Amputation

So this
is how it is.
My shadow limb...

I can still
feel my leg
that isn't there
(recently chopped
and dumped in the trash).

But my fingers
can't find the
spot where it itches...

Just a bleeding,
festering scab where
it used to be.

Anirban Kapil Baishya (17/10/2012)

Bullet Point Love

August company

• I 
• Love
• You

For the death of me.

Anirban Kapil Baishya (4/9/2012)

Nietzsche

You are the
darkness,
I am the
abyss...

Only there's
no one
staring into us.

I cry for

the dying horse

as I mourn

my brother in

the barbed wire coffin.

Anirban Kapil Baishya (18/8/2012)

Reply

To speak of touch, to speak

of lips,this memory of your's

in my fingertips.

Every synapse,nerve,each cell...

every vein pulsates

with this story to tell.

If life's just a mirror

of a dream and every melody

just the rhythm of a scream...

No telling which way the axe

will swing;

or where the prelude

becomes the sign

that ends everything.

Anirban Kapil Baishya (20/7/2012)

Monkey

Red monkey breath—
each  petal                                                       flutters
like paper in
the                                                                    gutters    in
the turbulent energy
of its                                                                                                   being.

Its love, a simian
logic (or the lack of it).

Swinging sinews
bind palm to branch,
to                                                                     root—each
                                                                        shoot
each leaf flutters too,
in the reckless dance
of its                                                                                                    fleeing.                

Ancient primal
primate love this,
that fills the
rhesus in my                                                    gut—
Red and throbbing
and vital
its song                                                             but,
just a note
short of                                                                                                freeing.

Anirban Kapil Baishya (14/5/2012)

Some things are better not named...

My star burns now,
joyous and throbbing!


My star burns,shining
its thousand sun light
into me.

Synapse to soul,
its sinews bind me
in newfound strength.

The light cradles me
like Lazarus'
resurrected breath.

Anirban Kapil Baishya (3/5/2012)

Shoe's Lament

I'm still size six, Its you

that's grown too big.

For a year I cradled you like

a child. Now my leather's

tattered, my sole's burnt wild.

Every step you took forward you see,

Was an inch closer to oblivion for me.

The print you and I had left on the sand,

painted the end, now close at hand.

Now sitting on this coffin like rack, my

mind cannot help wander back—

To the time when

I wasn't just another old shoe,

and meant the whole world to you.

Anirban Kapil Baishya (7/4/2012)

Time Travels (like an arrow through my flesh)

Have you been struck by time's

untimely arrow?
The irreversible reverse,shot
from its twisted bow?

The open wound is soft inside,
when it comes down to
the last grain of sand,
there is no loss
and no pride.

When the scales tip, what
is a wrinkle, and what is
a smile? I can only
wish, my clock would
wait a while.

Anirban Kapil Baishya (3/4/2012)

Sonnets are luck, one short's a fuck

Caught between

the beautifully

sad and the

sadly beautiful,

the chains of time—

hours, minutes,

seconds weave themselves

into a wrinkled tapestry

on the skin of my lifetime.

Nothing ever lasts

and time is like

ice in the sun--

Death is done.

Anirban Kapil Baishya(3/4/2012)

To all things beautiful...

To all things

beautiful,

how I wish

your shimmer

would freeze

and not flow away...

How I wish

the clock would

stop for us—

frozen. Still

in beauty

the colour

of my rage

would turn

a shade more mellow.

Yet the candle

burns and the

wax lies in a

pool of memories—

the shimmer flew by

just a flickering

black shadow, can

I have it back please?

Anirban Kapil Baishya(2/4/2012)

This is how we died

The sun came down

and hit the ground,

everything turned black

and now wer'e back—

back to how we died.

The moon rose up and

broke the cup,

spilling silver light

poisoned the night

and this is how we died.

The fire died out

and raised a doubt,

wer'e really alone,

no one on the other side

of the phone,

so that is how we died.

So the writers wrote

on a sinking boat,

their words washed away

like the memory of the day,

and that is how we died.

So that is how we died,

and no one cried,

because there was

no one left,to

mind the theft,

the theft of our lives—

because that is how

they all died.

And if you think

there's nothing worse,

than this morbidly

silly verse,

then your'e only

trying to hide,

because that is

how you died.

Anirban Kapil Baishya(2/4/2012)

Afterlife

Face,

lost in the

flurry of the

digital storm...

The giant

family, now

multiplies

in hyper swarm.

Yesterday, you

would be only a

faded photograph—

now we transcend

tombstone and

epitaph.

Tomorrow, your

flesh will no

longer be,

the soul encaged

shall be set free.

Yet though not

in any place,

afterlife shall be

the promise of

a digital trace.

Anirban Kapil Baishya (30/3/2012)

Innocence

What does it mean

to be nowhere?

