JAYANTA BHAUMIK - POEMS

Jayanta Bhaumik is from Kolkata, India. Basically from the field of Metaphysics and Astrology (a Research Member of American Federation of Astrologers Inc.), he finds Poetry as his Quest. He spends a period in Singapore and other south-east Asian countries every year for professional assignments. His works can be found in recent or upcoming issues of Poetry Super Highway, Zombie Logic Review, The Pangolin Review, Merak Magazine, Pif Magazine, Better Than Starbucks, PPP Ezine, The Local Train, Cajun Mutt Press. He is on Twitter @BhaumikJayanta.

For what you know as combination   ​

​In fact,
the rehab-man said smoking,
mind is occasionally vertebrate
a squat charmer in pose
 
and like horns,
twisty and hard,
horns so full of keratin 
fingernails too,
nails are polished in labyrinthine colours
 
and please, a mind can be flatland
cityscape as in wartime curfew
without sounds and figures and all so coagulant
or a mind is
a mind-shaped screen fuzzed in
tendrils
 
or you understand filaments?
 
he said, whose mouth
did not smell of a phenom
 
he had a shirt made of
threads weaved in silhouettes
zigzags of grey and teal blue,
bit of sappy green grasses
 
can filaments look like grasses?
ichor evergreen, so inexorably fresh?
grasshoppers on blades, no secret link to fail?
and scary, no integument withered in eerie old wrinkles?
 
what all stingy souvenirs?
 
flipping blues, past is your genie bottled
say time dented, say present debris
sum of the cameos ruined always in combination
oozes with oyster
frozen in a form that people try to save,
 
 – why not? he said with a cigarette
 
combination, not much aching, rubbles of time
do it for stains to pickle my heart
 
maybe in a day or two or three
 
my mind finally ready to end in smoke

In a mattering point of being impassionate   ​

It is not sheer doors and windows
crashed open to heartbeats. It is festival, folks.
Take part as the biggest part of this
suspended imagination. Or I just name it like that.
I only know creeps that
are still waiting to be uttered, worded.
Heard. Open to pages. I know I have
told about everything that makes the  
real crowd. Heart, lungs, bloods, urine, sweats,
libido, love for silent underpass, rains, deep mountains,
tongues of countryside, long dreams, dewdrops
frozen on my iris of rhododendron. My desperate even
soul. Even my absence that can look like a sudden
night spill missed by a river.
 
Except how they all can be yours, you  
 ​

​let’s accept it, mother

I am seeing you on a portrait
Watery bokeh fizzing in the backdrop
And I can feel your heart
spreading through the matted paper
 
beating surreptitiously,
lest the surrounding hear your life
that is present only for me to get all the
twilights of mind
acclimatized
 
it’s a learning, mother, worth your memory
 
I didn’t see my mother on her death bed
my sister told me it looked like a
huge porcelain with bone-white moons on Mondays
my sister, littler than ever, stood with
me, smiling, meditating at
your urn so you emerge again into the face of the
lamp,
shades,
shadows recast in a length
my sister said your heart wanted to go to a
place before you selected to
be continual,
 
burst mode
 
I try going so deep into my mother’s physical
oceans wrenched off into a snapshot –   
you’ve safely taught a heart to surprise me now, 
it’s a learning, mother, worth going with days
 
and nights out to no memories rebirthed for us
 
 
 ​

​In the mirrors

In the mirror I can hear it make wispy tunes,
enjoying mistakes of saying lips
my lips that I say at times lids
 
what opens and gulps the closed –
 
And airs that come and slow my
lies to the slopes of dopes
of life
my rimming green around an
original tree based in where birds
never die
 
in the mirror
 
where silver leaves dry in
hard glassy farmland curled to the
hubbub of an asphalt
water stuck in water
gust, stilled gust
no bigger framing skied –
so why no sickle pruning all the needs ever
planted in soil wetter than kisses?
 
I have twigs broken in
every mirror you always name love
Maybe love
 
in the trees,
fruits are the dreams of the eternity mine
 
 
  ​