Procyon Mukherjee

Procyon Mukherjee Poems

There are no windows in my room
The Steel touches me every time I move
And the air smells of unknowns
That I have got used to
...

Did I ask why
Saddled within, somewhat wasted
Like a footprint absorbed
...

I am walking the rocks
Pointed, underneath my pelting feet
And the pebbles have hardened
Barefooted, in a passage
...

Did the sandman open my eyes to the blue tides,
Or was it the gamboling wind that constantly sanders?
The bald eagle just crossed the windscreen,
Surfing with the white wings of time.
...

Did I meet a man with a heart as big
That has room enough for my follies?

Did I see a deed that is sealed with a touch of hope
...

A note or two and
many bars that are in tempo
Or a deepening silence separating a few
Gorging to tie, an imbalance,
...

The boots are green with mud
And inside my feet is burning to
The body of emotions
I left with the river and its inhabitants
...

If you are good you can fly
Not like a wasp, solitary and predatory,
But may be like a star in the constellation
With the darkness around, moving
...

The time has finally come

To open our doors
...

The road stopped into the ocean

Where the green melted into the blue
...

Like the stream, it needed no announcement

Not even the seething sound among the curves
...

12.

Less than hundred square feet

A space that is marked for you
...

The forest is making a turn here

Along the dirt road, the briar will stop you
...

How should my book end

What about this poem
...

I am not lost

I am breathing here from the ashes
...

It does not matter

What I left in the pallets
...

Some days will never end
Like this day, only starting to unravel
Always telling you something more
About a man
...

This is not a Time on the cross
And I am no Fogel and his ilk
Claiming slavery was efficient
And the Nobel thereafter
...

My home is never far from here
And I can choose to walk
A thousand miles
...

If I were you I would stop by the stones
That were never so visible in the water
And the shining sun, shaking in the ripples
Reminding us of the depth of sight
...

Procyon Mukherjee Biography

Procyon Mukherjee was born in Calcutta and lived through many cities of India. The woes of living through the seventies and eighties, the rising expectations of the youth and the lost opportunities weighed on his poems; the new found economic regeneration that India went through in the whole of nineties that culminated in the rejuvenation of the Indian professional also found new expression in his works. Procyon is a passionate and intensely soulful individual, his poetry rises from the small moments that he encounters every day to the bigger questions that leave us wonder, as there are more questions always than answers. Every poem is his life’s journey, about people and tidbits that makes him interpret them sometimes objectively and sometimes with a complete lack of it. Procyon lived in Switzerland for almost four years, many of his poems cover the ethos of these times. He now lives in Mumbai and the sea, including the humanity around is vibrant in his words.)

The Best Poem Of Procyon Mukherjee

Doing Time

There are no windows in my room
The Steel touches me every time I move
And the air smells of unknowns
That I have got used to

I can count the steps it takes for the walking man to reach
From the other end, I call Hell
As mine looks like closer to life
I am fortunate to be here breathing on my own

The Yard times are when a whistle is blown
My trudge is short, a walk to distancing
Earned for the good things I did
Or I am entitled to, without complaints

Dinner is a luxury, I savour the taste of butter
When I crunch the bread or touch the lentils
To replace the broth that spreads on everything
No sweets are served, as there is no need with so much around

Than the outside, where it is bitter journey
That migrants and daily earners have to make
All their savings bundled on their head
With a lone hand touching the child or the mother

Some are making twenty miles a day on foot
While free, I am
Some are braving heat and resistance
While I am, doing time, fortunately

Doing time is like taking each moment
And think that you earned it
But you must put your best foot
For the next moment, which for all you know
May not be coming your way, otherwise

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