From the Terrace


from the terrace—
watching the rice plants
sway in the spring breeze

morning sun slants and spreads out
the wilderness rise up to me
tall upon the terrace
surrounded by the slovenly lowlands

in the distant highways
vehicles, like tin shacks, drift by
along the huddled houses
I hear a screech of hunger
on a transistor radio

I am of one mind
like the broken tree
in the middle of the rice fields

a black raven sits on the tree
then whirls in the spring breeze
soars up in the sky
and settles on the back of my mind

my eyes swam with vague terror
I hear incoherent scraps of talk
& see brief movements of hands
like the nervous raven’s wings

atop the wrought iron railing I stand
a vortex of thoughts sneers at me
like yesterday’s old, stinking clothes
I cast off my past, inhale the present air
and make the fatal plunge into the pool of future.

Twitter @bibek_writes

Psychotherapy Begins


“So?” Asked the shrink.

“So?” I asked back.

“Tell me about it.”

“Tell what?”

“How did it end? Say precisely.”

Curious plump little fella, this shrink
He was wearing a suit, a necktie, and
Black rimmed John Lennon glasses
He looked like a shelled egg
& had a shrill gaiety in his voice.

“I made a mistake.” I said reluctantly.

“Well, tell me about it!” He demanded.

“I can’t; people will laugh at me.”

“That’s OKAY. Let them laugh and be healthy.”

His face wrinkled
In a silent simper of derision.

Officious little prick of a shrink, I thought.

A deep sigh and I said —
What I had already repeated in
My mind for a hundredth time.

“Well, we were in a museum,
observing many exhibits of oriental arts
when I saw, in a secluded corner,
a portrait of Vātsyāyana above.
I asked her if she was wearing any panties.
And that was it.”

Twitter @bibek_writes

Standing at the Crossroads


you and I
standing at the crossroads
looking beyond.

walking beneath the azure sky
lost in submission
out in the woods.

deep in the vagrant waters
where we gaze upon
we find each other
like shimmering little stars

constantly changing our
reflections and emotions
like ripples themselves.

we live in each other’s
unabashedly alone
in this unaltered
& unalterable world,

strolling haggard on the roads
carefree us two vagabonds
drifting, floating, unsettling
but —

like an eyelid’s
soundless blink
some nocturnal blackness
moth-eaten and warm
from the starless heavens above

like a quiet throng of vulture voyeurs
the woods watch us
& a crossing breeze cuts a pause
all we hear is —
the bell of silence
upon the air of gloom
ding dong! 

Twitter @bibek_writes

This Beating Heart

Taken from

What would be my happiness
If this heart had no one to beat for?

My heart, now fervent and capable
Of earnest beating,
But, if it were cold . . .

And lay in the icy stillness of my tomb,
Would it not thaw your waking days?
And freeze your dreaming nights?

And would your heart still flutter
Like hummingbirds among the branches?
Would it still do a ballet in your chest
Just for the merriment of it?

If your heart would still beat
With the steady ticktocking of the clocks
In the wake of my heart’s demise

I wish my heart ran dry of blood
So in my veins,
Red life would never flow again.

Twitter @bibek_writes