Can you tell me,

where?

What does it mean,

to be nobody?

Would "me" be

different without one?

What does it mean?

Innocence—

When you cannot

make sense

out of it...

Anirban Kapil Baishya(27/3/2012)

HEAVEN

Heaven's just

a few blocks away

from where i live—

fenced in barbed wire,

its fruits are

too far away

to taste.

Inside, there's music,

the bricks that

build up the wall

of my dreams—

but for us here,

the sound of laughter

comes at the price

of our souls.

Here, in our

neighbourhood,

light means only

the harsh stare

of sixty watt bulbs—

evenings,lifetimes,

spent under its

blinding glare.

Bleak walls speak

through generations

of grime and dust—

their voices gone

hoarse from praying.

Down here—where i live,

Life means the place

everybody wants to leave.

East of us, where sunlight is—

music, friends, laughter—

heaven—the place

that never is.

Anirban Kapil Baishya(27/3/2012)

Arrival

Things have

changed,

the people are

strange—

they dont

recognize my

face anymore.

The grass was

green, like

nothing youv'e

seen—

now all I

have are

these pills

and a broken

floor.

Things have

changed,

these things are

strange...

the sole of my

soul awaits,

tattered alone...

it seems like

not too long ago,

your arrival was

a footstep

on cold

cobblestone.

Anirban Kapil Baishya (26/3/2012)

If only time meant soft clocks...

Infinite this,infernal

infallibility,inferential hell...

I might as well.

Paint the colour of time,

skeleton of the universe,

each day's a hearse.

Night,a funeral

for the dying day...

I have to say.

There is no love, no above;

Just an infinitely infinite

circle---infernal, sublime,

You and I, forever drowning

in the cruel tides of time.

Anirban Kapil Baishya (11/3/2012)

On Murder

A blade can blot,

out of eyes, the sun...

A murderer is just

God with a gun...

A pound of flesh,

a debt to release,

God is in the fangs

of the wolf to the geese.

A cruel divinity

surely this,

this urge to kill,

murder is but

the brother of

free will.

Anirban Kapil Baishya (24/2/2012)

To Night

Night, my armour,

my sweet, dark cloud—

salvation from

empty eyes, darkness

my shroud.

This body,

soul entrapped

in flesh, divine

deceit, you hide—

lingering somewhere

between, the barbed

divide.

Night, my lover,

my promise

of play—night,

deliverance from

the benumbing skin

of the day.

Anirban Kapil Baishya (21/2/2012)

Loco

"Canvas is dead",

i told me the

other day.

"No, an exorcism

is all it needs",

said he to me.

Anirban Kapil Baishya (11/2/2012)

Window

If time could be in a vial

stored, the dust of memories,

of lips adored...etched in

the mind, like a photograph,

the window without a wall

is only half...

The shoe must try, the elusive

foot to find...the

spectacle without the eye

is forever blind.

Memory of your lips, a photograph...

Window I, wall-less am half.

To you then,this silent serenade,

if love is satin, then parting a blade.

Anirban Kapil Baishya (5/2/2012)

i live in my flesh

Pry open the

ribcage,the

hinges to the

door of the heart, I

want to see what is

inside of me...

Landscape of my

soul, tethered in

bone and blood, an

idea made flesh.

The body is

just the mirror

for what i feel.

Anirban Kapil Baishya(22/1/2012)

i don't know what to name this poem

There is a spark,

'tis not a fire still.

The cup is dry yet,

waiting for wine to fill.

The seed's been sowed,

How is there love, otherwise?

The flower will bloom like,

The desire 'tween my thighs.

The spark can be a fire still,

Burning brighter than, the light of day—

The soul is frenzied but when, the heart

will rest, the legs will find their way.

The spark can be a fire still,

The spark will be a fire still...

Anirban Kapil Baishya(16/1/2012)

i live on Your wall

i live on

Your wall,

a hanging man

in the middle

of a tunnel eye,

a face, fragmented,

black to the core.

i live on Your wall,

a dying fish, or a

burst of colour

that the centre

cannot hold.

They live on

my wall, a

stream of photographs

on my sea of faces.

i live on my

wall, a peeping

man staring at me

when i sleep.

Anirban Kapil Baishya (15/1/2012)

To A Sick Brother

Skin and bone,

my flesh my own.

To you these words,

in sorrow this ode,

This tryst, betwixt

my brother, a genetic code.

Pills,thrills and

desires that kill.

Time, cruel law,

looking not seeing,

the darkness we've

let into the synapses

of our being.

Tears will dry, go

up in smoke...like

cigarettes that

do words choke.

Death will pay the

debt that's owed.

This tragedy my brother,

of our genetic code.

Anirban Kapil Baishya (9/1/2012)