When all the multiplication and division is done
Something remains behind
A small leftover
A remainder

It is as if destiny
Did all those calculations on my behalf
And after making my parents disappear
Left me with this tiny integer

Which has nothing to do with my parents
Or the town of my birth
Or what language they spoke
Or my relatives or any other member

With the passing of years
I realised
That the numeral was my identification in the orphanage
My destiny’s tragic reminder

I have grown up now and carry a name
Given to me by the warden
And after that the family name appears unashamedly
That mere number

Oh! How I detest, how I hate
That single digit, that sign of bondage
Which stands between me
And my real father, my sweet mother

What were they really like
Were they nice, were they kind
Did they love me ever
Did they even for once ponder

I stay rooted on the ground
While my eyes scan the skies
Looking for clues to my genesis
And my mind in bitter disorder

Subir Chakraborty / 8th July 2018

The world is quite varied
In its geography, its races
Its peoples, its history
And of course its paces

And yet it is so much the same
The same concerns, the politics
The yearning for freedom
And the desire for peace

Rarely have I seen hatred
And the spewing of venom
Oozing from the mouths of men
Living in unfriendly nations

They all want harmony
And to get on with their lives
In the only way they know
The only way they’ve survived

They’ve all wished me well
In every way they could
Wanting to know more
About what I really stood

Have never experienced anything
Other than love in great measure
As I have travelled the world
For business or for leisure

Then why is it
That nations become foes
And seek to bring
This bonhomie to a close

When will the political masters
Pay heed to this voice
When will the will of nations
Reflect the peoples’ choice

Subir Chakraborty / 19th Aug 2018

I wear your garb
Speak your tongue
Eat your food
Live in your nation

Which wants my labour
But not my identity
Desires my sweat
But not my pain

Where should I go
For I have no country
Not in the real sense
Not even in the past tense

The nation of my birth
Where I am a foreigner
And the one I have adopted
Where I am an intruder

Where my customs
Are not your customs
My looks, not your looks
My god, not your god

Where I am looked upon merely
As an instrument of gain
Merely a tool of economics
Captive and well trained

A strange dichotomy
Where you want me, yet you don’t
Where my labour is desirable
And the rest all abhorrable

Perhaps my children will belong here
Treated as one amongst equals
Perhaps one morn not too distant
My people shall stand proud and tall

Subir Chakraborty / 18th July 2018

The heart reaches out
And penetrates your being
Touching a cabalistic level
Hitherto unseen

When you begin to hear
Not the deafening chimes
But the droplets of nectar
Inundating your mind

One at a time, drop by drop
It seeps into your being
Creating a supreme melody
With a touch of the pristine

Slowly driving away
The extraneous thoughts
Clinging to your mind
Like a hive of maggots

There is an internal struggle
As your mind tries to reorient
To the surrealistic reality
The emerging quotient

Finally synchronising fully
To the music invading its core
Resonating ecstatically
As never before

Subir Chakraborty / 13th May 2018

Hunting for that ideal house
The perfect accommodation
To encase my fantasies
To float my elusive dreams

Something is amiss here
Something not quite right there
Too crowded, too much noise
Too cumbersome for that exemplary poise

Too quiet, akin to a cemetery
Too secluded, not very neighbourly
Too pricey, even with a loan for a crutch
Too cheap, not to be touched

Forgetting in our search
When a house becomes a home
Irrespective of crowd and squalor
Nestled in our comfort zone

The building is immaterial
If there is warmth in your heart
And a loving and caring family
Playing its rightful part

Subir Chakraborty / 21st June 2018

Should destiny prevent me
From reaching my heights
Should it lay down the rules
For setting my sights

My environment may be shaped
By divine complexities
But what I make of my life
Is rooted in my tenacity

Nothing can stand in the way
Nothing can obstruct
When I have set a course
My very own construct

Why should I be governed
By what fate has defined
When I can dare to play
By what I have defied

Subir Chakraborty / 29th April 2018

How much of India is Bharat
And Bharat is India
How much of the truth
Can be obscured from the media

With how much inequality
Can enough be enough
With how much inequity
Does the going get tough

With how much poverty
Can a nation be comfortable
With how much depravity
Is the conscience agreeable

With how much of inhumanity
Can humans coexist
With how much of indifference
Can the indigent subsist

How much of Bharat
Is burdened with serfdom
When will this Bharat
Wake up to freedom

How much of Bharat
Resides within me
How much of India
Bothers for thee

How much of deprivation
Is necessary for noise
When will this country
Find its voice

Subir Chakraborty / 7th June 2018

* Bharat(another name for India) refers to the underprivileged and the poor segments of the population

I have touched lives
While others have touched me
In the continuous ebb and tide
Of this life’s unique journey

What does it really mean
To genuinely touch a life
What does it actually entail
To join in happiness and strife

Is it merely the high fives
The hi and the hellos
Or does it mean to reach out
Beyond the superficial and the hollow

Does it mean to outstretch
Where others do not dare
When the people all around
Prefer to just stand and stare

When you feel the caring touch
Or extend your hand in trust
Your spirit gets re-energised
Invading the peripheral crust

Creating a feeling so exclusive
So very exemplary
That you begin to start believing
In the goodness of humanity

Subir Chakraborty / 5th July 2018

Happiness is a man thing
A woman thing, a together thing
Perhaps something meaningful
An illusion or perhaps nothing

It can be a puddle of sunlight
Splotched on the pavement
Or a bundle of hugs and kisses
Waiting in the basement

Can be the smile of the moon
Giving you friendly tips
To utter the romantic trio
Eluding your quivering lips

Can be the joy of sharing
Whatever little you possess
With those outstretched hands
In anguished and dire duress

Or an evening of gossip
With your family, your own
Comfortable and cosy
In the warmth of your home

Coming to think of it
Maybe nothing at all
Which you can count or touch
Tangible, distinct or tall

Just a state of mind
With the heart on a song
Sailing the zephyr
On a sunlit everyday morn

Subir Chakraborty / 1st June 2018

Faith that clings
Faith that murders
Faith that heals
Faith that plunders

What is in this faith
The sweep of collective consciousness
That seeks to unite and separate
A cauldron of unity and divisiveness

Why does it sometimes pit
Man against man
Man against woman
Making us all so inhuman

Your god, my god
Your way, my way
All searching for their souls
In hell’s pathway

While ignoring the really needy
Who deserve your deference
The deprived and the oppressed
And the children of innocence

Why can’t humanity and love
Be the sole guiding faith
Without a morsel or trace
Of disgust or hate

Why the you versus me
Cannot converge to we
Why can’t we live in harmony
Leaving the gods to live in peace

Subir Chakraborty / 7th July 2018