BUBBLES TO ICE

His life began like bubbles

Not those that we begin 

Eventually to live in

But those popping in waves

Insidiously inside shaken cola bottles 

And waiting to erupt

At a drop of the cap

Then when his bubble burst

He became the meek stream

That concerts at the kitchen sink

Until one is moved enough

To applaud the cacophony

Or disconnect the melody

In attempt of conserving mother nature

Later he was bubbles again

This time amid the rattles

Of ice cubes in a scotch glass

While much of the liquor

Just spilled outside

Unheard and unfelt

On underlying muffled carpets

By the end he was just ice

Calm and composed and cold

Frozen in the burning fire

Oblivious to the funeral pyre

Dismissed from the rigmarole

And eighty-seven years of air

Became air pollution in 15 minutes

-K.G.

In memory of Mr. D. R. Ghosh, my grandfather.

READ DOCUMENTS BEFORE INVESTING

I read the entire conversation
From yesterday– Twice.
The first time round was fairly romantic
I felt the nostalgia of 2012.
Then, in my second reading I realised 
How wasted this Sunday was.
Because in some hours
It's gonna be Monday 
And office is gonna start, 
And I too will precariously begin
To wait for the upcoming weekend
Again.

And all through this week
I'll work my way
Up your heart again
So that on a suitable weekend,
I could meet you in person 
And get something nice to drink 
And spend some time together 
And just before the night slips in 
On the way to your home,
Safe and sound
Your head leaning on my shoulder.
And just how it broke your sleep
When I applied final brakes–
My hopes wavering too 
Since the time the WhatsApp text delivery 
Had slyly turned blue.

I miss you, I need you
And a hundred similar pleas 
Are all ready in my verbal infantry
For this corporate law case that's progressing
A little further everyday
And that which is taking love by the lapels 
Fought in a two languages 
One poetry; one law.
Therefore, this deal isn't about loss or win
It is a groovy engagement 
Where you and I will engage regularly
For nothing but pleasance
Derived from scorn and satire
Or maybe because we're bad advocates.
We never read documents before investing.


-K.G.

DIVINE JUSTICE

One window open, one wide shut
The incompleteness; fair enough
Stuck in hinges, the unopened door
Craving since an eternity & some more

While our desires run at insane angles
And want becomes an ineffable disguise
The window desires just summer breeze
To pass through its dormant opening

And as a witness, to my surprise,
The other hinge; the open one
Seemed perhaps to waver in its freedom
Not as a wanderer but as a captive

Sans any complains or reforms
The window reminded just how it were
And another day passed by– futile;
Trying to comprehend divine justice

-K.G.

WAY WITH WORDS

An art it is perhaps–
What's binding us together
What's making our lives
And acting even in how we die
We in fact, are all a set
Of all the words echoing
In the conscience caves
Of our silly little heads

As spokesperson of words
We seldom rant with sincerity
While they who art with poesy
Stand most articulate
Even in ridiculousness
For the way this world revolves
Isn't sideways or circular
But in our way with words

-K.G.

WHAT THE HEART WANTS

My heart desires return
To a time of you and I
Not for
The sake of intimate, shared moments
But for the belief
In a thought that in reality
Was not just mere imagination

For the fun found then
In stupid discourse
I would gladly trade
All this sensibility incurred
Through the passage of experiences
And an unnoticed deviation–
Neither considered, nor acknowledged

Though time has tolled
Unfolding several joys as well
And not just only–
"Why the hell"s, and bitter reprise
But in the civilised brains of
Our high held heads, we know
'The heart wants what the heart wants
'

-K.G.

87 RED SECONDS

Grey smoke into the air
Drips from sooty nozzles
In impatient, accelerated revs;
Of formerly discovered jitters
While sweat candidly trickles
Down the many textures
Of my coarse, weekday skin

"Will my luck sail this boat?
Or will I have to steer alone
Or would I even sail
And demand not to fly away"
Unwinding thoughts; anxiety untamed
Colliding in an interface
With no provisions for coexistence

Chronicles of a jumbled safari
Dispensed to me in the briefest space
From a most humble vantage point
I pondered, breathing carbon emissions
And after 87 red seconds
Of unfettered engine moaning
The signal went green again

-K.G.

IT HAPPENED IN A SPACELESSNESS

It happened in a spacelessness

That crept between us

Making us a memory

Which may or may not be lived again

But did happen, most certainly.

For I remember the sweat

Between inseparable palms 

Inseparable, even by awkwardness.

There was more to it than desire

Yet desire is all that remained

And still, desire was subdued

By the fleeting scent of that reverie. 

So while the reds and goldens

Shimmered in sunlit grooves

Of your gorgeous tresses- I carelessly slept

Over a pillow of silky, fragrant dreams.

