Boudhayan Mukherjee

My day has not scaled new heights
My skies blackened by morbid clouds....

My midnight is sobbing
...

Libido gave him his usual nightcap
Libido opened up her yawning thighs.
Their hands spread out groping to reach something.
A cracker burst within their minds, unseen, unheard
...

A passage cool with tender hooks
Of silence, the clothesline bare
No shirts or petticoats swing with breeze.
...

There are some people you love and many you

don't even notice as they pass by seeking solace.
...

I've gulped pages of dust
lest words fly
vortex of fire in lust
danced
...

The ruddiest poet of our land is anemic.
I fail to stir his soul with a hypodermic needle.
Anti-poetry stir, I bestow on his idealism.
Fax about his indisposition to the Sahitya Akademi.
...

2 chairs before my dining table
eating, laughing. I sit on one
molest the other.A face straining
inside my stomach
...

Afternoons that I remember after
Noons.Afternoons, later.
Noons after noons after noons
Run about like children for boons
...

I will lose in transit
the stillness of my icy shadow
carved on the grey years
of my Old-Age Home.
...

Pipedreams about my antipathy, pipedreams about change....
Pipedreams about my dreams are changing or
dreaming about pipes, dreaming through pipes....
Pipedreams about my antipathy, dream-pipes of dreams
...

Death had come at last but he did
not know how and when it came
only moments ago he breathed so well
now he lay still flat on his back
...

The brain keeps thawing
expressions, desire
to moult
like a cockroach delicately white.
...

Then you go into the soft world
Of gazing- -
Someone gazing at a pond
A little boy gazing at his big fat pa.
...

Why do I marvel
at your presence
Is it your soft navel
my twilight lessons
...

I brood about measured iambs,
Feel sympathy for different poets
Very indifferent Indian poets.
They once taught in Chicago univ
...

I saw her begging in a local train
fourteen-year old mother, clutching
her baby in close embrace,
eye-lids closing in exhaustion.
...

Poetry is a puzzle of words
he tried to solve
and did evolve
a solution amidst chaos.
...

a bout of sorrow
a long loud call
pulls up a serpentine lane.
...

I have carted eyes, eyeballs
looking at the sky.
Eyes depicted happiness
unlike those of a Calcuttan.
...

He knows well of free movements
Of the eyes and the tongue
Make yourself into him
To become a rollicking poet
...