Line

Draw me a line 

and bind me  

inside. I might 

fly away.

My flesh moves, 

liquid beneath my 

skin. Stubborn, wild

and wanting…

To become,

To transcend

To disappear.

This skeleton 

is a shutter 

for my heart.

Anirban K. Baishya (12/12/2016)

Magma

Here, under the blue sky,
painted black with smoke,
The days know no mercy
and the nights are relentless.

Under the ground, the earth’s belly
smolders with anger, it’s magma bubbling
with the hatred of our bullets and bombs.

We wait. Counting eons,
counting skulls,as lava
snakes its way,to
the surface of our skins.

Eruption,
Oblivion…
Red Death.

Anirban K. Baishya (10/11/2016)

Jonah

How I wish,

How I wish,

Trapped inside 

the belly of a fish. 

How I wish for 

the grass and stars.

But trapped inside 

these entrails, my bars.

It’s scales rake inside 

of my skin and deep within.

The water knows

it is my grave, 

I have no soul…

left to save.

Feel

Would we have
Electric transfusions
If robots could
bleed?

Would souls
corrode or would
we concede?

Hearts have
boundaries
and circuits
don't feel…

But is it not
love, even if
made of steel?

Anirban Baishya (9/11/2016)

Age (Poems for friends-II)

The air is
heavy where
I breathe,
my lungs
twist under
its maddening
density...

My tongue
has turned to
stone, I'm
wrinkled
to the bone.

The whiteness
of the worm
invades my
intestines,
My blood
poisoned
by time.

Is there no way
to escape
this creeping
gravity?

Hunger (poems for friends-I)

The pangs of
love
It's dirty,
unrequited comings
And dirtier departures.

Oh when shall I
Finally lie still?
I could kill...

For a night of
Peaceful sleep,
Under a rainbow
colored sky.

Wilt

There are no 

more flowers 

left, in this city 

bending

under your

concrete heft.

No plastic

imitation can, 

distract from

your treacherous

plan.

A sea of corpses

is what I smell.

No lullabies

or lies you tell…

Can  abate my pain

or anxiety, 

your ballots, 

your pellets

all sold to some

master’s loyalty.

From behind

the wall of your guilt,

I can see an imprint

of its wilt.

Its bloom, in my

memory, just a shadow

still. Dark but its edges

red from the kill.

A garden crushed 

under this concrete

space…just a lotus

shaped scar now, 

in its place.

Anirban Kapil Baishya (17/7/2016)