Wild Donkey’s Bray
Rana Roychowdhury —————————————————————– Rage I Have Veiled Rage I have veiled Cranes fly I see with binoculars Their whites flutter in the skies This janasamaj, medicines, bandage Blazing flowers, window concealed All this he had jotted down—in notepad after notepad Everybody on the T.V. is saying killing someone is a sin He had written about such a sin in Notepad after notepad— The dog’s mute stare he had written about And about boiling rice. ***** Now He Hangs As the Moon In the Sky Moon in the sky—tonight. This news the pristine girl brings to me This news the shadow of the adjoining door sets free All of us the neighbourhood gang Climb up to the rooftop. And see Truly moonlit it is, this sky and that awash. Right then someone in the crowd said: But that is not the moon! Heck no, that is the land grabber little Khude! And we all see now, indeed It’s that ruffian Khude, for whom the police Was on the lookout; right now in the sky He hangs as the moon. ***** Adda When Ramachandra left for the forest You got emotional and howled and wailed Right from that day we had decided That if we have to visit the forest Let there be occasional jungle safaris Treetop houses and no less Manas sanctuary, Kaziranga, at the least Gorumara (via Lataguri), for travel cars please contact Bappa Ganguly: Phone 9433425179 And if one is looking for a good, healthy cottage On the forest outskirts It must be Mithu Banerjee’s Now the question is whether Mithu Banerjee is a man or a woman? If she is a woman, we may decide (with alcohol and dancing adivasis in tandem) To inhabit the forest for 14 years It is our long standing wish to see copulating wild elephants. ***** Water Water Fills up the bucket Filled up bucket Makes me happy Water From the bucket Goes far away In this manner, everyday I fill up and get drained A world of water Revolves Around me ***** Playing Carrom The way the professorial couple plays carrom Is still beyond my ken. Especially the red. From distant districts Hopping trains, skipping vendors Prancing past the splendour of chanachur-lipstick-peanuts The professorial couple will make sure to gobble up the red. I think: those of us from Kalyani, Basirhat—till date those who With upright tables, vertical minds, childlike, play carrom— Red is our cherry toy. Our claim and our due. Our clear-cut poetry magazine. Look! There’s Shajal, just crossed the bridge to hit the red straight into the net. But the professorial couple nets it obliquely At an angle—winding down the Sahitya Akademi path via Banga Sammelan The red makes its way to the net. As if a bride’s hibiscus got stolen from the garden. No one knows the thief—blurred, he’s the yellow river bank. But in anthologies they dazzle and on the dais too In tea cups and in editorials— But they are no robbers, no killers, no. Famed carrom players merely. ***** Words Snake Touring around the house. Dread Touring around the house Thus touring dread Gets into the hole But if words Surface again? Then where shall I keep the poison? Then where shall I keep the pain? ***** Dreadlocks Tables and chairs Garnish this universe Pranayam and party-diktats Dress up this sandy shore The Tamil mad-women gave me this bit of news Lights from group theatre delivered to me this news Madwoman with livid liced dreadlocks Love-dining-table garnishes In the conifer-island lights blaze. Illness And dreadlocks unravel. Such power truth wields So much light today such guest-speak Shall I not stand in the line too? Marvel at the sky, galaxies! ***** Wild Donkey’s Bray How shall I call out? Moo woo? Or Bande Mataram? Better Inquilab Zindabad? Whining ruff arff? Or growling bow-wow? Snarl and roar shall I? All’s hushed—sunsan, silent-empty. Falling leaves in the sunsan. No man, won’t needle no pricking His brother’s younger sibling just bought by sweat No man, won’t prod no pricking I swear I won’t Beacon Tagore up there And Joy in my quill This restraint sees me through Restraint, winning party’s restraint. Hey Abhik, let’s dive under the train? “Nope, Ma waits with warm rice.” Hey Abhik, let’s enlist our names in the Maoist centre? “Nope, Ma still waits with warm rice.” So what? Be a corpse at the dinner table Tell Ma I’m your flower in the pot And I am your almanac, anthem, chorale Moss on your broken staircase— Look some bloody mangled meat; like London bridge has smashed My skull and character. If one dies unnaturally, at the end of maya and desire The soul orbits, turns round for two years at least Yes, it’s written loud and clear in Abhayananda’s “Beyond Death” That after death the soul doesn’t grasp That he is no more a poet, He thinks there is rain in the fire still. See, Abhik and I Evil spirits after death now, spirits of infirmity Banging doors, running about Pirgachha road Spotting lovers shall scream “Let us live, please let us…” Fuck your English speaking habit we will yell Utpalbabu has gone the Bosebabu way now From tree to higher tree barking aloud: ‘Cocaine Cocaine.’ Bullshit, that is never to be, that dream. Tut! Wild donkey is shaky and shy Can run faster than a mule Our table used to house ten wild donkeys Abhik and I slipped and fell Into your… oh dear… into your misery— And remember, Gopal at home means hassle aplenty Ministerial treatment, three meals a day Bath, scrubbing the lazy organ And Gopal can’t be left alone Still Gopal’s a darling pet. Harmless Gopal, no sex, no craving for fame Harmless Gopal won’t enlist in the CPM, and no suicide attempts too Vegan dish vegan wish Just make sure to pray thrice a day. But see, crafty