Amitaverse

The Breeding Boon

2012-01-19T22:35:00.000-08:00

No politician ever pointed his finger at

Uncontrolled breeding of humans in our land,

Half fed souls where bred like jaunty rats

Stressing meager resource, that our country had;

Skin on bones they are and scantily clad-

A leader knows these men will come to them,

His leftovers is all these men have ever had

For ages these half nourished bodies were his game

More heads brought more grants, a vote in every name.

(A Spenserian stanza)

A CASE OF RAJA & RANI

2012-01-13T20:52:00.000-08:00

All pervading gloom I daily see

The snail’s pace of Democracy

At last the King is in custody

After hue and cry

With years of coffer-lootingspree

And he wasn’t shy.

The Rani later followed suit

With an MP’s tag to boot,

Ill gotten money, black as soot

She obtained,

From companies that vendoredfruit,

Which, she never ate.

After the cry for justice surged

One ninety days in jail sheserved

But Delhi’sstrings are attached

Deep in south,

No commoner to her staturematched

So she walked out.

http://www.thehindu.com/news/national/article1767241.ece?service=mobile

(A Burns Stanza on 2G scam)

Hold me not

2012-01-07T21:16:00.000-08:00

courtesy: http://www.lifevesting.com

Hold me not as themoment has stealthily come

From the fatefulabbeys of dark holes,

To ruthless timelet’s seek the balm-

Hold me not.

Let the cord that tieour fateful souls

Silently part,without humdrum,

Let secret tears flowfar from consoles.

O’ bees, whatmonotonous laments you hum

Cronies- Stop theheart- wrenching carol!

I need no parting tears,let my words charm,

Hold me not.

(A Roundel)

( Published by The Journal of The Poetry Society, India, 2011)

Ephemeral moments-III- A haiku

2011-09-16T13:01:00.000-07:00

Mid winter night,

Dogs howl in the street for warmth

We dream in warm bed.

Ephemeral Moments--II - A haiku

2011-09-16T12:44:00.000-07:00

The sea washed sun

Jumps out of the cold water

To wipe out darkness.

Ephemeral Moments- A haiku

2011-09-16T12:26:00.000-07:00

In midsummer dusk

Gold dissolves on the Ganges

Conch-croons fill the banks.

(NB: In the evening the Hindu ladies pray blowing the SHANKHA or conch shell)

Oh! Egypt Show Us the Way

2011-04-22T02:53:00.000-07:00

Look how chaos reign our motherland,

How faceless tyrants at the gunpoint loot,

How the reigns of power ends in brigand’s hand,

Who has kicked humanity with his golden boot;

How whistle blower’s ashes flicker upon free sand

How protesting voices stifled or given two hoots;

The white man’s burden has eased but rajas reign

And hungry mist hover the land of toiling men.

Here histrionics of rivals, equally adept

In showing their adversity in public domain,

While beyond the glare of lights they have kept

Common wine served by common women;

Where farmer drinks rat-kill or sells his mate

While the Shylock smiles behind his pounding men,

From rubber-spined capitalists, morality got grind

Look! Egypt has burnt; can we be far behind?

Amitava Chakrabarty

2011-02-20T00:27:00.000-08:00

The Statesman reviewed my book today. It feels great to see your pics in newspaper. The writeup is heavily loaded in my favour and I feel somewhat shaky to upload it. Nevertheless...

2011-02-19T08:12:00.000-08:00

Just to share a bit of news. I have been one of the winners of Aquillrelli Publishing contest, where the organizers were selecting the best 100 poems amongst a host of contributers. Those of you interested in the next publishing contest can click the following link:-

http://www.aquillrelle.com/

And the poem that was chosen by the organizers was:-

http://www.aquillrelle.com/publishingwinners.htm#publishedpoem8

The Final Moorings

As the clock embedded inside
Swings farther and farther
Away from the umbilical chord
Time boarding the magic carpet
Flies back to my by-gone days.
In search of memoirs.
The tired sail with mussels all over
Waits to be beached
Like other hulks' ramshackle
In eternal Time's sand
It waits dismantling
In the final moorings
Away from the beloved's guard
In ruthless scrap yard.

Strapped firmly upon a cot
Lugged upon a sun-fed street
The heartless funeral band
Roared, and all trusts breached;
I see my head cold,
Swaying like a frail boat-
In intruding tidal bore,
And I collect my deeds
Strewn like cheap bran
Upon the memory's floor,
I marvel at my life's span
Oh! so fast it has elapsed
Before the fluttering bird
Inside me has collapsed.

