A BUNCH OF POEMS

POEMS OF DILIPKUMAR CHATTOPADHYAY --------------------------------------------------------------------- RETURNED FROM GREEN Shut the eyelids to see the unseen you may feel the glow of green----- didn't face such greenery in life as I reached the space serene. I pushed away the concrete jungle to reach an unknown spot on the globe, someone poured festive colours on my cornea with great aplomb. I felt the green carpet of softy grass below my feet and sucked chlorophyll, as the roots suck life from the ground I rejoiced rebirth with eternal feel. Coming back to tooled civility trying to retain the touch of green, I felt lonely and a crestfallen self..... eyelids are covered by grey within. ##### DESIRE Now the distant seems more visible, and, the near becomes gradually hazy. I touch my childhood with ripe old age, my adolescence is lost in busy middle years; and, the youth rolls down to west horizon to pace up with the glow of mid-sky sun....... Now, it is time to light the lamp and fire, not to drive out the darkness, but to receive her and to chant in murmuring knitted hymns: Oh spotless night! before calling us to mother's womb please touch our forehead with the eternal light, so that we may come back with the Sun on our palm. ##### POET'S GEOGRAPHY There is no country in the poet's geography---- Do snatch the geometry box from his hands, otherwise, he will consciously rub out the boundary lines from the map by the sweeps of white eraser. Guards will be withdrawn from LOC areas, the flowery creepers will grab the barbed wires like a romantic lovely wife; to wipe out the gunpowder smoke from the barrels of fire arms the young lovers will pour deodorants and perfumes in their spout. Everything will be squandered: ammunition market will face the charge of infidelity---- all the gun merchants will start selling roses, jasmine, tulip and gladiolous in the multiplex malls, and incywincy.com will take snaps of those vulgar scenes to post in international tabloid websites. Poets are really mad from top to toes, absolutely unfit for this world. You will find only human race and humanity on the pages of their geography book; let there be countries after countries, continents, hemispheres, the straight and curved lines on the maps------ poets only believe in their own geometry. ##### IMPERILLED WONDER She's lying on bed, facing the wall, her hubby is in deep slumber after the usual night ritual. Glaireous darkness of eight feet length hanging oblong in front of her sight, across the room stands lonely wardrobe in the corner to fulfil it's plight. A bedside table holds a water jug along a manicured tall flower vase, a dozen of tuberose banter with air from the ceiling fan coming with rush. The woman is awake with wall in her first anniversary night, the dust of shoes of invited friends are still fresh in living room site. Used dishes are in kitchen sink waiting for morning wash, the memory of the party has faded within along the buzzing rush. The mind chalk-stick runs with speed on the blackboard wall---- draw some sketch, again wipe it's trace may be to guess some arduous signal. The solitary woman is still awaking in this monastic universe of rest/unrest besides the nature's completeness---- being empty, in nothingness: fondering the wonder with her hollow chest. ##### THE FESTIVAL OF COLOURS I had your invitation on green leaves inside a sky-blue envelop. It was delivered on my doorsteps by the afternoon breeze, the spring postman. Twilight painted your face a crimson red, your eyes were lost beyond the horizon. My hands were smeared with yellow dust, so I kissed your hands to see you blush. ######