Biography of Debanjan Dhar
I am a poet, musician and a free thinker
Debanjan Dhar Poems
A Whiskey Nursery
A little bit of whiskey does make things a little better. That is why a man must make some money. Then he can work all day and come back home and drink his whiskey before anything goes wrong in the head. The heart can take care of itself. It is the mind that keeps
A Beat A Stone
A beat is a stone to which a parachute is tied. A beat is a ripple, Welcome my mermaid bride. When the beat is done, you have tried your heart,
I shall not be pushing a letter through the window. Times are such I leave a wish wrapped in a shadow. If your breath wills you may find it whispering by your tresses Or hiding scared, yet longing to be found in your closet full of dresses.
After You Had Said Goodbye Or Good Ridda...
I stood in a queue again to sell my hours When my turn came, I was already tired But I let the good Sun roast me well Almost bludgeoned to strength I staggered to
No One Was Home
It was in a Saturday afternoon that everything seemed to rhyme As if all seasons had come back to their birth time. A piano man played a trick from the back of the hedge, The sun fed flower caught his act but listened to his pledge.
The Sun Finds You
Maybe I’ll stumble on a way out of you Maybe you’ll agree there was a way to blue Maybe there’s a time to show you by your hands Where I have been
Five Feet Ten
And then you were lost in the grey of the moody mountain She looked as if she hid my dreams under the veil of silence She keeps on her own but the clouds still are her playmates So they would guard the moon and she wouldn’t protest
Futile bonding know their fate So all that matters is the end. Answers hidden but not sought for May surface but reasons would not.
I had my mind free enough to watch the color on the air. The emerald promise I have remembered seemed smiling in its despair. Filled to the brim with a magic breath I took my next few steps But the anxious spirit soon burnt out the spell yet I pined to pay off my debts.
Roll On Over
We were in serendipity and in search for it now All that could be said had been said already Sometimes you try too hard, you just go for it But all that passion must mean something
I dream of you in the dawning hope, I reached for you and slid down the slope, I saw I had my pockets full of withered leaves from June.
I Dont Have A Gun
Guns are a man’s best friend I suppose - Would just give you what you need instead of crying a hose. Talk to me woman when you are not a lady. I’ll see you one last time before my hands are no more shaky.
Drifter drifts back to where drifted from. On his way he has kept score of all pages you tore. With every page torn, the story shines bright in crystal missing links, In the reddish gloom of black nights and deceiving rain promise.
Oh, Rope Lady, can you see me through all the nascent contemplation? Your eyes are closed yet you see so much more in this service to obligation. I loved a deceit and followed it to the woods but returned pining for more
That was just a gimmick, a poor hand on mimic,
Tasteless stereo-comic - How outrageously platonic.
Makes a fellow laugh, be indifferent as a calf.
May cut the head in halves and then lead the mind to starve
For a gentle wise approval, for a deeper sense of real.
An age and its burial, the present in a visual,
Like a leading man on the stage, like the peasant in the tiger cage,
From the mountain home of a sage comes an order to simply graze.
On a sunshine golden hay