1. A day of days A day of days comes such a way As if a jockey's bending his body on a naughty horse, Before the blinking of eyes 24 hours are over A day of days comes even such a way As if a snail crawls with its tired body Even a single minute hangs heavy on it A day of days comes such a way As if it's the very gape of a gluttonous monster Whose uvula is visible,deeply red, Nightmares are pacing up and down A day of days comes even such a way Like cooling water-melon in hot summer noon, While biting,it seems as it were God's standing just a hand apart A day of days comes such a way When words,like the tiny fishes in herds Glitter in the midst of poems A day of days comes even such a way When there's no word in the fingers, Just like the smoke of burning dry leaves It vanishes in the ether in circles 2. The way Vincent Van Gogh thought Was I born on a stone with froth and shrub on my body? Here and there those mine- workers and pregnant women, who ramble like shadows, a cane-basket and hair grip they have left behind are symbols of depression, when I think that way my blood fluctuates like ebb and flow One who throws towards the distressed people strong ladders knitted with ropes, I'll certainly reach near them with my easel and colour-brush Their wounded parts following my glance are peeping through my drawings of sketches just like a sun-flower growing solitarily and secretly in the womb of night 3. Altamira The artist who painted the drawing-sketch of a bison in the mountain-cave of Altamira by rubbing dry colours was none by myself Yes,since then I always kept my constant watch on you, you being the youngest daughter of a game-hunter you decorate the stars of the sky with fragments of ivory from Antares, Vega to Canopus,one after the other. After that how many generations had gone by Hundreds and thousands years lay down drowsily Man's craze for religion grew intense, and Buddhist beggars walked forward in search for peace... Now after so many days we two meet each other at Park Street in a quiet coffee-shop,enclosed in glass Song was sung in husky voice in tune with guitar Tibetan wooden masks were hanging upon walls after walls As if they were the unfolded faces of ours, following one generation after another, the old mementos. Let us settle our old quarrels, Let someone bring for us steaming coffee-pots Let waves of time jump upon with a loud sound Let somebody gradually lay us on the walls in a freeze-shot as it remains in the figures in mountain-cave of Altamira 4. Gigolo I watch him from a distance-the young guy Standing at Free School Street with a hanky tied to his right hand Tall in height,he appears to be a sailor unknown Upon his deep blue T-shirt glows a shining line : 'If being sexy is a crime,arrest me soon' The girls beside measure him with an oblique look Some of them lick their lips,as if it's storm in the wild desert, Where snakes crawl with hissing sounds, Such is the blazing pain all over the pores of the body Halogen flashing,serially on the pavements night descends As if with endless froths from the corks of champagne, - The 'night' which is also a woman fasting, Beaconing the boy from inside of a black car And then,taking him in it,starts towards no destination 5. During the night of Insomnia Sleep is such a mythical creature who before being extinct has left upon my eye-lids the shadow of its last descendant. It only lashes its tail restlessly during whole night, dry dust flies with the strokes of its prickles, fibres fall of I shut my eyes,try to visualise a silent temple made of white marbles, situated at far off sea,- whose every bit of tenderness and grace has polished its floor and walls. Imaginatively upon those smooth walls I touch my cheek, lie down on the cold floor of the temple, turn my body on the other side in fanciful wet wind Still I can't fold my two eyes Have the watery vapours of my eyes gone dry? I' am afraid, is it then called : Dry retina syndrome? Even now finny fishes play round and round my deep eyes, the dreams do not bend to search them out Only night,after finishing its run, brings the shinning sun back. As if a Negro athlete after winning the race is returning with the gold medal in his hands
Note: Translated from Bengali to English by Rajdeep Mukherjee
Shaswata Gangopadhyay (India) :
One of the Prominent faces of
Contemporary Bengali Poetry, who started writing in Mid 90s.
His poems have been published in all major journals of Bengali literature.
He has been invited to read his poems in different virtual poetry festivals
across the globe, like World Poetry festival in Argentina and Cuba,
International Poetry festival in Greece, Latin American Poetry Festival held
in Chile, Silk Road Poetry festival of China, Poesia 2021 of Russia, and Ano
Nuevo 2022, International Poetry Festival of Portugal. He had also
participated in the recent World Poetry Festival with poets from 70
countries, organized by Latin America on the occasion of 85 th death
anniversary of Federiko Garsija Lorka.
His poems are regularly
Published in all six continents through translations in different languages.
His book of Poems : Inhabitant of Pluto Planet (2001),
Offspring of Monster (2009), Holes of Red Crabs(2015) and Rhododendron
Recently His ‘Selected Love Poems’ have been published from Cairo,
His Poems had been exhibited
in a Poetry Festival in Picollo Museum, Italy-
the only Poetry Museum of the world.
Translations of his Poems have been published in more than 100
International journals and anthologies of
Europe, America, Asia, Africa, Latin America and Australia.
He has been interviewed by famous Parrot TV of New York, a complete
episode was aired on his poems.
He has been recognised as ‘International Poet’ by well reputed ‘The POET’
magazine of London.
He was invited to read his poems in both UK, USA and Central American
Book Fair, organized virtually this year.
He was also invited to read his exotic love poems in Latin American Book
happened in Peru.