Delhi and the four seasons were not well these two
years, the sonajharia trees are dying and all the auburn
flowers are no more serene along
You may wonder what went wrong, posed like a thinker
or even reclining like sculpture, you may cry your eyes
out: your crimson, crimson eyes like the sunsets we remember

We were lips tongue saline teeth, we were remembering Delhi
we were raining, we were the sonajharias, we were the laughter
evermore crying for the moon and reaching out to the stars like
our eclipsing eyes, mademoiselle, you are no more making love,
you no more wear your passion flowers, you
are no more your broken wings 

Prasenjit Maiti


Can it be said we had known our names once
we were known to grow together
to walk, to weep  and to be afraid
t o g e t h e r
Can it be said we were playing the fool
we were our eyes
we were the nights
the rocks and the winds
chocolates, cigarettes
the fragrance of fragrant wines together
Can it be said we were
twice together

Prasenjit Maiti


You are the evening threshold and you
are the smog and the hungry people
passing by
you are the haggling,
the snug pigeon hole and the likenesses
of all the gods above hanging
her tongue red and hanging loose
as if she were yourself, woman
as Günter Grass had once stayed
and wondered
the people streaming by the cobbled ways
that cannot be considered familiar
as if in a dream
for we are the men to be herded together
flooding your wilderness
offering nothing
for we are the powers that be 

Prasenjit Maiti


So far as the ragged crumpling
of sack dolls arrive
on the bald and bleak shores of tomorrows
calling out as in a desperate fancy
Hey Nonny Nonny Hey
as if everything would be resolved simply enough
resting upon the windows
and letting you peer down shelves
and crannies for spider art
let us for once this year
be closed in amity and dew bodies,
our nipples brushing and creating a symphony
out of ghastly cymbals
let our eyes rub off the mascara
of blue yesterdays and pale todays
magazines piled high upon shelves
that you do not reach with your tits
books not opened
at the sunrise spasms of your cleavages
let us for once forsake
the frosted years
and watch the flowering of body blossoms,
violets white and serene
cherry blossoms that are women tending graves
and devastation
and managing stately mourns
with simpers,
tenderly smiles

Prasenjit Maiti


You walked so viciously away
like a bad dream
like a sculpture
and a wreck of all our days
as I moaned like the sinking stars
that are white against your ample skies
you left me gaping like a goldfish
so dumb and alone
you made me go sand blind
in my storms and young,
exploring ways

Prasenjit Maiti

Poems from Roopsa & I by Prasenjit Maiti