Mirage Your voice rests upon my palm like snow on a sunny afternoon’s window. Something; you say, something still feels quite right – just about right. And then the shield is lifted off both our eyes. Maybe we’re still looking for complete truths. The pure
She had once flown, clutching her desk and drawers, And as the clouds whizzed past. She caught a glimpse of God But the screams shut Him out She had once sat on a rainbow, with its colours melting All muddled up, until it was night.
Jibanananda Das (1899 – 1954) is the foremost name among poets who have written in Bengali since post-Tagore undivided Bengal. The harbinger of modernism in Bengali poetry, Das was an eclectic author who dexterously dabbled in poetry as well as fiction. In spite of being
Insomnia It’s terrible I lie here wondering why I’m awake, drunk again The ceiling was screaming at me My teeth grind against each other, back and forth back and forth… The jaw clenches hard and moves slowly, steadily against the top row of teeth My