Tomorrow shall be a new day
Filled with fresh promises
And yet I shall long for the ones gone by
For the ones with you I have spent

For I shall not be able to hear your laughter
Nor savour your mild admonishments
Feel the radiant warmth of your presence
Or share your niggling pains

Tomorrow may be bright and sunny
New pastures may reveal themselves
Novel thoughts may usher in a glowing tomorrow
Rainbowing the edges of my sorrows

But you shall not be there with me
Having made your way back to your nest
Tomorrow shall not be as untamed
Tomorrow shall not be the same

Subir Chakraborty / 12th Jan 2019

Why does revolution look red
Why does blood need to be shed
Why does revolution spin our head
Why does it always mourn the dead

What do we learn from the toil
What do we expect from the turmoil
What do we ruin with blood on the boil
What do we create when we spoil

When do we stop being the fodder
When do we begin to speak louder
When do we put our house in order
When do we mark our new border

How do we know blood wasn’t cheap
How do we know the cause was deep
How do we know what we shall reap
How do we know if conscience is a heap

Subir Chakraborty / 18th April 2018

Knick-knacks, artefacts, relationships
Lie strewn across the landscape of my life
And as I glance back over my shoulder
Sometimes I discover the old precious

Which takes me by storm for the moment
As I discover new facets, nuances, I had missed earlier
Wondering why, how, I could have overlooked
Wondering if it was too late to make amends

And then the voyage begins once again
With telltale signs of the earlier one
Where the old transforms to the new
Making it the all new precious

Somewhere I feel I am missing something
Perhaps, the salience of this journey
Where the migration from the old to the new and back again
Is woven in the theme of eternal transience

Subir Chakraborty
18th July 2021

We met after what seemed aeons
You me, she he, old friends, ex-lovers
Seated at a cafe table
With our minds in sweet disarray

Longing trickled from our eyes in heady abandon
Weightless in its content
Seamless in its pervasiveness
Expressionless in its expression

Communication was intense, fervid
And yet not a word passed our lips
Flowing haltingly through our clasped hands
Enshrouded in total silence

It was not the silence of recent times
But one travelling back from decades
Carrying the aroma of our first meeting
Our first holding of hands

Every heartbeat was precious
For it mingled with another heartbeat
Creating a rare duet of impassioned tunes
Of a melodious past and an unknown future

Subir Chakraborty
17th July 2021

You visit the small town of your childhood
Absorbing the milieu, the roadside, the eateries
The humdrum and chaos of the bazaar
The sweat, the smell of human bodies
The urgencies, the anticipation, the irritation
Breathing in all at once, the strange familiar

You are in it and yet you are not
For today you have a glorious choice
The choice to escape from it all
Should it prove too daunting, too challenging
Too ordinary, lacking in excitement
Wrapped in shrouds of mechanistic boredom

Why does the familiar seem so strange today
After decades of absence
Has the place changed or have you moulted to a new person
Outgrown the small town syndrome
Outlived your ordinary, inglorious past

You are reduced to spurts of self doubt
As your sense of freedom begins to soar
Flying on the wings of measured choicefullness
Completely outmanoeuvring the pangs of putrid guilt
Letting the strangeness seep into your bones
Dimming your familiar to the point of the unfamiliar

Subir Chakraborty
11th July 2021

The old age home
Feels dank, dark, depressed
A few bodies huddled together
Waiting for the mercy of death

The inmates wondering
Who shall be the next visitor
A son, a daughter, a friend
Or quietus in all its splendour

The relentless waiting, praying
Plays on their distraught nerves
Making them irritable, agitated
On the edge of a peppery curve

For the fortunate, select few
Coma comes as a respite
Isolating their hopeful minds
From their hopeless life

One lurking thought, however
Continues to haunt me
Is this my future as well
That I am failing to foresee

Subir Chakraborty / 2nd May 2018

Two parts of my heart
The torn and the not-so-torn
Have begun to exist in close proximity
In perfect disharmony

An apology for a shelter, just constructed
With a weathered tarpaulin for a roof
Describes my princely castle
By the roadside

The torn portion is desperate
For leftovers, the bits and pieces
Strewn here and there, casually, carelessly
By those with a wholesome appetite and a small soul

But the not-so-torn wants to rebel
With morsels of leftover pride, gradually shrinking
But still beating with feeble pangs
Within my emaciated body

Should I or should I not
To be or not to be
The first time dilemma
Of a new refugee on the street

Subir Chakraborty / 22nd March 2018

 

What is raw passion
Why does it put the mind to test
How are the two connected
In a rare play of dance and duet

My zeal explodes with passion
My mind designs the itinerary
And the dual engine propels me
On this captivating journey

Not allowing my daily fears
To develop into a Frankenstein
Proscribing my mind from playing tricks
To keep me permanently confined

I continually stoke the hunger
For novelty, creativity, disruption
Keeping my passion engine
In rambunctious condition

Subir Chakraborty / 3rd May 2018

 

 

 

 

The absurdity of human existence
Lies in the lucidity of irrelevance
Which we subscribe lifelong
In the pursuit of meaningless affluence

We continue our relentless pursuit
Imagining a life of permanence
Forgetting to savour our moments
In a period of relative transience

Suffering more often than not
Severe pangs of conscience
Which more often than not
We block with deep vengeance

This ridiculous situation can continue
Until the final day of deliverance
Or if realisation dawns early
Tearing us back to relevance

Subir Chakraborty / 8th April 2018

We all carry stories in our heads
Stories about ourselves, about others
About events, people, race, faith
Black, white, not so black, not so white

One story denotes one theme
One idea
One leg of the elephant
One singular focused definition

Good boy, bad boy, good girl, bad girl
Good religion, bad religion
Good leader, bad leader
Good country, bad country

Building fear or ecstasy
Love or hatred
Depending on which leg of the elephant is in your grasp
Which story you have read

That is why it is necessary to read other stories
Stories about the same people, faith, race, country
So that your opinion is not based on just one story
Repeated multiple times over in your head

So that you know, that along with light the sun also brings heat
That along with faith a religion also demands conformity
That along with invincibility also comes failure
That along with love also comes sacrifice

Subir Chakraborty
7th May 2021