Bhargab Chatterjee

A dirty pavement
of the North
shouted –
‘Smash the bloody Moon.’
The distant streets
with curious faces
came flying
from elsewhere.
Then a few of them
defected from the crowd
and gathered
in the sunless zone
of the city.
They talked about
a different political agendum.

The black Alley Walk Suede steps on a…… The foot-marks have been withdrawn from…… The manicured fingernails…… A visionary phenomenon…… Sometimes we’re raised by…… Sometimes a door behind you…… The conceit, grown from a fruit-stone…… A provocation can transport us to…… Ok, let’s look at the…… A yellow ochre space in a triangle…… What does a face imply when everyone is forced to wear a mask?

water + copper sulphate
create fear tissues
on a substratum
animal boasting
drives
error-engine
powered by
a vertical thunder
Eve
takes a hot bath
in a cold evening
relatively stark
(=)
a
swallowed fire

The stray pebbles cluster around the cracked and fragmented waters. The hydrodynamic forces control pebbles of different sizes; this is an accepted model of secularism. The inner ice-bones of water swell and play the major roles in buoyancy.

Let us play out a stalemate.
I know,
my silence is not properly punctuated.

Please wait in different stations
of understanding.
Observe
and assess your judgment
until love whistles.

Let us resume another game
after each game.

The snowball beside the dry twig still possesses the warmth of the child’s palms like first love. Though the child passed carelessly towards a warm place with his parents.

A flight for a special agendum
is convened. The sky is cut
into two pieces through referendum.

Molecules
of the electorate
are superfluously organic.

“I am” is diagonally refracted
through the thick glass of being
and falls on the green algae

buffered,

collisions neither sink nor swim.

Here I feel,
“I am alone in this white street lined with gardens.”

A linear concept has many vertical columns.
Concrete pillars are flat; mute structures.
People try to bring out meanings;
sometimes mathematically.
Equation: emptiness + substance = time
A line of control enters into me
from the floor
where I am standing.
I try to remain
around authenti #city.
Skyscrapers fall from the sky
all around
and shoot out innumerable roots.

Anti-intimate math integrates them.

The Christmas tree is alive with invisible birds.
The room is pleasantly warm
where ‘Mr. Leopold Bloom ate with relish
the inner organs of beasts and fouls.’*
I am not so ghoulish.
In my room, today, I ate a plate of rice;
I don’t know what will happen tomorrow.
I have learnt how to be indifferent
about the gun-fights elsewhere
and the elections on the card.
Yesterday my efforts were smudged by rains;
though I know, monsoon rains are too feeble.
Now, having quenched my hunger, I hope,
a full moon will appear in tonight’s sky
and a complete, meaningful sentence.

*from Ulysses by James Joyce

In the fog it is not possible to read someone’s face. Is optic nerve only reliable? Can it break a concrete surface? Work. Think. Assume. Gravitate. You accumulate all concrete slabs and rubble somewhere else. Say, in a bog. Environment experts gather with festoons of their political identities. Political slugfest starts. Croaking gets sharper through the cracks. At the end, your diapers get soiled with major contradictions.

editors note: Clearly, there’s trouble in the rubble; best sit this one out. – mh clay