PRANAB GHOSH - POEMS

​Pranab Ghosh is a journalist, blogger and poet. His poems are published in Tuck Magazine, Dissident Voice, Literature Studio Review and this magazine among others. He has co-authored a book of poems, Air & Age. He has also translated a book of Bengali short stories into English. The name of the book is Bougainvillea And Other Stories. He, at present, works from Hyderabad, India.

---

Waiting for the New Leaf

By Pranab Ghosh


A leaf is turned

Life stares at you…

A blank look, from

A blank space…

You do not know

Where to go … what

Is in store as you

Look back to find

An answer.



A leaf is turned and

There are images

Standing side by side…

Letters piling up to

Form sentences that

You cannot read…

Nor do you know what

The images are. You

Try to find meaning…

Meaning that will bring

Sense back and destroy

The uncertain times

You are in.



A leaf is turned and

You find yourself standing

In front of a void that

You want to fill…

Memories come and go…

New Year arrives with

No new destiny, as you

Languish from the bite

Of a jobless time looking

Ahead to a future that

Is all gloom with

No visible respite!



A leaf is turned;

There is cash crunch

In the market suffering

From  demonetization of

High value currencies.

Till the other day you

Had the surety of a

Month-end pay cheque

Now it is gone as if

A dream has come

To an end, but the

Night ahead is long.

You try to sleep to

Catch another dream,

But you toss and turn.

Sweat trickles down

Your forehead; what

If it is winter?



A leaf is turned,

And in front of you

Stand eager expectant

Faces that depend

On you. You had brought

Smile on those before…

You know not whether there

Would be smile tomorrow

As you wait for another leaf

To turn that will bring new

Light, new meaning and

Smile back to you and

Those dependant on you.



You wait for the New Leaf!



                                        Better Dead



Smoke spirals out of the

Two fingers…

The cigarette burns.

You puff at it … one

Two… three… four…

Five… there is no break;

As you exhale a thin

Layer forms and

Slowly withers into the

Night outside. It’s one o’clock.



The smoke disappears into

The air that embraces

A sky without a single

Star… without any light

That nights otherwise have.

You look at it for direction.

Is there cloud up there?

In the evening the sky was

Clear blue. Did you

Spot the moon then?



Why has darkness, darker

Than the night has descended

On earth? Why has the

Stars gone into a hiding? Why

Are there no street lights

To illuminate the horizon?

Far away beyond the horizon

Is there a hint of light?



The darkness perhaps is

Symbolic of the time

That we are in; of the

Time that has engulfed

Us, where people stand

In long queues to take

Out their money

From the banks and ATMs. A few

Of them do not return home

With money so desperately

Needed by their loved ones!

They die while standing in queue!

People file pass the dead;

They are more anxious to lay

their hands on their money

than helping the dying.

Could the dead not have lived

If help was at hand!



The dark night outside has no answer;

As you stare at the darkness outside,

You perhaps are aware that

You are alive but, you

Are too scared to

Acknowledge it. Perhaps

You were better off dead,

With no queues to stand in,

No loans to repay, no family

To feed and no urge to

Earn a living. Perhaps you

Were better dead!



Ode to Manhood

By Pranab Ghosh


He is a high school boy,

Stays in apartment block ‘o’

Bang opposite his block oh toy!

Lives a model of size ‘zero’.



She comes back home at 8 o’clock every evening

And removes the curtains of her windows with great yearning!

With her mind’s eye she spots

The boy, who from his darkened room with camera shots

The beauty down to her bare essentials

And she contemplates of rescuing from him all her testimonials!



The high school boy has gone crazy,

Because every evening she sends him into a tizzy

With her pleasant undress

That puts the boy under extreme duress!



Enough of hide and seek

Thinks the boy and takes a decision sleek

To confront his object of passion,

When every morning she goes for her gym session.



That morning was out of the world

When the boy met the lady up there

Right in front of the apartment block

With her scarf hiding her lock.



The boy could not find his words

The lady helped him by unlocking her hair

‘You are lovely,’ blurts the boy,

Oh! Thinks the lady this is a nice toy.



The game begins in all earnest

With the boy giving his dream

Every morning a chase in real jest

And one Wednesday after the gym

They together had ice-cream.



This is heaven! This is bliss!

Thinks the boy

When next Wednesday she gives him a kiss.

But how long would last his joy?



The lady wanted the boy to be prudent

Because she found in her company he grows diffident.



The crush is all very fine

If it teaches the boy to toe her line.

She is a model aspiring

Would to become a model be the boy’s yearning?



The boy has no answer

As he wants to be a photographer.

The model and the photographer can work together

And be with each other ever after!



I am too old for you o boy!

To me you are just a nice toy!

Together we could be for sure

But your romantic dreams

You will have to abjure



The boy gave it a thought

His passion for lens too great

For an alternative to be sought.

The crush comes to an end

With the lady getting a young man to tend!







                                  Workman’s Hero



Pain in the lower back…

Pain in the neck…

Pain in the back of the head…

Pain in the mind gone numb!



They say you are becoming aware,

They say you are getting illuminated.

I say it’s karma baby,

Not only of yours, but others’ too

That’s making you numb,

As evening sets in.



It’s soul-transfer time baby.

The dusk will dawn on you.

It’s time for some fun baby,

As you lay still,

Unable to move.



It’s Lenon or it’s Marx?

Tell me who you want to be?

I want to be a workman’s hero

That’s all I want to be!