Dibyajit Mukherjee

F(law)ed
I have many faces
I have many phases
I face many phases
I rage through the phases of my faces,
Only to re-phrase the phase of my face which is paraphrased
And phrased
In the faces of meta-phases.

The picture!
Is it me?
Was it me?
Sometimes, yet every time, I see myself.
Knowing the conclusion-
That this monstrosity could have been avoided
Knowing that economic perversity is the only reason
For this Mask of Anarchy!

Sometimes reflections can become parts of nostalgia.
Nostalgia- only a reflection of memories.
A mirror Image!
Without language!
A pre-lingual chaos!
And one day, all of it,
Will be at the bottom of the ocean.
The ocean, made up of tumultuous waves,
Of ebbs and flows,
Highs and Lows!
All very intricately connected by a weather which keeps withering away,
And while all this withers-
I shiver!
I stutter!
I mutter!
But I remember, that if this pleasure operated in the whims of repetition,
Then, You, I and all our ruptures
All our structures,
Would make up the fascination of our hallucinations.

LA CONDITION HUMAINE(Human Condition)

It was the day when the human condition shaped itself into a cloud…a dark cloud….in the densest of nights…
THE CLOUD then started to vomit out tattered bodies resembling ash from the volcanoes and they fell one by one onto the naked earth adorned with the peasant’s toiled labour….
the bodies lay…
some were on their seats…
they had boarded an aeroplane you see…
an aeroplane….
something which can make travelling easy…
it even has seat belts you see…
some of the bodies had knots of the hard elastic rope around their necks…
their tongues were out…
faces were black…
some resembled the idol..
the fallen idol of KALI…
as if the celestial order had decided its “BISHORJON”…
JOY MA..
JOY MA…
JOY MA KALI…..
tattered bodies observed by a shattered mind on the scattered plains from the destroyed plane….
by a tension…mere tension….
which gobbled up the lives of more than a hundred men and women and children with aspirations and hopes…
no wonder it’s a foul and deceitful thing…
no wonder Shakespeare started saying “nothing is but what is not”….
no wonder Vince came in the room and started breaking the empty bottles of Heineken and Budweiser…
no wonder Lear went stark mad and no wonder CHICO MARX found out the treasure of Casablanca…
What are you doing middle class Bengali??? WHY READ???when there is a sale going on??? A SALE!!! A SALE!!! ALL HAIL!!! THE SALE!!! 50% OFF!! 40% OFF!!! EVEN 70% OFF!!!RUSH RUSH!!!!LISTEN TO YOUR PUSH MESSAGES!!!RUSH TO BUY THE JAPANESE OILS TO MASSAGE ON YOUR IMPOTENT TREES!!!RUSH THERE!!!AS YOU AND I DEAR READER…….-WE HAVE BEEN PINNED UP ON THE WALLS OF FACEBOOK…AND WE HAVE FORGOT TO TALK….AS WE ARE NOW ALWAYS TWEETING….TWEET TWEET TWEET TWEET TWEET!!!!WHY NOT!!!THE WORLD REVOLVES LIKE ANCIENT WOMEN CARRYING POTS FROM VACANT LOTS!!!

Dibyajit Mukherjee is a research scholar and poet.261442_395751323838016_368700601_n