Sobhan Pramanik

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"...like fingerprints on the hilt of a dagger
that had claimed a life, I am but a 
violated evidence of your love
with your lipprints on heartbeats 
down my neck, sentenced to a 
forever of yearning to be together;
this life or any other."

(Full poem in caption)

'Prisoners of Love' I remember our first drink together. I had brought you home to rejoice my first salary, picking on our way, a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. Driving the corkscrew spiral to its very last thread, I had popped the wine open, carefully pouring into glasses that sat light-filled on the table. How then you held one by its narrow stem, your white thighs carelessly crossed over my knees on the sofa and raised to your lips. I watched stars flow into your mouth from a yellow night - the sour rising to your eyes, making clouds out of your thoughts. And then when you lowered the glass, the night was half drunk with distant stars still swirling in it, and a matt red stain of your lips printed to the rim. I saw in that moist graze, the fine lines on your lips vividly etched. Thin cracks where the lipstick hadn't reached, the pearl sized aperture where your lips don't touch when you round them and the drooping arc that completes your mouth. Few more sips later, with the night emptied inside, there on the rim remained only a smudge red stain of what was once an intimate print. With each slow raise, your lips had met the crystal slightly moved from where it last touched, even overlapped, leading to a vapoury blotch of red lipstick, spit and words unrolled. What’s unnerving is that after all these years of having gone our ways, and my failing brain barely catching any remembrance of the souls I had drunk and got laid with; it is your eternal existence that glitters unsmudged from the crystal edge of my redundant heart. No one and nothing ever came remotely close to reconstruct my landscape, you left all dilapidated with your promises. Like fingerprints on the hilt of a dagger that had claimed a life, I am but a violated evidence of your love with your lipprints on heartbeats down my neck, sentenced to a forever of yearning to be togther; this life or any other. © Sobhan #YQBaba #Poetry

29 MAR AT 0:22

Departed Trains | Day 01 

A sun-burnt hawker
strides down the dozing platform.
A wicker basket over his head,
balanced on a cloth-bun.
The corrugated station roof,
old and season beaten,
throws on the concrete a tattered shade.
Potholes of light shining at his feet,
as he glides through the hot daylight shadows
...
(Full poem in caption)

A sun-burnt hawker strides down the dozing platform. A wicker basket over his head, balanced on a cloth-bun. The corrugated station roof, old and season beaten, throws on the concrete a tattered shade. Potholes of light shining at his feet, as he glides through the hot daylight shadows.  In a raspy voice, he calls out 'Ice-cream Kulfi. Kulfi Ice-cream', almost swallowing the word 'ice' in the process, startling a child awake on a nearby bench. He turns to his mother, lips drawn down. She looks away, not acknowledging - a strip of white light by her face travelling into her blouse. The hawker already slow in his tracks, stops in positive anticipation. He uncaps an aluminium cone from his basket, pushes a wooden stem and pulls out the Delight - cold, white fumes curling from its buttermilk tip. The mother loosening a knot in the veil of her saree, picks out a five-rupee coin and places it on the child's stretched palm. He steps down beaming, passes the coin to the hawker and grabs his Kulfi.  A microphone then crackles overhead, disturbing the pigeons in their high metal roosters. Bardhaman-Howrah local draws hissing into the station. The quiet dismantled for a moment, replaced by the engine’s breathing and the sun eclipsed in a swirling cloud of dust. The Kulfiwala boards it, as faces suddenly come alive inside the compartment. Slowly the train then starts to chug out, pulling away with it the cold metal shadows. Silence falls back almost as immediately, like a sea joining, ripped by a speedboat trail. In the child’s happy eyes, I catch my burning wait. Abandoned amid the scorching summer, for me to take a different train home. The kulfi melts in blobs, like memories in my heart, running down his thin arms to the hook of his elbow, as we cherish in the back of our throat, the sweet aftertaste of a love long gone.    © Sobhan #NaPoWriMo #Poem #YQBaba #30DaysOfPoetry

2 APR AT 1:33