1. To Bagmita Baishnabi, with love on 13th January
To the High Priestess of Art that I know, Happy Birthday!
A rustle in the mistletoe,
Rumbling clouds overhead
Foretold the arrival of a seeker
In the wee hours of a new day.
She wore a pair of gum boots,
A strong sword did she carry.
But the sword had a head of soft hairs.
Cuz the warrior was an enchantress, an artist.
She prayed the Gods of colour.
She prayed to Leonardo da Vinci.
Michelengelo too,
Somewhat a priestess of Van Gogh was she.
In the fury of the storm swiftly brewing,
She made her way to the mountain of the Gods.
Olympus was it?
Her satchel of colours and her bundle of canvases bawled
"Mercy, O' Queen!" They pleaded---
As their mistress treaded against the wind.
At length she reached a clearing.
And even though the mountain was yet to be seen,
She came across something.
It was a mirror. She looked into it.
Her reflection wasn't in there.
At least what she saw wasn't solely her.
She was in the Mirror of Erised.
With Michelengelo, with Da Vinci
Van Gogh and Picasso,
Claude Monet, Rafael.
They were smiling at something...someone.
It was a girl that looked like her. It was her.
Her gods smiled at her, with a rare gleam in their orbs
As their devotee stood painting.
Rumbling clouds overhead
Foretold the arrival of a seeker
In the wee hours of a new day.
She wore a pair of gum boots,
A strong sword did she carry.
But the sword had a head of soft hairs.
Cuz the warrior was an enchantress, an artist.
She prayed the Gods of colour.
She prayed to Leonardo da Vinci.
Michelengelo too,
Somewhat a priestess of Van Gogh was she.
In the fury of the storm swiftly brewing,
She made her way to the mountain of the Gods.
Olympus was it?
Her satchel of colours and her bundle of canvases bawled
"Mercy, O' Queen!" They pleaded---
As their mistress treaded against the wind.
At length she reached a clearing.
And even though the mountain was yet to be seen,
She came across something.
It was a mirror. She looked into it.
Her reflection wasn't in there.
At least what she saw wasn't solely her.
She was in the Mirror of Erised.
With Michelengelo, with Da Vinci
Van Gogh and Picasso,
Claude Monet, Rafael.
They were smiling at something...someone.
It was a girl that looked like her. It was her.
Her gods smiled at her, with a rare gleam in their orbs
As their devotee stood painting.
2. To my sweet cousin, Darpana Dutta, with love, on 13 January
A Poem for my Favorite Pisces
The water-bearer cast a hesitant glance
Upon her vessel that held the little fishes.
They were celestial creatures, those fishes.
They were made of pure stardust.
The water-bearer looked at her pitcher and its denizens
She didn't want to leave them in the cold, unfamiliar waters.
She was quite attached to them, her fishes.
Cause, they were miraculous.
They stored within them a secret flame,
A kindling, majestic life within them two.
One day their energies would merge
In the perfect balance of yin and yang
To form a beautiful mermaid.
The water-bearer knew that.
She contained in her vessel, her soul sister.
She would be ethereal, the mermaid.
She would glow in her own light
And reflect it off on souls in the dark.
She would be lovely and graceful.
She would fulfill her wildest aspirations.
Because all she would ever want,
Would be to make her world just a little bit better.
Her scales would hold the weight of Justice.
Her candor, her fairness would be harnessed
To bring glory to herself and those near her.
The water bearer knew all these truths about the mermaid.
But it didn't make it any easier to part with her little sister.
The water sprites were now beckoning
And in the last light of dusk, she set them free.
One day those fishes will know who they are.
They will create a beautiful union,
And in harmony, will a charming mermaid arise.
"Till then, adieu, little one," the water-bearer said to her sister.
Upon her vessel that held the little fishes.
They were celestial creatures, those fishes.
They were made of pure stardust.
The water-bearer looked at her pitcher and its denizens
She didn't want to leave them in the cold, unfamiliar waters.
She was quite attached to them, her fishes.
Cause, they were miraculous.
They stored within them a secret flame,
A kindling, majestic life within them two.
One day their energies would merge
In the perfect balance of yin and yang
To form a beautiful mermaid.
The water-bearer knew that.
She contained in her vessel, her soul sister.
She would be ethereal, the mermaid.
She would glow in her own light
And reflect it off on souls in the dark.
She would be lovely and graceful.
She would fulfill her wildest aspirations.
Because all she would ever want,
Would be to make her world just a little bit better.
Her scales would hold the weight of Justice.
Her candor, her fairness would be harnessed
To bring glory to herself and those near her.
The water bearer knew all these truths about the mermaid.
But it didn't make it any easier to part with her little sister.
The water sprites were now beckoning
And in the last light of dusk, she set them free.
One day those fishes will know who they are.
They will create a beautiful union,
And in harmony, will a charming mermaid arise.
