Sumit Ganguly Poems

All lines do not make a form
Nor all forms- a curve
How many curves may make a circle?
Frankly speaking, I don't know.
...

Books of novel are tetra-packs.
Fruits of society are manually picked up
Crushed, mixed in neat proportions
And sealed to make fresh fruit juice.
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Goddess Aphrodite was keen
To be a beauty queen
She bribed the event judge
Earned competitors' grudge
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All poems have wings
May be each one sings
As a cascade or a weeping willow
Some Phoenix types always glow.
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My journey starts skiing downhill,
jumping in speed- I'm air borne,
my blood cells rush in thrill, body feels as feather
air and gravity give away,
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When you are out of fluid medium,
air burn your skin,
choke you up to palatable mass.
Your shining body and dancing postures
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Occasionally Time saws saw dust,
wind, light, trees and stars give big hands
sweat and tears run in spate,
the hill of saw- dust encloses sun.
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Sun is not impartial,
it prefers equatorial kiss.
The flush of heat radiates to the earth.
putting us over oven.
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