandah railing to hold on to…I breathed harder as the crescent moon looked down upon me….my thoughts wandered..and I wondered about the poets who get inspired by the faint white light of the crescent moon….the satellite of Mother Earth……

No,the white light did not catch my attention..what was held in my web—was that half of the moon,which was lost in the darkness of itself…I drew the distinctly faint outline of the other half of the crescent moon…didn’t it desire to charm the world..or sing a lullaby to the motherless child…. Did it feel deprived..sure,it did… what pleasure and celebration must it for the other half on the full moon night….i was lost in these revolving thoughts when I heard my mother in the kitchen……..

-swasTIKA