DIWALI

It is the time to give again.

Voluptuous hampers,

surprise discounts and

'Sone pe Suhagas' flood the market.

Kajus and barfis,

packaged in stylish

designer wraps,

cascade out of store shelves.

Candies coated with new flavours,

in shapes never seen before,

are tucked into heavy baskets.

Even eateries offer

two-for-the-price-of -one

while 5-Stars bring in

the swinging mood

for the swaying  hips.

Outside the bar windows

hungry faces crawl the streets.

Shimmering silks in passion colours

sparkle in the burst of  flames

from the fireworks.

At home

golden thalis laden with

blessings from

the Goddess of Wealth

mark the day --

promising plentitude

to the good and virtuous.

This could be the Day!

The little girl on the pavement

with eyes like tuni bulbs,

stretches out her dented pan,

delirious with hope.

At the break of dawn,

when the card games are over

and flirtatious glances

are darting no more,

a tiny body

resting on a piece of rag

is marked with a frozen smile

and,

tears that have dried up

on her dirty face.

A cold metal pan

lies next to her curled up body.

Empty.

Her only gift for life.

***************

Dola Dutta Roy, Calcutta, October 4, 2008

WIND CHIMES

SOUL MATES

What would you do

when I’m gone --

When the body withers

And the soul departs

Taking me in its fold

To a place you've never known?

Will you think of me --

In a crowded room,

Or in the alley

That runs past my dwelling

Looking back

Just to get a glimpse of me

Even by mistake

As you did before?

Will the memories

Of happy moments linger

And make you weep?

Will you forgive 

The innumerable mistakes I made,

Sometimes to hate you

And hurt you

And make you break?

I wonder.

Perhaps you’ll move along,

Find a friend,

Not to share your pain

But to shy away from it

In goblets of spirit, and sometimes

In the magic of music

To mask any trace of loss,

And look brave and sane.

Perhaps thoughts of me

Will fade away with your dreams

And in the touch of morning showers

You won’t call out my name.

No, not anymore.

But my soul will be free

To do as I please.

It’ll take the last flight

To a different plane

With the only treasure I have,

My thoughts of you

Where all hurts will ease

And all pains will freeze,

‘coz we were true soul mates

Only torn asunder.

********

Calcutta

July 12, 2014

DUSHYANT

What if one day

You forget who I am!

What if you never look my way

With love in your eyes,

And a song on your lips,

But with a crazy, blank stare?

What if the clock stops ticking

And time stands still?

Would you remember

The vows we had taken;

The promises that were made

Never to be broken?

What if the past fades away

When the dark night ends

And the present is a blur

When thoughts don’t mend?

What if you just walk out the door

And lose your way in a blind alley --

Never to return?

I shall cease to exist

'coz in your eyes live my pride,

My courage to be what I am
And it can all fade 

Just in the flash of an eye.

Ridden with guilt,

I'd ask dear God 

to give me another chance

To turn your face.

I'd bring back old memories 

And hold them still 

before your vacant eyes 

To wipe out your fears.

I'd turn on the lights of joy,

I'd drive out the spells of doom

And whisper in your ears,

‘Nothing is lost, nothing's gone

You're with me and mine alone.'

**************

(Written for Alzheimer patients)

July 13,2014, Calcutta 

LIFE IN LIMBO

From his place –

He saw it all.

Tethered to a wheelchair,

Tied and secure,

He felt like a balloon

Buoyant in his very own

Flights of fancy.

.

Tired of inactivity,

His mind ticked away, and

As a daily chore,

Was diligent in futile investigation

Of life around him --

Unfolding itself in many hues,

Especially in Springtime.

Inert and immobile,

He longed for infinite freedom,

To savor and touch

The sumptuous splendors

Of Nature around him;

But with heroic stoicism

He feigned inertia.

The sudden buzz of the bee

Broke his dull reverie.

Creating invisible loops in the air,

With mirthless abandon,

Turning circle after circle,

In wild exploration

It made an abrupt and hasty exit.

