​Ananya S Guha lives in Shillong in North East India. He is currently Regional Director at the Indira Gandhi National Open University. He has been writing poetry and publishing his poems for over thirty years.

​                        When Gandhi Crossed Dreams

When Gandhi crossed dreams
he had just been killed 
worms crept out from the soil.
Blood oozing, holding on to stomach
he said:
This  great country will live for ever 
in hovels, railway tracks and slums 
They are my countrymen 
I will see them through 
their daily bread 
the battling women 
I will rinse of dowry, child marriage
the schools I will shade them with sun
the street children I will bestow smile 
the teachers I will give classrooms 
I will equip the farmer with technology 
I will wreak vengeance on the strong 
who have money power but no will 
I said partition of Bengal would be 
over my dead body
but they have killed me 
not my dreams. Be you Hindu, 
Christian, Buddhist, Sikh or Muslim  
if you keep killing them 
my body, phoenix like will rise in shambles
what will you  say then?
A ghost,an apparition 
in this country of warriors, ghosts and 
the supernatural?

The blood still emanating on to my 
shivering body, I wiped it slowly.
Slept. Started dreaming again 
of Lions and the great Warriors.

​Ananya S Guha lives in Shillong in North East India. He is currently Regional Director at the Indira Gandhi National Open University. He has been writing poetry and publishing his poems for over thirty years.

The river lapsed 
Into aeons of time
Bird plummeted into sea
And orgy of violence
As man did dance death 
The river did not understand 
That flashes of genius was born
The river mourned
Birds and animals died
There was mayhem 
Man did the war dance
Man did the death dance
The river
The birds
The animals were silent
They decided to be slaves
To man
​

​Ananya S Guha lives in Shillong in North East India. He is currently Regional Director at the Indira Gandhi National Open University. He has been writing poetry and publishing his poems for over thirty years.

​
                                           Mother 


Mother the days
In winter I remember 
Across pebbled roads
And half lit markets
Golden oranges springing forth 
And the fish with beady eyes 
You would choose and haggle
And winter spruced in Shillong 
Would come to an end slowly
Somewhere in my mind 
With rush of school 
The market would wither and die
As monsoon rains ceaselessly 
Would take over 
The town changes with Malls 
I wonder how you would shop now
With an ATM or walk across fliers 
In cities
The chimney you sat in front of 
Is now museum piece
The green pines do not look so green
The hills distraught having witnessed change
The moaning wind still hovers though rapaciously
But those wolves that you spoke 
Of have disappeared into silence 
Of certainty
The cobbled lanes look stoned
The town is a relic
The people bizarre
And rains bring fiesta of delight
With adventurous puddles 
Fruits ripen slowly
Schools have mannequins
It is good that you are not here.