Parna  Banerjee







Brothel

No hustle and bustle
No morning rush
It's all quiet-
Late riser –yawning faces
After a long tired and dreadful night
Though it’s a regular routine
The paraffin wax have all melted
Why those morning sea gulls have not yet understood
The real meaning “to fly high”
Often bows down before the wide open window
Words tattooed over their thin feathers
This will fall due to dryness
Before composing any letters…..
The mermaids in the brothel have hidden
The synonym of death –behind the back pocket of jeans
Water hyacinth asked many questions – to sea gull
About the history and sins
With a sigh look, asked about-
The daily customers and the street lights
That always stays awake with the candle and match sticks
Along with melted wax.....story of night
He was concerned about the reason behind insomnia of dreams during daytime
Some stretched marks over the chin
Some grey hairs ….
Some wrinkled skin and the adobe moon
It’s the last oasis that the city is having-
Before the next print of heliographic on palm tree






Curtain raiser

A curtain raiser
Where syllable of poetry
Combines to form a synchronic chord
A fable of golden piper
Written over the stone framed oxy-toned statutes
So that not a single syllable could place there feelings
While playing the chord…..
It’s only the master ….who will decide which one to place where and how






Beautiful Lie

I have noticed a long queue
As beauty is written over her eye lids
Every earthy thing wants to loot a single part of her beauty
But stood silent –who would be the first

The bricks have good intimacy with the wild creepers
So he whispered to help him to steal her beauty
The sand and cement heard that
They too were addicted towards her beauty
They planned with the wind and the broken glass to kiss her first

The cloud and storm planned something else
They discussed with a new born caterpillar
They planned to touch her body as a beautiful butterfly

The frost and hail smell the controversy
They can’t resist themselves to touch the beauty
So they shook hands with fur –who will meet the hunger of human skin

Only the body language of moon and mother earth was something tremendously cool
They were busy gathering-
Cello tapes, pins, glue, a bed green grass, an iron chest, clouds, a notebook and few twinkling stars ….
All were confused …what they were arranging ….
But they were all busy in their own attempts…so no time to think about others

The Siberian bird took the flight with the iron chest
Casting their shadow and kissing the blue sky
They traveled with the iron chest breaking all the colours of rainbow ….

“The homestead Moon sometimes talks about the lovelock charming charisma
Of the beautiful eyes with a smile …and talks about writing an autobiography of dairy”






Anchorage

Love to write last few lines
An ignition of silent spark
Forced me- to be in touch with assorted mixture
Sole execution of commitment-

Glimpse of melancholic lips
Carefree endorsement
Falling shooting stars –stares at me
Wanna trigger my memories
But,
Iron curtain forced me to choke down
The sky which we have shared so far
Became unknown-at once

Parked off my memories
In an empty station
I put my wretchedness in a que of discomfort for evaluation
But my eyelids never fluttered in that windy night
Within the dissolving silhouette

Knocking tears and gleaming flesh
Expected me to kiss the emptiness with grace
In true sense,
I am jealous
Of those open shoulders
Wide open deep back curve of black gown
Long hairs
Deep brown eyes
Love the wet shadow
“She is the venom of serenity”

“Love to watch out all those abandoned lines
Which have forgotten to put the anchor
And could breed fire
Between body and soul”






Hunger


World wants to invade terrible hunger
Always tried to move close to eternity
Ignoring all the prefixes and suffixes
It tried to mend all the frantic stupidity
Shadows of death run close to limelight
Impressions of wet feet over the layers of sand dunes
A mobile unit of night is depressed
Roots and inhabitants wearing attire of dark blue sky
Moon is bedim
Stars are the loner acceptance
Meteors are raging with anger
Just few drops of life I want
Wanna taste the rain
The smell of moss
The salty taste of struggling dust
Darling Earth(world) –
You will conceive invaders
I promise
But the twilight will drag a blind mirror
Imprinting the images of past
Where expressions will be within blind folded letters
And,
The letter without address
Will get tossed again and again over the fire place


 




Copyright © Parna Banerjee 2013

 

Parna Banerjee Sarkar

“The voice inside my head
knows nothing of silence, 
Even as I struggle to suppress
all of my warped anxieties….in my words..

All my silence worked out as ink bended lines

Where my love lies….

I understand.
Change is forbidden.
And the forbiddances are hidden beneath…
Contradicted lies and false statements of being unique.
It’s really tough to be unique.

Still I love to be unique….

Once worked as a journalist ….with the background of journalism and mass communication

My passion for writing couldn’t stop me – after suffering from a rarest disease

Books and history act as magnets in my life ….my parents, hubby, kid and my love gives me strength to fight

Many of my writings were published in magazines, books in Bengali language  and English poetry published in an e-mag will shortly be published in other books.