Cursed

Dedicated to Bram Stoker… — when the sky will be silver, and the mango tree will suspire the breeze, that’s when I’ll come to you like the ebb tide touches the bank, dry, on the full moon with passion. a nomad I’ve been for so many centuries; hiding and surviving anyhow and now I’m going…

Mid-Night Psithurism

The darkness that’s hidden in the blue dark of the night The silence that’s hold the calmness of the young spring They all whisper the hymn; the hymn of the nocturnal long. The ache that clapping on the wall of the my senses– For not being with you sussurate somehow I’m yours, your’re mine. I…

Morning Raga

Let us sit down at the bank of the dawn. It never snow in our city Kolkata; The fog thus will hide us, The dew from twilight will wet– The platform where we’ll sit. The shrouded shy sun-bathed breeze– Will sing the morning raga As we will weave silence between us. No kiss. No hand…

Beckoning

The lips, yours, tasted pages Of a new unread book; The breath, yours, flapping of pages Beckoning to explore