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 Sun


The overcast sky
like your pale face
stares at the morning.
Dreams and desire
mingle in the diffused
light of the day.
Mired in melancholy
you stand at a
distance trying to
bathe in the morning
breeze. Images cross
your mind. You
feel shaken by the
dark thoughts that
resemble the gray
clouds. You wait
for the sun to
brighten up your
soul and fill
the blue sky
with light, white
and pure. You
wait for the purity
of the morning to
return and I
embrace you to
whisper in your ears.
 
                                                Betrayed


As I lay in your arms
thinking of the forgotten
dreams and the times
of joy we walked through
together not so long
ago, you think of
your lover. Betrayed,
I lie frigid as you
caress me in unmindful
desire. I feel like
throwing up, as images
of your mistress and
you devouring each
other cross my mind.
Tears moisten my
cheeks as you sink
inside me in false
gesture of love that
rots in your gut
and burns my flesh.
I want to pluck
you from the depths
of my body and
throw you in a
litter bin. I want to
shred you into pieces.  
 
 
                                     Trading of the Soul


The sleepless night
has been long.
He tossed on the
bed, tormented by
desire. She lay
asleep by his side
unaware of the rot
he was experiencing.
As night became darker
he became overpowered
by perverse longing.
His flesh burned.
 
His soul had left
him long ago when
he exchanged it
for power. Tonight
he lay powerless
wanting to die by
the side of the lady
he once loved.
 
His deepest secret fears
engulfed him. He
thought of a day
when he was stripped
of all worldly belongings.
His heart convulsed.
He lay motionless
enduring the pain.
 
The night he traded
his soul in company
of his lover, he remembered
his love for once.
but he brushed her
images aside. Tonight
writhing in pain, his
bowels twisting, he
wants to turn the clock.
But that is not to be.
 
Mefisto came and
went that night, and he
became a lump of flesh,
unaware of the decay
he had set within him.
He has lost his vigor.
He can no longer satisfy
the siren who accompanied
him that night when
he lost the protection
of the Lord. Tonight
satan will also desert him.
 
He pines for the lost purity
of his soul, desiring for
the dark night to end.
His days are also dark,
but at least he could
stare at the sun-filled sky
forgetting the cry
of his lost soul.
 
Nights are unbearable, with
his tormented soul
craving to be freed
from the slavery of a
heartless master, as
he suffers night after night
lying by the side
of the lady who is
unaware of the trade.
 
Souls are traded in
the darkest of nights
and he has nothing
to offer now as he
waits for his flesh
to perish and die.
 

                                          Union Within


Alone I contemplated
of the night you were
with me. Eternal light
invaded me as you
embraced me. I remembered
of a celestial union
light years away.
Ours is a different
union where two
entities become one.
Deep inside me I
felt your presence.
Loneliness disappeared. 
 
 
                                         New Poetry


​Red Krishnachuda lie
scattered by the road side.
 
She walks like a queen down
the road; her bare back
reflecting the morning sun.
 
The world was devastated
last night. Fierce wind
had tossed trees aside.
Hutments were razed
to the ground. Her home
withstood the fury.
 
She is going to fetch water
from the lost river
fed by the last night’s rain.
 
She walks alone with
pitcher on her head.
 
Her gait has a music,
the earthen flute
played by the wind.
 
The melody has engulfed
my soul giving rise
to new poetry.