Anindya Mohan Tagore

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Editing poem was the genesis - scribbles to cover up the unwanted. manuscripts became pieces of art - his calligraphy and doodles. The pen which created magic with words, started playing with lines and curves. Art was intrinsic - mediums differ. Shifts from words to figures became frequent. The Poet started writing poems and stories with his paint brush. He left his paintings unnamed - for you to imagine - sensible souls.

of late came the wish
to express thoughts with brushes -
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Way back then when I was just ten
My brain was purely devil's den
All sorts of studies - made me ill
Opened books were my sleeping pills
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Catching a butterfly
can give you immense pleasure
Watching rainbow in the sky -
the scene - you would love to treasure
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He was a common man...
Common man's feat defeats
Nature's stubborn blockade
The mountain has taken
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When a great poet paints - the voyage
turns internal - discovering
the hidden treasures of souls
The saga unfolds...
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A shy Rock Stacker
Lives in distant land of North
Engrossed in his thoughts -
Let stones tell - story of life;
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At the end of the rainbow, I found you - Eve
Waiting for Adam with bouquet of love - to give

There clouds were formed by zillions of butterflies
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I love women at forty
Because they too become snorty

Now whom to complain dear...
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