Along unconsciousness, the dream escaped too

Finding a place for itself

Atop forbidden pedestals 

That have distanced us earlier.

But in midst of a brief eerie sanctity 

From between supple, tracing fingers

To warm breathings on cold skin,

I have lived an age of peace.

-K.G.

MASTERPIECE

Damp hair are beautiful
But they never sound
As melodious
When they aren't yours
Lacking frictional lilts
Of a masterpiece
That your are
And that every thing else isn't

It's quite a tragedy
How we remained
For so long
Like a literary masterpiece
Without a cover
To illustrate its value
Something that one finds
And realises the importance of
Not by curiosity
But by mere accident

Yet my wish is infinite
And my desire is fire
Though not of the kind
That intends to burn
I am rather heat
Heat– that makes you
Numb and mellow
As you lay melting
Before the crackles of a fireplace
In the warmth of an embrace
That you did recognise
But knew not so well

-K.G.

UNPOLISHED SHOES

This one, I promise

Will not take time

For this is about

A most common sight

And of the difference

That differentiation bore

Between an unpolished shoe

And its neat and clean brothers

Long after school

When spirited young feet

Refused to retreat

And be homewards bound

All sweaty and gasping

Over their silly games

Dusty shoes separate 

These rebels from the obedient

And while mornings begin

With prayers and pledges

These dirty shoes make their way

Fearlessly through every day

Treading upon uncut grass

Not to offend authority

But to figure why

Some things are prohibited 

-K.G.

PROTOTYPES

I have desired to reach
The surface of your texture
And percolate the layers
Of your oniony defence mechanism

Seeping through gently
I wish to make discoveries
Of you undiscovered flaws
That are bizarre unlike societal prototypes

Romance is a constant
For apple tree shade seekers
My poesy comes in waves
And though not always, it will sweep you

Reverence is a seldom’s affair
I’d rather draw you closer
To a reality for communication
Where you and I could at least be truthful liars

There is no rush, my love
A little more night remains
To build a little more dream
Before our jitters rupture into the day’s wake

-K.G.

OUT OF SKINS

Rolling down a winding night
We were running out of skins
And each one that we shed
Was far more interesting
Than the one stripped before

The wounded, the wounding
The audience and referee
All aligned along the lines
Of a farfetched dream
That we saw, at least once a week

Surging further in to the night
A hysteria spiked our beings
On account of the ephemeral disease
But we knew, did not we?
Of our various, viscous descendings

Then, slipping havoc through
A captured photograph flies by
Gliding ahead lazily on the surface
Without an intention to collide
Yet barges into conscience- like reality

-K.G.
(From the complicated archives of Sept. 2015)

GEOMETRY SET CASE

With immense fondness
I'm reminded of
Sweet, callous days
Spent in packed classes
With jolly comrades
In the holy institution
Of a celebrated saint.
Where once along winter
The master introduced
Principles of geometry
And required the next day
A geometry set case
On our wooden desks
As prerequisite to the lesson

Upon school next day
To my left, to my right
Flashed shiny instruments
Of Faber Castle or Camlin blood
Causing sweet cacophony
With an animated reverb
Powered by luxury
While some mutt set cases
Of unheard names and faces
Failed forever to
Derive the correct angles
Not then, not now, not ever
For not lack of quality
But due to trembling complex

-K.G.

A MIDDLE-AGED BED

Cadences of
A middle-aged bed
One pillow; two heads
And how the morning
Brooms last night
Each day like a custom.

The creases from
A previous darkness
Shall all have settled
By the time of twilight
And everything maroon vacates
As the drapes open flood.

Eggshells in the dustbin
Omelettes for breakfast
The juice box remains
Cooling inside the refrigerator
And just like everyday–
Office opens at 9 o' clock.

After a while- today
The bed has learned
Another language for daytime
That is spoken
Every second Wednesday,
Or Friday, or Saturday, or Monday.

-K.G.

UNTIL ACTION IS BORN

I will go on writing
Until I make myself
Feel better- you said.
What a beautiful thing to say.

In stark reality,
That indeed, my dear,
Is why the nib of my pen
Day and night paints between the lines.

These words that I
Choose with disregard,
You say, bereave you.
And yet, no reactions derived.

Is that, I ask,
Indifference, then?
Because if it is,
I shall bereave until action is born.

I will hope patiently,
Committing inked felonies
That someday, perhaps,
The ink smears and seeps within.

-K.G.

