Silence and Self

 Life is not just in bursts of noise.

It throbs within silence as well.

In sighs that are dewed in letters of love,

In incense that floats to stained opaque glass

In sketches that ripple with unceasing waves

In fragrance that wafts from an orchard in bloom

In dreams that are way beyond words.

So why then this clamour for 

Conch bell and shrieks

From those who seek refuge in pause?

Rather I'll soak the quietness of nights

When no festive howls are heard

And fuse within veins some lavender and oak

That bear the still centre of time.

Perhaps

 The effort wasn't lacking, you see.

I tried all the lessons

and danced to all tunes,

But somehow or the other

Nothing ever clicked.

Instead I am stuck  

As a bell that won't chime

A buyer without dime

A machine without time

A line that won't rhyme

And only some dollops

Of malodorous slime.

Be that as it may.

 

Perhaps this is where I'll bloom.

Boom

 I jump through the hoops and vault over poles

And trapeze in the air over moth-eaten mats

Hoping for at least some perfunctory claps

To tide over dull barren days.

But each long night new hurdles conjures,

And throwing a sack over unprepared eyes

Stuffs me in a canon and lights up the fuse

To heave my skin over gravel and thorn,

All to eke laughters from crowds.

Hobbling and stumbling with torn tattered rags

I roleplay the loon and tighten all cords

And wait for the detonating boom.

Scenes of Blight

Dry leaves waft in the lengthening shadows of day

As I gaze at the moss, the cracks 

and the walls that have all turned gray.

Here in the morass of glimmers of past

The rust on the shutters of long-locked shops

Have fused with the layers of dust.

The hoardings are down, the neon lights gone

The flags and the festoons are vanished or torn.

No crowd no light no cheer from a herd

Under these roofs will be seen or heard.

Only the walls, splintered and peeled

Will stand and witness the weather worn streets

And mourn what is missing and lost.

Such too are scenes you might find

In some human ties that bind.

Twilight Trance

The muslin twilight spreads over skin
And reawakens in pores
Some memories of falls
Blurred and worn
But fragrant with nicotine and sandalwood soap
That plays on the breeze some sonata on flute
Which chimes with the rhythm of your touch
And lulls my whole city to a sleep.

Till screams of headlines on channels intrude
And dash us into earth as we drown.

Abinash C. Halder Muses on a Suicide

When someone your age
But famous and great
Plunges in the darkness
You longed to embrace
Halt in your tracks and ponder
On life's many blessings and wonder.

Veiled in his tower
He vainly had sought
A sympathetic heart
A pat on the back.
But robbed off of succour of validation craved
He shut himself in and finally he caved.

Whatever the notions others might nurse
His voice in your veins still pulses as verse
And behind features of people you know
His shadow does lurk and sway and glow.

Bid him farewell as you cherish his smile
And don't let the world either kill or beguile.

Abinash C. Halder in Lockdown

"Mephistophilis: Solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris"
                                                           - Dr. Faustus by Christopher Marlowe

Inch by inch I slip into the crack
And find myself caught in the chaos that breeds
Deep within skull's Hidden caves.

Restless, enraged, it thrashes and snarls
And growls with gnashing of carnivorous teeth
That reek with the stench of all filth.

No words, no tunes no shapes can tame
This beast beyond language and shame.

So I switch off all the lights
and lock up all the doors
And burying my head within hands I pray
For a time when others can suffer and stew
In a world where each of my nightmares is true.