Departing like a conqueror--

Leaving behind nothing

But the faint echo of a din

That’s deafening….

It made him gasp.

The thirst for lost youth

Ached inside him.

Moments later,

The flicker of a pair of gauzy,

Luminous, fragile wings

With colors woven into patterns

Through which the sun

Danced into the room --

Caught his eye.

There was no hum,

No quandary,

No tearing hurry

But a playful flurry,

In the guileless pursuit of pleasure.

Frail and fickle,

Capricious and curious,

The winged creature fluttered about,

Delirious and naïve,

Delighted -- just to be alive.

But in an instant

Those shimmering wings,

So crafted with love and care,

Fell to pieces --

Fractured by some spinning,

Voracious blades above.

The magnificent creature,

So gay and blithe,

Lay quivering and shuddering,

Like a human in seizure

Till it lay motionless --

Like a useless piece of disposable adornment.

He saw hope fading away,

Joy recoiling with pain and

Life ending unfulfilled --

Perhaps all in vain!

In a life that is ravenous --

Sparing none but the industrious,

Nobody weeps for the slothful, 

The ineffectual angels

That leave behind 

Not their footprints 

but just their souls.

With his heart's rapid beat

His eyes grew misty.

He inhaled the fragrant air --

And destiny shelved to a life in limbo.

Even though in Springtime.

****************

DDR,

CALCUTTA, MARCH 11, 2014

CAUGHT IN A WEB

The church clock chimes ten.

It’s a reminder of the undaunted

Passage of time and

Life caught in a web.

I hurry and scribble

A few words, lest I forget,

On the blank pages of my mind.

Of things that I cared for,

Of people I had failed.

Should I tear up the letters

Outliving their purpose,

Or save them to smell

In bitter moments of despair?

Should I wait for the morning to break,

or pray to the Rain Gods

To hold the showers in check,

So I could run across the street

To get a rose for my beloved,

Languishing in a surgical bed?

But, shush, how can I?

He's not mine,

No, not anymore.

Should I stay in

And plug in

for a fresh brew of coffee?

Or pass it, so I won’t wake

In the middle of the night

Fearing God’s rage for my sins

And lack of mercy?

But there’s no time to dither,

No time to falter;

In a moment darkness could fall --

And swallow up the morsels of joy

That still linger with hope

In the beat of my heart.

There’s no time

To dress the wounds,

to wonder and weigh,

No time to blame and curse,

But do what you may. 

The moment is now --

And I must run.

I should open the door

And step out in the rain

To love and forgive,

Before it’s too late

and I go insane.

************

Written on  July 13, 2014, Calcutta,

FLOWERS IN THE DUST

The girl stood still for a moment.

The street lights flickered in her eyes

Quivering in shame.

She felt the rain

Slide down her fragile frame

In rivulets —

Washing away the sins

Of a soulless moron.

She moves just a little

Like a shadow --

Muffling her fears

And strangling her dreams,

Resigned to calamitous interludes

With life like this 
on thorny paths--

Hovering between disgrace

and delusions.

But there’ll be no candles

Burning for her on street corners,

No slogans for her rights,  

No justice or hope, for sure,

To retrieve her maligned honor.

A child born out of lust

Can only languish in the dust,

And sink into the shrouds of oblivion

As she is no one but just

A nameless, faceless pavement dweller.

Calcutta, 16, 10,2014

HOW DEEP IS DEEP

How deep is Sorrow

When prayers remain unheard,

Life is lost in a flash,

Moments are gone

Never to return

And we carry the burden

Of guilt and grief

For eons -- on and on?

How deep is Sin?

What color is it?

Gray or black, or

A bit of both?

We may never know.

It just sucks us

Into an ocean of oblivion

Where we surrender our souls

Never to look back.

How deep is the pit that we dig?

The abysmal depth

Where we are thrown

To weep and beg

In fear for mercy?

A pit so deep --

Where Truth slinks away

Love withers,

And the soul decomposes

Preying on its own flesh.

