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They have here wedding to make for son.
The wedding shall be quiet and subdued

A display of drape and the glitter of gold.
Son picks up a resplendent Pacific bride

With a mom of a widowed sorrow in eyes.
Sorrows are like our own, floods in rivers.

Our body remains haystack of cumulated sun
Its needles lost in painted state of impressions.

The body could be a haystack or even a horse
The horse is an illusion that has earlier bolted

Into the savannas, in grasses that left no hay.
Look, a sun seems already setting in the hills.

Now let us forget where we are
headed.
Let us call picture dirty and its
women

In fleshy cleavages that fall over
drapes.
Let us forget the angst, the belly
fears

Of fetuses, knowing genders of
machines.
Let us have a wealth of wiggles,
giggles,

Addressed to the beasts in our
underpants
Hidden in the rolls of perfumed
forgetfulness.

The world is now mirror that reflects my
sleep,
A blue-white kitchen with the outlines of
cooks,

A silver mirror of dining table, reflecting
clothes
Hanging through timid window glass, a
breeze,

The light reflects within the sounds on
ears
A hum of vertigo, the waves lapping on
walls.

We shake from a joke in splutters
of bodies.
On Sunday evenings,as a Monday
approaches,

A carnal humor turns hard to crack
punchline.
Flesh on evening , our hanging out
bodies

Hardly provide humour to sarcastic
mind.
Bodies are flesh bags floating with
jokes.

Together they would sing and play
drum as listener turns
A stone of flesh, a standing stone
with no moving fingers.
Only ghosts do not turn into stone,
being eerie in music.
If only one turned stone and sang
for happiness for ever.

(Watching a classic Bengali movie : Goopi Bagha Fire Elo (1991)

Now we try these blue birds
Drop like them in 140 chars

Our birdie tweets will retweet
To come back from the walls

We have erected everywhere
In a vast silence of our nights.

Vincent van Gogh gets us lost in swirls
Of a starry night, sky needlessly broke

In and like night birds asleep under sky,
Lost in swift wide brushstrokes spilling

Beyond allotted space slots in their sky
In colors borrowed softly from rainbow.

We looked in each other’s eyes
For unfinished bits of small talk

The under- the- lip sarcasm yet
To be revealed ,as a fan stirred

A warm electric air in our faces
And the old passions ,shadows

Long gone, materiality of things
An old sun had cast and gone.

Nothing happens day or night
By ongoing recall of existence.

Our tales acknowledgements
Of existence,boring tiny holes

In time the holes shall vanish
In bigger holes, empty spaces.