SATYAKI MUKHERJEE - POEMS

Satyaki Mukherjee, hailing from a village by the name of Ukhra in Eastern India, has been keen on writing since his childhood. His poems have appeared in Muse India -your space and Levure Literraire.

The Gods Themselves
​

​From the dusk, it begins -
      nasty persecution of strength,
choking freedom
       with clothes of shame.
 
It is the stoning of pride,
 the burning of a mother,
   drowning the bride in the dark,
     The horrid silencing...
 
When the midnight comes
 and the saints hold spectre -
   we all are moulded into goddesses.
That "Goddess India" !
  
But,
   we just spit on ourselves
and put on the hijab of masculinity.
 
 
Shouldn't we be riding the lions,
holding the sacrifical sword of Kaali,
burn fireless with the strain of Veena
 and paint revolution
 from the rice fields?
 
And finally when the sun rises -
we
be the Trinity themselves
 irrespective of what we are !
 

Fireworks
​

​Your priggish fire
conquers my sky ...
I'm helpless.
 
So pusillanimous
my heart becomes
when it sees your mayhem
and the spark,
followed by
an epic pyrotechnic .
 
So endlessly
treacherous it becomes,
when I want to burn...
Why ?
What inferno you hold !
 
O How do I
stop it?
How do I?
 

Can you Eat a Pineapple?
​

​A mother
with her irreligious tusk
lifted that stupendous faith.
What an adventurous
mother !
 
Fiery is her ears like
the pheonix wings and
her nose like the unseen Durga.
Her body like that Titan Atlas
but her eyes – same as my mother's ...
 
Millions of faith slept
in her belly
but she couldn't feed
the devotees in mask.
 
So, she lifted that heavy faith
with her motherly-irreligious tusk .
Then,
drank fire and slept in water...
 

Desires  ( Samsara)
​

​Maysynram to the Himalayan sing-song
shall be my Linnet's chirp.
Over my shoulder he shall rest,
and I wander barefoot.
Had I been a monk -
with the Buddhist feets
that seizes Mount Fuji,
I shall be lost
resonating their chants.
 
Then,
through the European plains
I shall preach with them
- the words never knew or will
I ever dare ...
 
Finally,
after the stroll ends,
I shall carve my shroud,
below the pious flakes of Antarctica.
 
And, the epitaph -
"Alas! I am nothing
but a bird
      biting his cage.

Suddenly
​

​That leaf -
 
     falling and falling.
 
 
The dust wind -
 
      goin' slow by me.
 
 
And,I'm
 
     running and running.
 
 
Maybe, its flowing  slow.
 
 
Down and down,
 
       the rain then comes,
 
       slowly kissing the earth. 
 
 
Beauty explodes
 
motionlessly.
 
 
But, I'm
 
       running and running.
 
Am I running at all ?