flavour: personal

MASTIFF BITCHES: M.A. English

Where do you find,
Such a combination?
A doverman, an alsatian,
A shepherd so german?
Of course in a class,
Modern, post modern;
Trying to be authentically american.

A variety of barks,
Thoroughly sounding like farce;
Howls, growls, bow-wows,
No difference between metaphysics and moo-cows!

The doverman- silently eloquent;
The alsatian- bombastically displaying talent;
The german- terribly tiny but never latent...
Mastiff bitches- unbelievable entertainment.

pre-marital confessions...

HITLER & CHURCHILL:
Mrs. Mom and Mr. Dad,
Both of them,
They make me sad.
We shout, we fight,
With all our might.
I revolt, I accept,
I complain about fate…
Everywhere, I’m just a misfit,
Like with Porter’s protests,
None cares for mine a bit.
I want money, I want fame,
Success is wild, I want to tame.
Runaway into somewhere, I will,
All their expectation, I want to kill.
A life for myself, I want to live.
In my own decisions, I want to believe.
Mrs. Mom, you’ll then repent,
And Mr. Dad- you’ll only sigh
At the so-called ‘values’
You had to me lent.
Gosh! I just want to be…independent.

ME- THEIR DAUGHTER:
I’m putting up with pages,
To avoid mom’s rages.
I’m not allowed to shout,
Coz I live in my dad’s house.
I retaliate-it’s the ‘English’ syndrome.
I keep mum-
Cursed is the Calcutta chromosome.
Watch TV- star plus.
Listen to music-their class.
Wear a dress-the ‘society’ way. oof
Behave consistently- come what may.
This cannot be me…
I am, but I choose not to be.

ME- THE INDIVIDUAL:
I don’t do,
What I dislike.
I speak up against,
Paralyzed rights.
I want a car,
Which I would drive.
And my very own flat,
At any time to arrive.
A job satisfaction,
An impulsive reaction.
A man to love, joint surnames,
Children to cuddle, their games…
If heaven for me is such,
Do I ask too much?

Shaky sequel:

Making of COMEDY OF ERRORS II:

Shakespeare visited my dream,
He pleaded, persuaded and screamed.
“Write something that’s a sequel”,
He said. “And write it really well”.
Shakespeare must have been out of his mind-
To even ask me to be one of his kind.
I certainly could not fulfill his desire,
But I felt sad at how he had to retire;
So in the great Shakespeare’s honour,
I wrote another Comedy of Errors.
Not that I had read it earlier,
Just the title appealingly reappears!
And hold on! This is COE II,
With its ancestor, it has got nothing to do.

COE II is a completely new version,
Packed with my and Bill’s mini-sessions.
Yes, you have guessed it right;
Ours too was love at first sight.
It speaks of how Bill came up from his grave,
(Of course, that was quite brave)
To meet me in the middle of the night…
When romance lingered in the eerie quiet.
Our talks were like thunderstorm,
Hindered only by the sight of dawn.
How, Bill had made his intentions clear,
That in loving me, he had absolutely no-fear.

You could say, COE II is a duo-biography,
Spanning across our unique love story.
Of how we thanked our luck when we met,
How; together we had laughed, we wept…
We saw the beautiful birth of the moon,
And felt that each to the other was a boon.
There was this chemistry between Bill and me,
Easily sensed by everybody, you see.
Bill was a darling- sweet and nice,
His dark, good looks; adding the required spice.

Don’t regard our love as funny,
Recall the magic when Casper met Wendy.

Did our love become immortal?
Was Bill influenced by the City of Angels?
Did I ever have to shed a fearful tear?
Did I become or not- Mrs. William Shakespeare?
(My love, what not for you I did?)

To know what ultimately came true,
Don’t forget to read-
Comedy of Errors, Part II.





COMEDY OF ERRORS: II

This not is a novel or fiction,
This but a real life event.
When error created comedy,
And began a strange love-story.

The hero, William Shakespeare;
Yes, yes; the author of Macbeth and King Lear.
The heroine, Nilima Dasgupta;
Of course, you haven’t heard of her.
She neither has a dignified personality,
Nor has she the status of a celebrity.
Just another face amid mortals,
Here’s her characteristic in detail:
Hated competition, loved reading books.
Admired men with stubble and good looks.
Had a concept of love of her own-
That her heart would not be by conditions won.
And Shakespeare, you must be knowing it all,
Handsome, understanding, witty and tall.

Here’s how the story geared:

The legendary writer, his ghost appeared.
By Nilima’s bedside, sad at how she neglected his works.
Surprised though, Nili answered not in shrieks, but in words.
Moved was Bill, (Nili called him so)
At her gesture and his heart go…
A mortal girl and so small, (eighteen then)
Celebrate! Their friendship and love speedily began.

For Nili, her dream came true,
Her love to her when, no boundaries drew.
Bill was a ghost and oh! So old,
But loyal and clever and really bold.
Better than those mortal ‘cool’ young boys,
Who played with hearts as with toys.