2011-02-05T02:40:00.000-08:00

My mother came back today from the hospital after Laparoscopic Cholecystectomy or removal of gall stones, which she had plenty inside. For last few days she was in the not at home. What I want to share below is my poem that I wrote for her in the Mothers Day last year. The poem also finds a place in my book:-

Oh! Mummy

Riding flippant wings of Time

As I flew three decades back

My world around was engulfed

Into the single-soldier barrack.

Under a general draped in a sari

And a vermillion bindi between brows

With beads of sweat from daily chores

She wipes her face in anchal* free.

This act often rejuvenates

Her sweaty glowing visage

In the slogging sultry summer

And injects love-blended reverence.

Over the growing years-

The bridled bonds has slacked

The general has became a friend

Look! the octopus tires.

Mistake! She deliberately let it loose

The anchor grip in doorstep of youth

Not before steadying the sail

And refurbishing the keel.

"Let the waves thrash you dear

Let your soul burn wrath of fear

But when you will be back to me

Come back as a man.

Baked in sun, whipped by wind

Be the stick of my porous bones

Be back as light of my misty eye

Through your window my world beckons.

When my stones inside will hurt

When dark blood ooze from my orifice

Then be by my side dear

And let me rest in peace."

(*Anchal is one end of an Indian sari, that dangles at the back over the shoulder)

2010-11-30T09:34:00.000-08:00

After a long wait these poems got a place to rest between a khadi clad, hand made, hand pasted, gold- embossed covers. Yes my second book has come out from Writer's Workshop, Kolkata. One of the last manuscripts selected by Prof. P Lal before he passed away on 3rd Nov, 2010.

Any one interested in acquiring a copy can have it from " Book Nook" at 165/92,Lake gardens, Kolkata, or can send a written request over email at : < chakrabarty.amitava@gmail.com>. A VPP will be sent forthwith and the postage will be borne by me if the addressee is in India. The book is priced at Rs.120/-.

A phone

2010-05-24T19:06:00.000-07:00

Soon the cloud cleared. a phone came in an evening. A poetess read the poems of desolation and contacted the beleaguered poet and became a friend. She phones up still and promises to be close to him, lifelong. But promises are promises, meant to be broken.....
So the Poet wrote this sonnet:-

Through Ether

Everyday I see you through your call,

And the sculptor in my abyss of inner eye

Curves your figure, your face in soft thermocol

Look! The figurine can speak, can smile and cry.

The sculptor is lucky as he can touch her face

Can ply his finger through her boyish hair,

Can feel the lovelorn throbs above her dress

Which he could willfully untie; but that's not fair!

Through ether only lonely bubbles contact

As we have never met nor ever shall we,

Our hands, our lips, our hearts are miles apart

Two thousand, it's as precise as one can be.

Everyday I shiver of the single thought

You telling me "It's over! I'll call you not.

2010-04-20T20:33:00.000-07:00

Well the wounded soul sought fresh air in the nearby park, where a few lovers met. There were fixed benches for them to sit, fixed positions for their hands and fixed angle of their besotted looks. Once in mid winter there were no lovers as it was raining. The wounded soul saw the beleaguered benches craving for the warmth of the soul mates and wrote the following:

We Two of Us

We two of us in the wood

In wind swept winter’s pensive mood

Craving warmth we lie unhidden,

We long for moments forbidden

For loves that winter’s chill withstood.

We two are benches made of wood,

Once with pride in the park we stood,

Today we are left, forsaken-

We two of us.

In this winter, we cry aloud;

Oh! Sweet spring hail the lovers-good;

Let them sit on our warm wooden

Lap; let’s attend to their desires then,

Ensconced in nature, far from crowd-

We two of us.

(A rondeaux )

WOUNDS

2009-09-19T05:46:00.000-07:00

After the famous touch the ebb started in my life and exposed a wound on the sea shore that still exists, forcing me to write this poem :

Wound

Those loving touches on me you left

Are wounds that doesn’t heal,

And all the bliss I ever dreamt-

Haunt my senses still.

Two loving palms that lifted my soul

And shared the warmth of heart

Is thrown today where cannibals prowl,

To be ripped and torn apart.

Today I languish in the woods -

Loving the birds and bees,

But still today those mortal wounds

Intermittently bleed.