by Subhrasankar Das
(1)
Each home has its own fragrance.
To forget this presumption,
I spray perfume around the room,
Close my eyes for a blue, profound sleep.
Inhaling the aroma of incense stick,
Plunging into the coil of smoke,
I try to find:
Which puff of breath had made You fly?
The blade nearing black-vein
Is ready to dive into the pink water.
Sleek and silent mobile-phone is vibrating continuously. .
Only he knew
You had never been addicted to
The smell of damp wood around the home.
(2)
Just close the doors & windows.
No home has his own light, but darkness.
Like moon or love, he is a beggar by birth
& proud of his stolen light.
It’s my habit to roam around the room blindly.
& if I get something new
I use to open a leaf of window & see:
How much light is getting in & going out,
How much light is getting black
Being stuck in the hole of ventilator?
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ABOUT THE POET ~
SUBHRASANKAR DAS, born on first May 1986 in Tripura(north-eastern part of India), is an award-wining figure of modern Bengali literature.He writes both in Bengali & English (POETRY, Short-stories For adults & children). He writes poetry in top literary & commercial magazines of Kolkata, Tripura, Assam/Gawahati/Silchr.His poems have been included in many collections of poems: Few poems have been recorded in (cdmp3)by KobiKonthe kobita'(souharda, Kolkata)& "Je matite jibon jage''(Eastern school of publication).*He has been invited & awarded as 'Best poet 2008'by 'Binay padak committee', kolkata(Poschimbongo Bengla Academy)for his book'Tontukit'.His poems in English have been published and appreciated in various international journals/web magazines/blogs. *HE HAS GOT INVITATION FROM THE PRESIDENT OF '22ND WORLD CONGRESS OF POETS'(LARISSA, GREECE 2011), & Asiawrites...
Last updated February 07, 2012