OF ATTITUDE

Let rains set in and kill the untimely weed,

So that in true season, may marigolds lead.

And thus she conveniently knells to retreat,

Before our etiquettes and unjustified needs.

Taught finely to read, write and criticise;

She is aware of all that there is in the sky.

Yet she seeks reason before she cries

Even before nursing dreams in her eyes.

Were she to exist or were she to remain?

Were she to comfort or question the pain?

And while she dealt with strains and restrains,

The ages quietly drizzled down like rain.

 

From there it seemed like an easy world;

From here, long gone is that pretty girl.

Her mascara, her pearls, her fancy dresses

Can hardly make up for her grey tresses.

-KG

TO THE WILD

To above and beyond; to voices more silent,
I boldly go- to an earth, less violent.
To seek only but reason that I must find,
Off the civilisations that grew so unkind.

Far from the educated and the highly civilised
There is but society which is yet exercised.
Sans lie, sans brood, sans all domestic perils,
No love, no hate; not even the wordily thrills.

No scrapers to fill the exploding skies,
Brighter vistas above to feed the eyes.
Residents reside in the green camouflage,
Some prefer humbler abodes; some live at large.

The vows of leaders seldom reach the wild,
Like the teacher's lesson to a back-benched child.
Here, the fancy comforts are so little required,
In dainty wildernesses; delicately wired.

Desire refuses to dismiss this want,
That binds the heart of beguiling haunts.
And if I die to the heavens see;
May this then that holy heaven be.

December, 2014.
Siat.

WHEN

When I begin to wonder; I never seem to cease;

Pondering sheepishly upon vivid extensions on me.

When I begin to act as per the actor in me,

Setting up a stage wherever I may please.

When I gather the gatherings of irrational fights,

That often rupture rudiments of probable antichrists.

When I relish the joys of a justified, dimmed sky,

Killing time with conscience without knowing why.

When I start to fall in love with songs I sing,

Delicately progressing through all that life brings.

When I go on to scorn the dirty liabilities I own,

How the guilty regal in me abdicates his throne.

When I dismiss my sufferings beside her as I walk,

Yet refuse to break silence or propose an awry talk.

When I eclipse dislike with a moony spread of lips,

Against distasteful company; very tough to ally with.

I often begin to write just how I am at this time,

With little hope of dazzling ever in easy sunshines.

So when I lastly cease to rant, write and breathe,

I pray someone recalls a ‘when' spent with me.

-Karan Ghosh

AMONG TALES UNTOLD

For sympathy's sake, on his demise,

Men talked of him, and women cried.

Till the day when a last breath he drew,

We scorned his rantings, just like you.

His suit I hear, went to his grave,

Pronouncing that the man was brave.

His life I hear, went into war,

Declaring that which he stood for.

No maiden of ours did he ever woo,

No confederate could get him through.

Hence no beloved marks his tombstone,

Just as him, his name alone.

Far from home, where his woman may await,

Unaware of her husband's twist of fate.

And here he lies, in a foreign land's cold,

Amid his chosen pride, among tales untold.

-Karan Ghosh

BESIDE THE ENEMY

His cold limbs remained aloof of me,

A sleep resting and existing in him.

Calloused crease constructing pleas,

The war in his head, still breathing dim.

The pride in him being deprived space,

And resistance hovers only in his brows 

Willing, wrinkled arms; sharp, pale face.

A harvest awaits him now at his ploughs.

I caused him sweat, I drew his blood,

I've wanted to cause his folk a memory.

So as to feed my heart in the name of duty,

And just so that the dying be not me.

-Karan Ghosh 

EPISTLE TO THE ENEMY

With weary eyes, I gaze upon this sheet,

Whose uttering your eyes will soon meet.

This I render, for I must convey,

Of one righteous calling that I must obey.

So prepare you your infantry and yourself too,

As I march to charge and conquer over you.

No more may we breathe of the same sky,

Hence it be clear that one of us, one must die.

To you- The bringer of dismay I write,

The one whose guilty of wounding my pride.

All your goods may unite, yet cannot make,

A case for the wronging, a trial's debate.

-Karan Ghosh

HIS FORTRESS

His fortress consumes none inside,

Yet, vows of companionship he recites.

No doors lead inside those grey walls,

Upon which all natural forces do befall.

You may gaze at him while he perches and smiles,

Upon the stony portico, looking beyond miles.

But hardly meet anymore than his eyes;

Those that captivate, those which conceal several cries.

Not an opening did the maker provide,

As if he intended a provoking divide.

Provisions for several windows are yet still made,

Beside which his silhouette sits and contemplates.

Through the window, what you see,
In you it brews curiosity.
From where you stand, its a brilliant sight!
Who knows but what else within resides.

-Karan Ghosh