Abontika, my house was invaded midnight  in search of you

Not like her not like him nor like them

Comparable not to this not to that not to it

What have I done for poetry plunging into  lava-spewing volcano  ?

What are these ? What are these ? Result of searches at home

of Poetry ? Bromide sepia babies from Dad’s broken almirah

of Poetry ! Mom’s Benares sari torn out of hammered box

of Poetry ! Breaths are recorded in the seizure list

of Poetry ! Show me show me what else is coming out

of Poetry ! Shame on you; girl’s half-licked guy ! Die you die

of Poetry ! Wave piercing sharks chew up flesh & bone

of Poetry ! AB negative sun from small intestine knots

of Poetry ! Asphyxiated speed stored in impatient footprints

of Poetry ! Delicate tart-glow in piss  flooded jail

of Poetry ! Mustard flower pollen on prickly feet of bumblebee

of Poetry ! Hungry farmer in dirty loincloth on salty dry land

of Poetry ! Rotten blood on feathers of corpse eating vultures

of Poetry ! Sultry century in faded humid spiteful crowd

of Poetry ! Black death shrieks of intelligence in guillotine

of Poetry ! You die you die you die why didn’t you die

of Poetry ! Fire in your mouth fire in your mouth fire

of Poetry ! You die you die you die you die you die

of Poetry ! Not like her not like him nor like them

of Poetry ! Comparable not to this not to that not to it

of Poetry ! Abontika, they came in search of you, why didn’t take you along !!

( Translation of Blood Lyric )

Mumbai 2011

Tagore, this is for you after one fifty years :

who clipped your nails in offshore lands–

that foreign lady ? Or the chick adulators ?

There isn’t any photograph of yours with

your hands placed on laps of young ladies

cutting nails ; your feet on Ocampo’s knee ?

May be the girls on whose shoulder  Gandhi placed

his wings, cut his nails. As you know, it’s so painful

to reach the nail-cutter up to one’s feet at  old age–

oh, men like me without young girls for company

are aware. Love’s strange demand from senile age.

Gossipers say Sunil Ganguly did have for each nail

a struggling poetess. Joy Goswami also have had

the same ; the girls closed eyes and jumped  into muck.

I’d seen  Shakti Chattopadhyay’s lover clipping his nails

in the small Chaibasa room. Does Sharat do same for Bijoya ?

Yashodhara, did Trinanjan ever cut your nails ?

Subodh, have you ever took Mallika’s feet

on your lap and cut her nails ? Just a glance

at the feet of a poet tells you how lonely he is.

Think of Jibanananda ; he has been searching for

Banalata for thousand years for his nails to be cut.

( Translation of Nokh Kata O Prem )

Mumbai 2010

Those who beat us to death after village court trial, they

did not spare you as well, Abontika ! We rotten corpses

drift in muddy Hooghly river ; what was our crime ?

You are Party boss’s wife, I am just an uncivil nobody.

There were endless praise of communism in last 33 years ;

nothing for lovers. For whose benefit were the tomes–

whatever are left of the rotten corpses of lovers remain

metamorphosed domestic bullocks yoked to grinding,

useless party-worker. Better to exude on chariot of waves

to the seas clutching each other in oceanic splendour.

( Translation of Amaratwa )

Kolkata 2006