Yet we know no better

And march along the path,

As if blindfolded,

That leads us to the

Unfamiliar, unforgiving

Bottomless pit.

(In appreciation of the Law of Karma)

Calcutta, July 14, 2014

THE PARTING GIFT

She saw him from her window,

Every evening,

In the dying light of the fading sun,

Sitting in the park,
Under the shade

Of a giant sycamore tree.

Hugging the corner of a wooden bench,

Meant for lovers.

There was magic

In the profusion of color

On his patchwork robe --

That flashed like flames

Weaving dreams of tales

Long, long forgotten.

His faded hat,

His shaggy, unkempt hair,

Caught in the last rays of the sun,

Blew feverishly in the air

As he sat there --

Guileless and forlorn.

From their hollow pits

His eyes, glistening like glinting embers.

Were fixed on the kids,

Prancing around and shrieking

In a war-like frenzy.

He sat motionless --

Like a Buddha in meditation,

Mesmerized, 

and in a deep reverie.

She came down quietly,

With hot soup in her hand.

He looked at the offer

With vacant eyes stunned; 
His lips slowly

Breaking into a lazy smile.

Eons later,

Those pit less eyes

Took out what he treasured,

From the holes of his blazing mantle

A Havana,

Illegal and banned.

His voice cracking,

He said woefully,

‘I have sinned and I seek penance.

This keeps me  from breaking.’

Without another word he left,

Leaving the cigar on the bench,

And his footprints

Stamping the blades of dead grass –

His frail and crooked body

Diminishing by distance,

Never to return.

***********

Calcutta      21,10,2014

The Phantom City

The road before my house

Runs its serpentine course,

Like a river in motion.

Its capricious curves in the far distance

Reminds me

Of the midriff of a teenage girl,

Eager to explore life.

The denuded trees along the way,

Lean with time and shame,

Speak of the rage of savage battles

Fought between man

And nature.

In my wheel-chair,

I stare out of the window

Making friends with the sounds

That fill the evening air;

Sounds

Of a mindless, noisy game

Between a sea of humanity

And an over-zealous traffic

Clamoring for a bit of space

On a little strip of

Decaying tar.

I take a deep breath

And smell the sloppy savouries served

To hungry, faceless commuters

At street corners,

Before they surrender to the mercies

Of fuming,

Whirling wheels

Carrying them to a hole

Called - home-

In some unknown, unseen

Suburbia.

Gingerly, as dusk settles in,

And the evening

takes a deeper shade of purple,

Fickle street lights

Keep their promise to alert

men in uniform on a stroll,

And lovers,

In search of a few

Secret moments of truth.

Much later,

When the blinking lights

From neighboring homes phase out,

And all sounds have been muffled

By the droning of sleeping bodies,

I long for the wind

To take me to the end of the curve

To view the lights and take in the sounds

Of a world

Beyond this winding road.

Tell me

Is there no world

That has no aching fears

Of a scorching hue of red

That severs man from his soul!

A place where the air doesn't cringe

At lust preying on flesh

While parents sell emaciated bodies

Of their young

For a few pieces of silver.

Is'nt there a world

Not torn asunder in the name of God

By reckless greed,

Anger and fear?

A  city that

Doesn’t bleed or sneer;

A city that doesn’t hide behind

The indigo sky

And sheds no secret tears.

Dola Dutta-Roy

Oct.2003,Calcutta

Sleepless Nights

These days I sleep less

and stay awake more often.

They say it is a sign of aging.

But when I lie in bed

I think of nothing.

Actually.

Fleeting moments of life

in sepia tones

appear and disappear;

fading-- before they merge together.

I think of no one in particular.

Not even you.

There is a strange longing for smells from the past.

Smell of brown-paper

wrapping new school books;

of  parcels received from  distant aunts;

of uncharted roads traveled

together with a wild bunch of friends

looking for life.

Many of them I won’t see again.

Not even on Face Book.

