ANEEK CHATTERJEE - POEMS

Aneek Chatterjee is an Indian poet, currently living in Kolkata. He has been published in literary magazines in the USA, UK, Canada, Australia, Mauritius, Philippines, Bangladesh and India. His poems have been included in eight anthologies also; -- all published from the USA. Chatterjee has a ph.d. in International Relations; and has been teaching IR and Political Science in leading Indian universities. 

​Manuscript

​This manuscript is dedicated
to all I loved, trampled  
& killed
 
This manuscript is decorated
with flowers
died long ago
 
I write, scribble
thousand manuscripts
everyday, every week, month
 
But these comeback
to a secret chamber, to be read & loved 
by the trampled & killed

​Soccer Match

​Soccer match ended
in torrential rains
I was fourteen, & the field
muddy, really muddy.
Mother searched me from
sidelines, and later
among known friends.
Mud covered me,  
my friends’
This was not me mother had
known. The ball slipped
away from the goal keeper’s hand
& I got a goal,
& ecstasy, she
hardly knew.
 
Fourteen, I learned goals 
were possible; dribble past
mother,
wait for slips 
& muddy fields.

​Dim Alleys

​Alleys are my favorites
dimly lighted 
Greater than dark
lesser than bright
 
I fear dark, the image of a 
white sheet father was lying 
covered with haunts me  in dark;
he had ulcer in stomach
 
I am afraid of brightness
Reminds me of a dance floor
where the leading lady
was knifed by someone she loved
 
I walk in dimly lit alleys
Where I stored my innocence
Where I liberated my insanity
Where I feel safe to laugh at you,  
myself

​Vacuum

​We finally agreed to a
rendezvous, but 
ubiquitous vacuum clapped
our presence.
We looked at each other
Brown leaves fell
from the tree I planted
in a misty morning.
East tried to shine, but West
was all cloudy
 
Hands were pasted to
our shoulders
Lest the scratches and pains
Remind they were
nothing but prickles

​Address

​We need a change of house
& furniture.
This house is old & decaying
 
Here in the pale wall
a photo of my father, 
serious looking, grazes. 
 
I didn’t look at the photo
for the last three decades.
His eyes are too prying  
 
In the book shelf there is a title,
‘How the battle was lost’. I read the book  
everyday in the last three decades 
 
Water drips in my bath,
drips in a rhythmic way.
I adore the music and sleep
 
Once there was a garden
in the backyard
It’s untidy and abandoned now
 
Last week I saw obstinate yellow flowers
in the bush, peeping through bright,
feel-good sunshine 
 
which abandoned me
during the last three 
decades, everyday.  
 
I need a change of place
I need a new address, &  
a new vision
 
that does not search
yellow flowers & a serious,
grazing father.