"Till then, adieu, little one," the water-bearer said to her sister.
3. To My Best Friend, Suchibrata Saikia on 12 February
The One Swift Dragon
There is a dragon I know from close quarters.
A maverick who goes unplanned.
But navigates just fine (as long as there's Google Maps!)
You're like
The rising sun,
You awake slow, rise like a pristine orb over the mountains of trial and triumphs,
When in noontime you're ready to take on the world,
Fuzzing with energy,
Yet at night when you're weary,
Of your own grandeur,
You feel like the four walls around you are shutting you off
From the rest of the world.
You're an explorer through and through
You fool yourself, dear dragon,
Into thinking you're getting
nowhere.
These verses won't rhyme, will be abrupt, won't conform to popular belief,
Because that's what you're like.
You live for the kick, you live for the real life.
You want mountains under your feet,
You want to traverse fuming
streams,
Just to feel the cool rock-filtered air in your gut.
Dear Storm, you're okay.
You're more than okay.
Because every drop of blood in
you,
Is fuelled by the kind of free spirit
That would make Vasco da Gama,
Marco Polo,
Columbus--beam with pride.
I have always thought so. I know I'm right.
That flame of lofty dreams is fuelled ceaselessly.
Because you have inside you,
A kind heart.
A warm, understanding, outspoken, heart.
And when one day the beauty of your wildest dreams coming true will take you by surprise,
I want to be there to marvel how wonderful it is...
To know a miracle like you.
Many Happy Returns, ol girl!
A maverick who goes unplanned.
But navigates just fine (as long as there's Google Maps!)
You're like
The rising sun,
You awake slow, rise like a pristine orb over the mountains of trial and triumphs,
When in noontime you're ready to take on the world,
Fuzzing with energy,
Yet at night when you're weary,
Of your own grandeur,
You feel like the four walls around you are shutting you off
From the rest of the world.
You're an explorer through and through
You fool yourself, dear dragon,
Into thinking you're getting
nowhere.
These verses won't rhyme, will be abrupt, won't conform to popular belief,
Because that's what you're like.
You live for the kick, you live for the real life.
You want mountains under your feet,
You want to traverse fuming
streams,
Just to feel the cool rock-filtered air in your gut.
Dear Storm, you're okay.
You're more than okay.
Because every drop of blood in
you,
Is fuelled by the kind of free spirit
That would make Vasco da Gama,
Marco Polo,
Columbus--beam with pride.
I have always thought so. I know I'm right.
That flame of lofty dreams is fuelled ceaselessly.
Because you have inside you,
A kind heart.
A warm, understanding, outspoken, heart.
And when one day the beauty of your wildest dreams coming true will take you by surprise,
I want to be there to marvel how wonderful it is...
To know a miracle like you.
Many Happy Returns, ol girl!
4. For my old High School's Silver Jubilee Year, 2020
My First Glimpse of St. Mary's
Green-haired nymphs with jewels of ruby red
Beckoned at me one winter morn.
I drew back, cautious,
but remembering Keats when he proclaimed,
That a thing of beauty is a joy forever,
I decided to feast my eyes nevertheless.
There was an emerald meadow,
With its denizens of grass dripping with sweet dew,
And cattle relishing a seasoned breakfast.
Their able guards, some five great canines,
Played at work, tackling each other,
They looked at me as I caught them red-handed
And for a half-moment, my breath faltered.
But they shrugged me off, quite nonchalant.
Barking at their cattle friends,
Probably telling them to play along,
And not bother
While the strange human keeps watch.
Their mistresses were not fooled.
Trotting after them in brisk steps,
They looked like sheep,
Those gentlewomen in white.
I remember that to be my first time seeing a Sister.
The aura was real.
Kindness sparkled straight from their eyes,
And a child-like innocence makes one double-think
The solemn fact that they are lionesses.
A warm winter morning that was,
The day I found a place where I belonged.
Beckoned at me one winter morn.
I drew back, cautious,
but remembering Keats when he proclaimed,
That a thing of beauty is a joy forever,
I decided to feast my eyes nevertheless.
There was an emerald meadow,
With its denizens of grass dripping with sweet dew,
And cattle relishing a seasoned breakfast.
Their able guards, some five great canines,
Played at work, tackling each other,
They looked at me as I caught them red-handed
And for a half-moment, my breath faltered.
But they shrugged me off, quite nonchalant.
Barking at their cattle friends,
Probably telling them to play along,
And not bother
While the strange human keeps watch.
Their mistresses were not fooled.
Trotting after them in brisk steps,
They looked like sheep,
Those gentlewomen in white.
I remember that to be my first time seeing a Sister.
The aura was real.
Kindness sparkled straight from their eyes,
And a child-like innocence makes one double-think
The solemn fact that they are lionesses.
A warm winter morning that was,
The day I found a place where I belonged.