Wednesday, 24 November 2010

The cuckoo clock

nothing would be permanent, the clock
does not to do so, still the blues shines
as usual, i left the conference decade ago,
the name plate s letters faded , dust
covered the passion as blooming season
said good bye, the diary s delicate stanzas
might be flown in the rapid wind of life,
i found my wet emotions fluttering on
the twigs of dried bamboo trees,
the moon went up  slowly above
the ruins of sentiments, turbulent flow
of the lake acknowledged  my face or
not, God knows , the foot prints were
washed away by the waves, some
incomplete poems, dried roses were
floating near the edge, i have nothing
to prove my presence in your life,
the cuckoo clock is silent, as the bird left
the cage, but its working properly
pendulum says its now midnight my friend
morning is a foreign national.
-- shantanu sanyal

the boomerang

life doesnt want always compromise
the moon faces may be created
by astral calculation, predictions,
here my heart rules the the planet
mind shows the path to follow the
perception of my own decision,
how to blame others or destiny
i have grown my self the future seeds
here no scope is remained my friend
to face the consequences of past deeds,
the relation between me and mirror
might me not always cordial, because
image says the bitter truth, my sins
and benevolence were unbalanced,
the self consciousness was not so easy,
but veiling the face is the crime
unknowingly i hurled the boomerang
numerous times and received multiple
injuries in the return, its happened,
i did not compromise the facts and
confession forced me to kneel down,
here the planet left me alone forever.
-- shantanu sanyal