Theirs was a destined meet,
Their love so definitely deep.
But cruel world termed Nili mad,
At her story; making both of them sad.
Bill revolted against lot,
When they said Nili would soon rot.
They had to find a way,
Where comments and criticisms would be far away.
They wondered at what lay ahead,
Only if Bill were alive or Nili dead.
Their love surpassed all vanity,
Beyond time, beyond reality.
The dark was pleased and honoured too,
That with his help how their love grew.

Decided Nili to gift Bill-
A precious something which would their permanency seal.
Out went she, happy with every sight,
Even the day was cheerful and bright.
Laughter was the icing,
In the cake of living.
Nili searched through gifts,
A watch, dress, Sheldon series?
Busy and carefully wondering was she;
When devoid she became of feelings suddenly.
Amidst all noise, crept through her a peace,
Nobody would now complain, nobody tease.
She was no more, she was killed;
But that would take her forever to Bill.

And where was Bill, all this while,
When killed was Nili, stationed away at miles?
His heart knew that very instant,
That something was wrong, for he felt unpleasant.
He was waiting eagerly for the dark,
When his vision was suddenly marked-
By the strangeness of a sight;
That flying was perfectly; yes HIS Nili alright!
How did this miracle happen?
It had only one possible solution:
That now his love had no mortal existence…
Meaning, together would they be, free from pretence.

Happiness overflowed all curiosity,
There would no longer be an entity.
Both were speechless, both not cold,
Oh! It was a sight really to behold.
Through years, they are living together-
The would-be authoress and the great author.

Bill encouraged her to write a sequel,
But Nili knew nothing except the title.
Hence, written, written was their duo-biography,
Of me, Nili and Bill’s strange story.
This is the birth of COE II,
Which has got nothing with its ancestor to do.

Hope Bill is pleased with my effort,
This is all that Mrs. William Shakespeare could with come forth.
With COE II, nothing no longer would remains hidden,
As You Like It: praise or condemn.



absolutely: kuntala sengupta

lines that rhyme...?

Paradox

Yes, this but is true,
Red, green - their hue,
The variety of blue
Nature offers me no clue.

My problems have no solution,
Possibly coz I have none.
Lazing around, having fun;
Life is wonderfully done.

I need not the skies-
No answer to the whys
No stupidity over to cry;
Yes, I'll live through all the lies

POEMS...and me?

By the Sea

Watching the vermilion
Lose itself in the horizon-
I stood by the sea
Alone and lonely.
Seeking life's meaning-
Probing and searching
When along came a loud wave
And gave me a firm shake
Returning me to reality
Miles away from eternity-
Reality; life to be lived
And by fate be deceived.
Deception, rejection,
Outlet of emotions.

Purely painted

I robbed off
Its virginity-
In search of
My escape;
Dreams, illusions,
Reality-
All with which
I adeptly faked.
In the parameters of
I, me, myself
I was confined,
Entwined-
And it kept seeking help;
My canvas, my media,
My being it defined
How could I free it,
I wooed, won; I own.
It blossoms with ideas
Of the seeds I had sown.
It frees me, it reflects,
With me, it relates

The Evolution of a Poet

Paper in front, pen I grasped,
Wow! At my thoughts how I had clapped.
I wanted to write a poem-
Yes, yes; a thunderous poem
That would speak volumes on-
Dear, dear, the problem began.
I had no subject, no topic-
The thought itself was highly critic.
A poet who looked like one,
Whose specks a headband had become.
Who already had a pseudonym,
But alas! Not the least poetic instinct!
Love, life, humour, self-pity,
Fantasy, nature, maturity, beauty-
Oh! The range was wide,
Yet, why couldn't I firmly decide?
I realized I knew nothing in full-
The great poet was just charged,
Like a raging, over ambitious bull.

She merely wanted lines that rhymed,
She wanted herself to be well defined.
But poems are not written,
To reach pre determined destinations;
They are lines that express-
Vivid, genuine imagination.
They come from within,
Willingly, spontaneously;
Unlike me, the great poet,
Who leashed them out forcefully
Maybe, some clear, fine day-
'A great poet she is'
People will say.
Not for the words-
That she merely makes rhyme,
But for the emotions,
That evoke in those lines.
And still, over ruling conditions
A poet will evolve-
This today an amateur,
Solemnly resolves.

My Quarter Half

Ah! My illusions and me-
How happy together were we
With dreams and daisies,
And bubbles rising at ease.
With angels, with mermaids,
And paths of hope they laid.
With freedom of expression-
In fact, with all His creation.
Across vast blue skies,
Breaking beneath: bondages and ties,
Oh! How high we had flied
My illusions and I
With wings that are clipped,
With every desire whipped;
Restrictions imposed on imagination,

Emotions far surpassed by reason.
With smoke and soil,
And a long day’s toil
All that remains,
Of us together;
Each to the other-
A question mark,
A stranger.
I’m lost, all alone,
Not even tears, my own.
Eclipsed now is my-
Self and soul;
By pain; by reality-
As a whole.
Ever again will happy be we?
Searching each other unendingly,
My illusions and me