Fire and Ice

Fire and Ice

Happy, excitable, even ecstatic, the people
Disillusioned, distraught, sometimes afraid
When all agendas were in vain, for no one knew,
There was a cadence of design laid out by the heavens.

Coherence left, the window was boarded
Shut out from the world, nailed up good
Hiding from what, I would not know
For it was never quite mine to have known.

With testament to this bequeathed ignorance,
I explain by my words, heavy heart and soul
Pouring all in the depth of those eyes
An abyss, unexplored, unheard of, untold.

I could and could not point the direction that I sought
For I was lost, almost captivated
Looking for the fairy dust, below my lamp shade
Futile was my search, blinded by the luminescence.

A paradox, your search! They claimed, first fire, then ice
Frosty wind chilling chilling the bones around a cackling fire
As warmth spread across the skin, melting wax
Leaving nothing but the chaste in its wake.

For none knew, the truth behind that veil,
Was it a shimmering light, or was it an enormous blaze?
The icy path hidden from the neon signs that warn,
“Burnt are the souls, that sway, too close to ice, to fire” 

-        Subham Chattopadhyay

Crossroads

Crossroads

At the behest of the scrambled universe,

He stood lost, trembling in the cold.

Facing the eye of a convoluted curse,

He accepted the burden at those crossroads.

The guide rode away, disappeared in a flash,

The light faded away, a darker blur of colours so far.

He waited for a blush of crimson, there came none,

Fear accompanied the scuttle of bones, at those crossroads.

A void of darkness, enveloped  body and soul,

Dreams furlongs far, not a milestone to be seen.

Faded signs and misleading vines surrounded the paths,

No divine altercation answered, at those crossroads.

No direction seemed right, compass as useless as a pebble,

Where in the world, were these damned roads?

Wading through the marshes, a futile illusion,

The address of the crossroads? 

Junction of the 23rd and 24th street, Purgatory.

Miracles

Miracles
Under the coarse heat of summer
A small cotton seed found its way
Fluttering softly through the banter
Feeling the chivalry of the day.

It flew, it flew, high above
Among helium balloons, red and blue
The occasional plastic bag did shove
But yonder flew it through.

It saw the sand and coconut groves
Across the boats and green seas
Thundering waves crashed against the troves
A cackle of children rose among the trees.

A myriad of coccoons turned into butterflies
Meanwhile, the seed hovered about,
Far away a lone bird cried
In it's preceptions, remained no doubt.

It was the clutch of luck indeed,
Our seed chanced across a herd
The jovial child, the mother did feed.
Nearby, a furry cat stretched and purred.

Next morning it saw, a hunter's dog
So swift, so loyal, seeking
It bounced so brave into the fog
Unwavered by deaths of fellowbeings.

Now that it had seen the world,
It decided, MIRACLES ARE FOR REAL!
With ambitions, of a wise tree, old.
It plopped inside the loamy soil!

- Shubham Chattopadhyay

Loneliness

Loneliness

Standing in a shaky public bus,

There are very few things that seem just,

The world with SO many people,

Living in agony or peace, fright and pain,
Living on the cream and carmel, above the crust
Or the dirt collected below the sewer rust.

Curses and spite, aimed at all these humans,

Are a sign, a revelation,
Of the frustration in oneself, deep deep down,
Of the silly little mistakes in life
On, leading, to the worse bigger picture
A picture, rather grey and sombre.

Fists clench and the handles bar the brunt,
Of a turmoil inside the heart and head

Of perception, of purpose, in all aspects
On matters, not going quite right,
As the soul yearns for the missing,
Expecting an epiphany, so elusive and rare.

Brakes and momentum release the long reverie
But only momentarily, before it slips again,
Far away in corners, dark and desolate,
With only itself for company, raving on
Oh! Why in God's grace does loneliness strike?
In the busiest of places, among humongous crowds?

Lonely, desperate and idle the mind analyzes,
As roads rush by, in the foggy morning
Further it delves, in this huge dilemma
Skating in a rink, all by itself
In the symphony of soulful music, it succumbs
The destination arrives, we alight and trudge on.