Taste of items tried at street corners

from an endless race of vendors,

in my delirious youth

fill my mouth.

Sometimes…

Lines from letters 

etched in ink

in the dark recesses of a mind

going half blank,

moisten my eyes.

.

My sleepless nights are not filled with fear.

Fear of death or the unknown.

I fear nothing, not even dying and

the pitless void the soul hovers in.

Nor do I pray.

As I have nothing to ask for.

It is just an endless search for a person

I thought I knew,

a person I wanted to be;

a person who had many dreams.

They say

life is just to be experienced

with the good and the bad;

and that

it is all about staying alive

every waking moment

because there may be no

Tomorrow.

That is why

I sleep little these days and

keep awake most  nights.

     ********           *********      *******

DDR, Calcutta,  18.12.03

DANCE OF DEATH

Have you seen rings of smoke

dying languorously in the air

in a swirling maze

like the dance of death

melting into oblivion?

Is it another vision of 'life'?

Have you looked in the eyes

Of a man holding 

the remains of his infant

crushed to a pulp,

or those of a woman

bereft of her dignity

under the weight of

savage desires?

Yet they find no justice,

no sorrow 

for such unceremonious

dismissal of life!

Looking back

I see a different me

with eyes shining with hope

and the vanity of youth

to change the world

that could last forever!

Echoes of whispers

and slogans

rang in my ears.

The touch of warmth

from encircling arms

and the taste of freedom

sipped lazily

in euphoric frenzy

comforted me.

The feeling no longer lingers

and I recollect that

Eons back they were buried

amidst tremors and tears.

When I look in the mirror

I see nothing today!

Nothing of the flashing hopes

or undying vows.

All wiped out clean

Leaving a hollow shell,

a shadow that

I call ‘me’.

Just a survivor!

My hands are empty now,

my eyes, colourless.

I hear no laughter;

I see no smile--

only the call of temptation

lurking in corners

drowning the human soul

with vicious attempts !

And now

There’s nothing but waiting

for the real game of life

to end and

melt into oblivion

just like the dance of death

somewhere, someday, 

in midair.

****************

Dola Dutta Roy, Calcutta, May 22, 2010

UNSUNG WORDS

Did I ever tell you

that April is my favorite month

when the sky is clear

... and the air is hot

with flavors from days gone by?

When the touch of

ice runs through my fingers

with an ecstasy half forgotten

that lets them curl

like a leech in shame-

coated with a sprinkle of salt ?

Did I ever tell you

that sometimes

music from the neighbor’s FM

sings of the times we spent together

in the green woods

smelling primroses and

counting colors on the wings

of butterflies

in search of passion

among uncountable,

willing flowers

beating-- just to be touched?

But I know,

I never did tell you

that the first drop of rain in June

on my parched skin

still fills my eyes with tears

feeling those quivering moments

our lips met after an inane battle

when there was nothing left

to be said anymore...

but hear the beat of a longing

that throbbed

in the middle of my chest

running through the length of my arms

just wanting to hold your head

close to my heart ?

Always.

And today

when the mind

is growing rapidly senile

by the weight of loss and gain

in a world filled with noise and pain --

I stand alone,

brave and strong

with no shadow of yours

to envelop me.

Ever. Anymore.

I seek no words

to tell you today that

I have no regrets or fear,

no truths

left uncovered

as I know you can hear

all that is left unsung,

from wherever you are,

in your sleepless soul!

****************

Dola Dutta Roy, Calcutta, July 6, 2009

A WINDOW TO THE WORLD

I need a window

That helps me see

The world,

And the rhythm of life in motion

In the far distance,

Where I can never be.

All I see is the serpentine road

That blurs my vision

And beckons me to wander 'n fall

Like autumn leaves and snowflakes

So I forget my mission.

I ask for nothing but

The strength to hold on

To the dreams I had savored,

Woven with tears in threads of gold;

A secret I cherished, never to be told.

by

Dola DuttaRoy

Calcutta, India

Sept 17,2013