Prasenjit Maiti Poems at Artvilla
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Prasenjit Maiti Poems at Artvilla

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Calcutta Poems by Prasenjit Maiti

Another Winter


If you think you can speak to me
I can speak to you
speechless and dumb:
speak to me, my
love, my silly fancy, do speak to
me like soundless
waters breaking on the rocks of
yesteryears like
whispers, like fragrances
like nonchalance -- don’t
you know and can’t you see
and won’t you care what
ever happens to my folly
my images, my inanity?
Still you paint you honey faces across
bitter and acrid
tea cups as I start collecting my
soul around, the bits
and pieces of shrieks and laughter,
from the myriad
bedrooms of my dark and doubtful sins…
O! I say, don't bla bla around our frozen
pastures, my
naked, bleeding ecstasy -- don't let's
bleat around again
in pain, don't let's lock horns in
mutual, horny memories


Whitsuntide

The lights were dying down and we
were in silence
across the fruits and the wines
there was to be a celebration
but now it was all over
and so we were nearly disconsolate
and fumbling
the dew drops on the now frosted sills
were bits and pieces
of expressive grandeur and
I could not be restrained anymore
and let go
my reins: you shrieked and fretted
and fumed but it was winter and soon
new centuries would tumble and fall
from the honest, worthy closets
before you could say Gee!
before it was to wildly be profane
and celebrate the lost cause of lost times


Anomie


So far as the ragged crumpling
of sack dolls arrive
on the bald and bleak shores of tomo
Hey Nonny Nonny Hey
as if everything would be resolved
simply enough
resting upon the windows
and letting you peer down shelves
and crannies for spider art
let us for once this year
be closed in amity and dew bodies,
our nipples brushing and creating
a symphony
out of ghastly cymbals
let our eyes rub off the mascara
of blue yesterdays and pale todays
magazines piled high upon shelves
that you do not reach with your tits
books not opened
at the sunrise spasms of your
cleavages
let us for once forsake
the frosted years
and watch the flowering of body blossoms,
violets white and serene
cherry blossoms that are women
tending graves
and devastation
and managing stately mourns
with simpers,
tenderly smiles


Ants

Seething in ignominy
teething through honeycombed cells
like years of blessed, prison virginity
tonight was so much like a tangent
to the great aura of life
and so acutely, actually poignant
you would say my dolls are no more,
my teddy bears have all thumped out
and left a great slump to wonder at,
to stare serenely past
at the whiteness shrouds
of all our aged miseries,
widows seeking together places
to enter one another,
to stare at the vast and
vivid stretches
of our vacant shores
to delve down the mysteries and
the walking shadows of our
nothingness
to draw a finger cracking across
our dragging lips, stretches of
heartbreaking, remote nonsense


Resolutions

Slapdashed to rear windows like fat rats
belching in gutter spaces and
backwater animosities searching for
spellbound rooms, to call my own my own,
and revel in the caustic sense
of fine rebuttals that are but vicious
and native to your insular worlds,
pink to crimson daffodils
as the summer suns go naked and blue,
haywire at the nuances of the lazy, fey
writhing eventides that we were holding
our spasms together to go on merrily,
bursting upon the seas and
the seven heavens of crystal sorrows
ruptured nightfalls and hazy, sloth
collapsing memories


Adieu


We were the excesses into the gory,
shameless
nightfalls as teacups and
china and stutters share
a similar face across the years
and the births of our
endless spasms, we were
searching crannies and
darkness to hold each other
fast unto eternity
to swell in your sweat, your
women aroma, your
heaving cups overwhelmed
at the sight of the
darkening areola flooding
our vestiges, overflowing
the shores of your first
virginity, yet you have gone
away and are no more to be
found among the cloisters
of antipoetry. nothing more
is to be lost, apparently, with your
birding away from all those terraces,
poolsides and stairs, passages
and landings that once ached
like our bodies, our laughter
and lost discourses


Prasenjit Maiti (1971-) has published in print and electronic journals in the USA, UK, Australia, Greece and elsewhere. Dr Maiti teaches Political Science at Burdwan University, West Bengal and resides with his family at Calcutta, India.



















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