Subway
Left for so many days while writing the essence
You didn’t come back yet
Here calm words, eternity lay scattered
Like thatch nestled with absolute diligence
These phrases can’t be expressed in one word
Still, if some shortcut remains as shelter
I won’t consider them an alternative to the distance
Fluffed rice*
Drenching has made light become static
Like helpless camphor, fire and vanity have disappeared
Even today I sense a smell of envy while opening your diary
This furious soil has been soaked
Autographs are decaying after giving you their bark
How many generations become waves, turn old…
& you laid cultivation besides some pennies
[Usually termed ‘Khai’ in Bengali, there is a tradition of scattering fluffed rice on someone’s path to crematorium]
David’s sadness
I can see ice in roses
In sacrifice and in fire
I am hearing leery metallic forms of armor
Using me as a shield everyday
You have seen only soil turn into soil
Only its maternal virtues erode
Some soil left, with the surety of becoming the Grand Canyon
If I keep them very close to my chest
The fluctuations of your light turn the chisel
Before becoming precisely a sculpture
Once more I wish to be gentle, O lord
Once more…
Ballads for almighty – 3
The cot is filled with the smell of Neem
Unsolicited Peepul grown within two words
Sound of folding Palm-leaf manuscripts in the gloom of bricks
There are no deeds for sound
At dusk, Gautam* comes and stands by holding the pole
Waves rise in the unlit sanctum
Only he never tells the path to salvation
[Gautam – Another name of Buddha]
Written from Gompas – 1
A few gnarled faces
The hymns of lamas can be heard from the shrine right now
Transcendental language will surround us like fascicle of rubicund poems
I have leaned on the Gompa shoving the heat of restraint
The hills too have been submerged into the colour covered by jeweled lotus
If dark, cruel death comes, they won’t let it turn away
Lighting incenses, will suddenly revolve the luminous prayer wheel
[In Buddhism, there is a concept of Manipadma (Jeweled lotus). Each petal of the flower represents different wisdom (like precious jewel) obtained by Buddha, & the flower itself is the collection of all his wisdoms]
Written from Gompas – 2
That instrument by which you could never be tinkled
That day when the pebble couldn’t get you near the hilly spring
That glass like chromatic fragments
Falling into your chignon from the pinnacle of the monastery
Those lights & shades went pouring the mist on your concealment
All their paths welcome me
Keep intertwined all unerring root-bridges with disillusioned radicles
Saikat Sarkar was born in 1993, in a suburb of Kolkata, West Bengal, India. He earned his Master’s degree in Bengali Literature from Jadavpur University and has been writing poetry since his school days. He has two poetry collections to his credit, Godhulir Paracetamol (2017), To To Biography (2017). Photography and designing book covers are his other areas of interest.
Hindol Ganguly is a reader, writer & translator. He earned a Master’s Degree in Statistics & works in Deloitte India as a Senior Data Science consultant. Hindol’s writings & translations have been published in several magazines. Recently he has completed an 18 month long translation project on Greek poetry during Austerity for Aparjan magazine. He translated Nobel laureate West Indian poet Derek Walcott’s poems for the magazine KabitaDihi. He likes trekking, photography, cooking & sports.
