MOINAK DUTTA - POEMS

Moinak is a published poet and fiction writer and a teacher. Got two literary and romantic fictions to my credit namely ' Online@offline' and ' In search of la radice'. His  third fiction is going to be published soon. He loves to travel and to do nature photography. Interested in creating video poetry or poetry films. His debut video poetry / poetry film ' I think I love twilight' already got accepted in Lift Off film festivals across the globe and got enlisted in some others too. He lives in Kolkata, India with his wife, son and a pet dog.
 
Email : [email protected]
 
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Just before going away ​

​Just before going away to catch that train
She turned back and flashed a smile,
The underground station entry was only few paces away,
People were rushing towards it,
There must have been a train downtown soon,
I was watching her going away,
As if I was watching the last scene of a celebrated movie-
There must have been a background score running,
Something bearing a sad tune, befitting her going away,
I was watching that spectacle,
Heart wrenching , poignant, musical,
Her hair tossing over her shoulders 
Like brown fur carelessly thrown,
Her lips moving slowly , might be they were
Saying in whispering tone her goodbye or prayers,
Was not she waving her hand, like friends do when they part
At the end of a long journey together?
That yellow lamp post that stood beside her 
Like a guard mute must be glowing all the more
To cast a definitive cinematic brilliance and luminosity
To her departure, her going away;

Just before going away
She left a strong moving picture
Slow, graphic, unputdownable one.

Pickle

​Our love is like that good old jar of pickle
We keep it like a cherished possession, 
A bit of it can  send shooting down 
Our system a flurry of sensations varied,
Hot, fiery, pungent, sweet, lemony, orangy, juicy,
And we keep yearning for more knowing too much 
Of that  can make our tongues insensitive to taste,
And a little can not we leave as our only savoured thing.

Our love is like that good old jar of pickle
And we keep it nice by placing that jar under warm sun.

​One night with Banhisikha

​My life revolved around water and fire,
Both, 
like most humans I guess,

Banhisikha , by sheer luck had both,
Her fiery self is like a comet,
Fast, blazing, tearing across the night sky 
A blue and white and silver shooting star,

Her watery existence is like a cascade,
A rippling one, dancing down the rocks and pebbles,
Like a charmed girl, sweet, restless and musical;

One night after she gave rise of fire 
In me, 
I turned a comet,
And with her travelled across the sky,
Through those spheres, troposphere, stratosphere and others;

Then with her I fell into the ocean, 
She cooled,
Me too.

​Spices and curries

​Like most Indians
I am fond of spices,
The smell of coriander, cardamom,turmeric, ginger, chilli flakes, 
Is what invigorates me, 

If there is no fragrance of spices
What is the use of an Indian home? 
If there are no curries 
What is the use of spices?