Pradip Chattopadhyay Poems

We are living in war times
You can't see the blood though
The air is thick with it.
We are right, we are better
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At the last hut of the village
Lives the girl of tender age
Her eyes though love filled
Meet only the long paddy field!
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I keep tonight for you
On my porch will light a strobe
For you to find my way
Tiptoe in silken robe.
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I beg just four letters of you
Of no use to me the twenty two
Give me those four letters of you
They’re all without them I can’t do.
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Open the door, gateman
Open the door for me
Break out of dream if you can
It’s long since you slept to lullaby.
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In my office was a guy
This's how he made his mark
He would raise a hue and cry
When he did the smallest work!
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Only the future may know

a poet
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He is held captive you needn’t farther search
In temple’s precincts within the walls of church
God is a prisoner in religion’s domain
They flock there to worship him men and women.
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I lay on bed waiting for that moment,
The night guard passed on his last round
Mournfully whistling another night was spent,
Though the night was still lulled by weary crickets’ sound.
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On my shoulder a heap of garment
In two hands two birded cage
In my mind time management
That I love to do with craze!
...