Procyon Mukherjee

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 was filling from coffers to pallets
Spilling them
Like a slur in a legato
That had no rite of passage
...

It pitched and rolled,
The summers of warm water
Deep salty wind, from sandy lands
Teaching a restraint too many
...

The movement with the A Minor
The long and short chords, the Maestro
Searching for the third or the fifth
Augmented or diminished, would eventually
...

Why am I on this grass
as if to remind
why the blue should fill up the pool
so that water loses
...

Even the brightest must move, to the absence of light

That they bemoan, the turbulence of a vision holds;
...

No darkness can be deep
As on the roads, the alleys where children play
The gutters by the side,
Dust settled on them and the stench curbed
...

I am not resting,

Un-perched between listless care
...

I am here in these ruins
Among the steps and wallows of the kings
Where valleys were born out of mocking hills
Tardy winds took sands from the west
...

That evening was no ordinary dream
Not the crossover I would ever want to do
So much untold, so much less said
Among a life full of words
...

A finch made it, or the giant tortoise
Even the beagle among the giants
Every extinction left some survivors
Mutating life forms, weeds and planktons
...

I am walking on pebbles by the lake
When the white dove lands for a peck
And the air smells of January
...

Here I am, about to stoop over temperance
For a man, my friend, no more
His was full while mine is beating,
Betwixt rest and restfulness
...

We were simple like the pear
Grooming in modesty
A shelf of books
And some tidbits of living around
...

This morning of 5th June

When clouds are silent
And the wind is stopped
...

I think it is time

For Something very different, loud,
...

No voids, but we begin like clouds
Interpreting each other,
Some make an early start, some must wait
Sometimes a gap or a continuity is a given
...

The rocks are laid out in precise symmetry
So that the gushing air and the waves
Must lose their intensity
They must be stopped to pave
...

Did we ever hear quietness rising
Like the approaching storm
Or the loudest drum set next to you
That the sticks have gone berserk with
...