Sobhan Pramanik

140

quotes

1957

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following

'Absolved in Jhelum' It had been a year my eyes last met your wounded glee in the windy murmur of thawing snows. This April sun wilting the plains, there tints the white rivulets of Jhelum in gold. As they sigh down valleys and jingle past forests, like the ankled feet of a gliding woman. Apple yards of Pahalgam must be back to flowers. White buds lacing shiny green canopies, gearing for the September harvest, when the sweet aroma of ripened apples shall mask the acrid gunpowder odour. Cable cars like the oval backs of ladybirds, sure are treading the frosty Gulmarg sky. Taking visitors and skiiers to Aparwath from Kungdoor, to sprawling white acres of frozen sea that was crimson the last spring. Winding alleys of Downtown that flares up Friday noons, with Tehreek raining stones at the forces and their retaliation with toxic bursts of fire and gases; all of it culminating in quiet once the moon stealthily surfaces, gleaming atop the night's still lake. Normalcy is somehow always imposed, restored post a furrore. It is in the middle of a summer that I wish to return, when you won't have snow shawls to hide your scars. And unclad we will lie between the waves of Jhelum, our sliced backs to the Earth, seeking luminescence to our dreaming eyes beneath the merciful Heaven, against the blinding pellets that has become our fate. © Sobhan #YQBaba #NaPoWriMo #30DaysOfPoetry #Kashmir #Jhelum

22 APR AT 13:19

Pacific of Desire

With a wink,
you let the 
robe slip from 
your shoulders. 
And I gape 
at a sparkling 
bead of water, 
furrowing down 
your seashore back. 

(Full poem in caption)

With a wink, you let the robe slip from your shoulders. And I gape at a sparkling bead of water, furrowing down your seashore back. On me you slowly bend, inching forward on toes. Your oval dunes, moist in their silk cups, hang in my face. I let my hand inside your thong. In your dark triangle, my fingers tip over a round wet pearl and make you pant with parted lips. You stick my face in the heat of your breasts; and urge. I close my eyes and come crashing in waves on your naked shore. © Sobhan #NaPoWriMo #30DaysOfPoetry #YQBaba #Erotica #Poetry #love

15 APR AT 11:30

The new year
sevai simmers 
on the flame.
Sweet aroma 
of milk thickening
in the pan, juiced 
with raisins and nuts, 
overhangs the house. 

A singing 
procession of 
men and women
drift through
the cypress shadows. 
In their chorus 
rings Tagore's 
songs, welcoming
Boisakh, the first
summer month. 

(Full poem in caption)

The new year sevai simmers on the flame. Sweet aroma of milk thickening in the pan, juiced with raisins and nuts, overhangs the house. A singing procession of men and women drift through the cypress shadows. In their chorus rings Tagore's songs, welcoming Boisakh, the first summer month. Conch shells are blown. Its echo thinned by a splitting wind, as Bengal wakes to merrry by the banks of Ganges. A pink strand of the rising sun slants through the skylight. The milk is now settled in the pan, as I look for you. Wouldn't you come and check the sugar in our new beginnings? © Sobhan #NaPoWriMo #30YearsOfPoetry #YQBaba #Poetry #Philosophical

15 APR AT 7:38

Falling Skies

In my duffel
I have carried the
lavender air-freshener.
Its whiff, I remember,
you loved in our room -
hanging,
textured with light,
where we snuggled
close in a sheet,
and watched
your relaxed eyes
close, sedated by
the perfumed air.

(Read full poem in caption)

To my new lodging, I have finally moved. And oozing from the mauve colored walls is a dank odour of drying paint. Wafting invisibly, like heat from asphalt on blazing summer days. Its rancid stench nooses my breath, and stirs my guts. So unlike the easy air homes always wear. In my duffel I have carried the lavender air-freshener. Its whiff, I remember, you loved in our room - hanging, textured with light, where we snuggled close in a sheet, and watched your relaxed eyes close, sedated by the perfumed air. I spray it here all over again, into the dark toxic air. Its aerosol mist hangs for a while and then, like a pensive garden breeze climbing to rooms, renders my living with familiar touches of a cherished past. Wait in the air, oh love! Wait for me to sleep. Before you part through the window into the violet night sky, and the constellation crumbles upon my reverie, into decayed petals of a love dead in my heart. © Sobhan #NaPoWriMo #30DaysOfPoetry #Love

15 APR AT 1:36

Hunters of Night | Day 04

(Read in caption)

In the grey Kolkata skyline, Vidyasagar Setu looms broadly like wings of Harps, softly played on by the darkness. A bustling strip of NH 6 arcs over the river, streaked in blue fading lights, connecting the twin cities that make for its heavy shores. Even with the night at its darkest and the surrounding roads emptied, the bridge is strangely never still. Cars with blue shadows on their boot, continue to stream, both ways, along the connector, all night. I wonder if someone up on their rooftop late night, tasting the salty breeze, would look at us the same way. And smile and keep vigil, of our lonely feelings - yours and mine, that claws their way out of our hearts every night, unable to rest and contain, to travel to each other's city across the river, taking the bridge we failed to burn. © Sobhan #YQBaba #NaPoWriMo #30DaysOfPoetry #Kolkata

4 APR AT 23:49