TARPAULIN FRIENDS

I have often tried
Of giving thought
To the trending talks
Of this developing town
And how they look
When people like you
Indulge and interfere
In the callous lives
Of earthlings like myself
Who have remained behind
An invisible dividing line
Far back, since 1949

I do know of your intent
I know you are different
But dear, beloved friend
I am not.
And nor are we.
We- are nothing close
To what of us you see
Our dirty homes and scarcity
Is just another lucid part
Of the dwindled growth
And tattered clothes
That gifted us society

I know you will understand
You have used education right
And so you'll stand in support
Of even my uncomplaining plight
But a very apparent compassion
That drips like the dew
I fear, will someday flood
This canyon of companionship
And when, on a day that happens
You will elevate upwards
To your flat on the 10th floor
While I will go, looking for tarpaulin

-K.G.

A HOME ON THE WAY

A flower on its way to bloom
Upon a dusty, jilted shrub
Stemming from a pool of dust
Growing beside rails of the suburb
Half-crushed, half-buried
No room’s comfortable enough
And yet- here is to life
That gets going to get tough

Waving in its deformity
Up against the torrid sun
Until when the moon takes charge
And waving still in unison
Brushing hindrance off like soot
It lay pressed- under a forgotten heft
And refused yet to wither
Lavish in spirit- this shoot bereft

Quaking wild to railway chugs
Ageing in its scalene nature 
Still grooming the floret humbly
Like some middle-class caricature
A full family in God’s one being
Lies out there, somewhere to be seen
Struggling and bulldozing through
In dust-laden shades of green

-K.G.

RESTROOM RESERVATIONS

Years from now
In an unknown tone
In a familiar town, may be
You'll sit around
At a cosy gathering
And poignantly remark-
"Oh yes, he did
Ask me out
And thank God I said
A no, you know!"
Then, a little later
With full conviction
You'll excuse yourself
Into the restroom
To clear a sudden
Dirt in your eye.

Upon your return
Nothing in the world
Would have changed-
Its rightful course
Or delayed it's flow
Everything remains
As it were before
And hoping no one
Spots the difference
You'll confidently try
Once again to be
The high spirits
Of under dim ceilings-
But the mascara's faded.

-K.G.

THE DESSERT PARLOUR

I cannot flow
In & out of your life
Like the wind passes
Through planted delights
For am I neither
Unstoppable– like the breeze,
Nor are you
Anything like a tree.

We are humans: complicated,
And so queer examples of
Personifications do not apply
Upon us in entirety.
We could rather be
Abstract to one another.
That way, I don't see
How both of us cannot win. 

You could be all
Sentiments and emotions
And I could be–
Heartless time.
That way you could
Express more explicitly
And I needn't wait for nothing
Pretending to be kind

May be the roles
That I'm assigning
Seem to be prejudged
Or even prejudiced,
So come on dearest
To the dessert parlour,
Of that beautiful,
Innocent former time.

Instead of the favourites
We could try
A newer way
Of going about
And make this time
A different purchase
Much, much different
Since the first Valentine's.

Of course, I'd know
What you'd truly like
And might even too
Think closely alike
But we decided remember?
To give things a try
For, given too much perfection
Love shall bitterly die.

-K.G.

GIVEN GENERAL

If everything
In my imagination
Has a name
Or a definition,
Is there 
A shortage of
New thoughts in me,
Or is definition
Really so
Encompassing
That it covers
Everything? 

How can
Every thing
That I imagine
Be so limited
That it is
All explainable.
And if it is,
Is not imagination
Supposedly
Limitless;
Not as
Personal romanticism,
But as
A given general.

-K.G.

PROMISED LIGHT

Amid the cinematic
Delays of our life,
Lingers a hush
Of panic that we beget.
Our wisdom and strife 
Float aligned,
In secret sewers
Of sweet regret. 

With plastic pillows
For headrests,
We are reposing
Beside doubtful choices.
Dreaming of impossible dynasties,
While being governed
By decayed voices.

The promised light
At the tunnel’s end
Fades delicately
Into a blurry,
With every furtherance
And ascend;
Our obfuscations
Graduating into a hurry.

And binding all lessons alike
The bird of conscience shall flee,
Leaving broken wings as tokens
In golden cages of society. 

-K.G
(From the complicated archives of September, 2015)

COLD TEA

Something very beautiful
Happened this dainty morning
Romancing in the bright summer
With revered brew of the tea

I happened to catch
The sight of a happy family
Stuffing into the economy class
In their 99' made Maruti

With all distresses unfettered
Yet a lustre in their face
Of the pure, beautiful gold
That is this life with depravity

Uncomfortable and congested
At 20 kilometres an hour
I watched them fleet by chattering
About who knows what may be

And thence arose in me a want
To find some room in their discomfort
That I too have known some time
For all that remains is just cold tea

-K.G