-Shubham Chattopadhyay

Inspiration

Inspiration, a rather funny word,

Humorous and as important a virtue,

Lack of it, leaves one, a dud
A complete couch potato, enjoying a fondue

A word attached to so much value,

It acts during the final frontier of success
Needed, to break the creativity curfew
Without, a human, remains a mess.

From objects, inanimate, and people as such,
The places it hides, surprises us all
People search about, expecting not much
In a corner, a crevice, a rise or a fall.

In the lives of other people it hides,
Refusing to make an appearance,
At times, high in the sky it flies,
Severely testing your patience.

It's disappearance,had in a way, left me lost,
Without a fortune, without an ambition,
I raise my glass, a toast to my friend, covered in frost,
Who found me back, my dear inspiration.

-Shubham Chattopadhyay

In The Rain

The Fine Rainy Evening

Down and dusty, roadside stop
Overcast skies, dull and gray
Fading light reverberates
The honk of a car, the croak of a frog.

Ominous signs, there were none
Whoozing vehicles and roadside puddles
Lights kicked in, with pleasant surprise
Drops on the ground, ripples in the water.

Soft sounds, pitter and patter
Whish and whoosh, mutter and clutter
Running people and scooting men,
Among them stood one, right then.

Moved by the rain, observing closely
Gathering courage, blue macintosh and all
Puts her hand outside the shelter
Feels battering drops, as night gathers

Stands out arms extended
Face upwards, reflecting serenity
Runs away, into the pouring scenery
Slowly disappearing from view, one knows not where.

-Shubham Chattopadhyay

Redemption

 

(Dedicated to an organization I work with It has nearly become a second home and an extended family for me. I'm proud of me and my folks :) )

REDEMPTION

Pathless, routeless, without a way,

Without a worry to end the day

What joy we search to lead with light

Enrichment of mind, the fire blazing bright.

We rise, we fly out of your sight

Through creeks and falls, dropping with might,

Foretold, the future we donot believe

Our future, we shall create and outlive.

Naive and brainless, made out of tin
With ambitions unapplied, we walk in
Nurture and feed, the flames with coal

Mighty, we walk out, as proud souls

Darkness engulfs, yet we stand upright!
Like larks, we soar into our flight
Freedom we seek among ashes burnt
Redemption we get, action up front!

Tears

Tears
(This was born out of a desire to find the one thing common to all humans.)

Tears are, but warm water,
A result of a few reactions, people say

However miniscule the reactants maybe
The resultants, strong concoctions, unfazed.

Frozen between time and space
These droplets weigh so much
These tears, preserved, memories encase
Their significance varies as much

They speak of joy,
Of untold pain and sorrow
The loss of another, dear to our hearts
The gain of someone new.

Look my friends, look around
These things, common to all
Of common brotherhood, of lonesomeness
Of existence, so dreary.

So much tears, a melting pot
A sea of the unspoken
Shed away from the sight of the world
In a corner, dark and desolate.

The flamboyant exterior, may mean not much
If one feels their pillow at night
Into the feathers they cry and cry
Till sleep overcomes, tears in dry patches

Of these tears one stands alone
The tears of a mother
Tears of labour, tears of birth
Tears of joy counting those little fingers

These tears we shed, li'l blobs of water
Tracing the contours of our cheeks
Oh! So deep! They fall so deep!
In a well filled with quarters.

Dead in the Clearing

Dead in the Clearing

Here I lie unseen, unheard
In the middle of the huge wild wood

When the desolate world in its step falters
With a pull, straighten it I could.

All around me,rabbits and deer

Dance, like people, hares and does

A peep I take without a fear

Silent, walking on tippy toes

Far across, a gurgle sounds

The sound of gentle water,

Dashing against the rocks it found

The stream could hardly scatter

The huge trees, deny my Sun

To pierce through the canopy

The great oaks stand, like mighty guns

The ferns attempt to copy

As night falls, across the joy

Trebles of croaks, reverberate

Blue and clear, the stars foray

Things go silent, too soon, too late

The howls of wolves, chill your spine

The roars about, set goosebumps upright

Memories roll back, to imperfect times

Reminisce, clouds my sight

My last night, if this is,

I offer silent prayers,

This faltering Earth, may bleed me thus,

But remain in peace, all my peers.

