Ajit Das Poems

‘I still hate to see the glow of the setting sun'-
haunts a survivor's memory of the deadly cargo
Enola Gay released over Hiroshima, sending
burning, bleeding human ghosts scurrying
...

What is so special in the news item:
an organ being donated?
A flourishing black market offers
a choice to know the donor,
...

She is engaged; but a thought
uppermost in her mind:
who will lead her down the aisle?
Her father was murdered long ago.
...

Life seems to be a straight line
endlessly elongating;
a time comes when it bends,
shaping into a big square.
...

Wintry squads retreat;
icy blanket melts;
sun-drenched fields sparkle green;
and cherry is in full bloom.
...

Outside it is pitch dark,
clouds raging, storm howling,
your pensive face stretched
across the vast expanse
...

The sunlight is reclining,
leaving a zigzag shadow
on the stone wall outside,
opposite the cabin window.
...

With a glistening young body,
shiny trimmed manes, slender legs,
the colt gracefully cantered
into the glittering world of celluloid.
...

A chance meeting in a cyber cafe,
tete-a-tete over instant coffee,
then intimate dating,
and the script is written:
...

There comes the evening, unrolling its silken cover.
The dark deepens; noise recedes into the distance.
I’m alone, left to myself and the sinking silence.
Slowly a feeling of loneliness creeps within me.
...