Born on November 10,1991 in Chandannagar, a small town in West Bengal, India, I had very little idea about turning up into a 'poet' ever in my life. I wrote a few poems when I was about 6, but never pursued it. I didn't write a line of poetry until I turned 16 or so, when I wrote things that I thought were 'poems'. By the time I turned 18, I was al ...
'I had a glass of rum, three cigarettes and a daydream at three thirty nine A. M on Wednesday, when Life was taking turns at a road in the big mountains. I heard some strange noises like paranoid schizophreniacs do and there I heard Tiresias saying - - 'Beware of the plague that will ruin your imagination' What is imagination? ?
'The evenings and days and nights, and everything in between.. I have your thoughts on my mind You breathe upon my shoulders at night when I go to sleep, In my dreams and nightmares It's you - enjoying a sojourn - a vague promenade across my heart with spiked boots, None shall remember how You and I have had written stories upon stones, Hyerogliphs upon the walls of the cave that I live in, Protecting your memories like rose plant in a barren desert... What have I done? What had you done to me? ? What spell, what magic potion have you intoxicated me with that I can neither sleep nor forget your words.. And the sun does not shine anymore, the moon has lost it's glow.. At twilight, everyday, I hope for the sun to go down in the river and re-awakwn with a fresh soul, a heart free from your tar.. But it beats for you only... The evenings are lonely, the nights lonlier... There are no silver lines on the horizion, there's no diamond ring waiting for me, neither is there a white dress... All that is there is your memories, and memories of a Love that never came out of the womb, And that shall be my downfall, I will happily one day go to the sea, and like the sun will go down in it, surrending myself into the pure water and still my soul will love you...'
''The greatest challenge for an artist is to find the magnificent in the mediocore''
'Sometimes dreams are like a butterfly made out of scarlet clouds. You can look at it, chase it. But try holding it in you fingers and it disappears...'
And she always greets everyone with a
Flashing her pearly white teeth;
She speaks in a sweet, melodious voice
Everyone thinks she is a happy-go-lucky
girl of seventeen,
with dark, deep eyes and silky smooth
hair and a permanent blush on her cheeks.
But inside she is like a ballerina with a
broken toe, in an opaque glass globe,
where charcoal snow falls and freezes her heart,
with an occasional acid rain that melts her bones.
But she always flashes her tender smile at everyone
And speaks in a voice that sounds like music.
No one knows what's inside her,
What broke her so bad,
that she cannot but always smile...