-Shubham Chattopadhyay

Silence

SILENCE!

Silence is a wonderful virtue!

Upon which are built the towers of fortune.

Silence is a priceless gift

Which in history, has solved, many a rift.

Silence stands for freedom

Lost in the world, devoid of boredom.

Silence comes, from deep within a soul

In the pitch darkness, as black as coal.

Silence, is that soothing voice

Which humans hear, with or without a choice.

In silence, lies a sweet melody

Ironically, it lingers, after a tragedy.

Silence always speaks multitudes

It rests in the clam of very high altitudes.

In all cold,isolated places, frozen

Silence lies, pure and golden.

Silent, today, I am, filled with unexpressed emotions

A chemist, completely lost in his decoctions

Like the silent bird, fluttering above a banyan

Silence, silence, silence, all through the canyon.

-Shubham Chattopadhyay

The One Who Remains a Memory

The One Who Remains a Memory

Waking up to a glorious sunshine one day

I ran my hand through the moist grass covered with dew

Thoughts, running frantically out of my way

I thought,I do have friends,but,so few.

I saw my shadow, vary in length

As I sat on the rock, a silhoutte,

Thoughts,their pace set, volume gained

Meant for those who stood by me, stout.

The rays of the blazing sun,fell hard on my eyes

A cloudless, blue and chaste sky,loomed over it

I watched the horizon dazzle with colours,black orange and blue,

Thoughts, they singled out one amazing scrawny git.

The chores of the day began around me

It smelt of fresh flowers, with the buzzing bees in the air

Thoughts, focussed on this little lady, one with , a mind carefree

One who had a patient ear to lend, one, who was fair.

The roses bloomed red and bright, colours spread and fade,

The lonely swallow chirped about, hard to follow

Thoughts, they led my frivolous mind, to everything she wrote or said,

Every conversation revered, advice swam in waters so shallow.

I snapped out of the reverie, to see a train of ants,

Crawling around with food, morsels of their work, for winter,

Thoughts, they fly back, to wonderful times, of legends who have fallen

United with understanding, protecting from wear and tear.

Thus, the morning came to it's fag end, the heat so harsh,

I started the strut back home,slow steps reluctant,so old

Thoughts, they couldn't tell me as we drift away, hoping for the best,

What the day beholds and how the future shall unfold.

-Shubham Chattopadhyay

Life With Hens

   

Life with Hens 

(written for kids basically ?:^D)
 

One fine day, I picked up an egg

Wondering what it was

From which we get omlette dregs?

I turned it around, the oval very white,

The bottom so flat, and the top so slight.

I asked my mother,

What it was and where it had come from,

I was pleasantly shocked,

To know it fell out an hen,

Over well stocked!

My mother explained,

The story of the albumen and the yolk

Hearing it I wondered if this, knew the other folk!

I further enquired, what happened to an egg later?

The story yet to come, the end would be better.

I had this chance, to visit an old farm

I entered the coop, Wow, was it warm

I sat and watched,

Some eggs shaked, so lightly,

From a few of them emerged, beaks so tiny.

The clucking mothers helped remove,

The stuck eggshells,

The yellow bodied chicks went gamboling around,

Me, in the middle surrounded

By squails and squacks, so loud.

I asked the farmer, a Joe, if he knew the outcome,

He pointed at the seeds,

And the the cock sitting on the drum.

I saw the chicks, pecking at the feed

Replaced them with more,

Very satisfied with my deed.

The cock with his hens,

Trudged and trotted along ,

That is what they become, when age chicks gain

In all the cacophony,

Only cock-a-doodle-doo seemed like a song! -Shubham Chattopadhyay