Dēēkshā
A grey plume of my breath can bring a jaunty grin, no you don’t smell like onions she said. When will you write a poem? Whilst going back to her muttons. Stranded on a desert island you crave for an oasis or poems? But that’s how she is. Recklessly reckless, where my not so benevolent restless psyche surrenders. I anoint myself but the battle starts all over again, so I engross myself in her ritualistic repetitions. At times she sounds like a fascist nun, manifesting the desire to save me from the internal paranoia without delusion or impediment, I feel like connecting with the eternal Buddha.
Evanescence
Whilst hitting the asphalt every drop bounced back upward, persistent.
I always wanted to become a train driver not an editor!
She has been very grounchy lately, for I feel like riding the gravy train.
I don’t blame her; there’s a very fine line between fantasy and reality.
I feel, ‘You are a successful dreamer if your dreams are unfulfilled’. No one agrees with me.
Clouds like a flock of sheep hovering overhead. Myriads of unknown insects dancing around my head like ghosts walking up a spiral staircase.
On a rainy evening, years ago, I was waiting for her to return from her French tuition near the famous tea stall of Chourangi lane, when she introduced me to the word nuages.
Her dream was to use my surname!
Arindam Banerjee has a long association with the Full of Crow family. His poems and fictions have appeared in Full of Crow, Blink Ink and many other journals and magazines. He works as an editor and writes, for the bugs keep biting him from within.
