Wrappings in Bespoke, by Sanjeev Sethi, stirs up a heady brew of thoughts and elegant language. 

The very first piece, "Snatch of Schooldays" relates memories of riding the bus to school as a young child. Our protagonist "snakes his way ... contiguous to the leadfoot" to find entertaining classmates as he boards. Written in elevated grown-up language, this piece sets a tone for the collection. The bus is a repurposed military vehicle not originally made to transport children, yet the protagonist finds his way aboard. 

In a similar way, other protagonists in this book find their way into and through spaces that seem not made for them, where they must figure out how to fit. The most notable of these is older age, a stage of life that challenges the poetic speakers on different levels. Several pieces, including "Junior" and "Practitioner" explore the self-perception of aging people and the tension between the joy of accumulated intellectual insight and concern over weakening physical bodies and waning energy. 

Thought, reading, writing, and academic study also loom large in Wrappings in Bespoke. Pieces such as "Movement" and "Selfdom" reflect this, and other pieces ("Avoirdupois" and "Navigation") speak of people connecting to each other (or not) in personal relationships through the language of study and research. Some pieces bring an almost mystical tone to the celebration of the intellect, such as "Leave-Taking," which references horology while discussing the fine social art of the good-bye. 

While rarefied in tone, Wrappings is not without humor. "In Twos" mentions corporate employees joking with each other about hearing their bosses "let it rip." Some of the older age pieces present the physicality of aging in direct and amusing ways. 

While some pieces will require careful re-readings, Sanjeev Sethi's newest collection is not unreadable and will be enjoyable for many people. 

Sanjeev Sethi’s Wrappings in Bespoke is available here from Hedgehog Press.

THE WITHERING LOTUS

Our friendship was unique, kind and loyal
everyone wanted to mimic us
Friends from our childhood
We've been wining and dining as brotherhood.

We would dart into a dungeon together, 
We would fight for freedom & success
We supported each other like rhizobia and legumes
To fix our lives to this stage

Climbing each stairs, clearing each steps; 
We would laugh, and lay each other's
problems, to be shared and solved.
But, how come? We're now dissolved
I thought our bond was bound to eternity
But, he's blinded with money and disloyalty grows

He is greedy for gathering money
And we strove to secure it until our success
But he's a snake spitting out white saliva  full of spites.

Our stunning friendship like the moon and stars
has dimmed and quenched
Our white lotus was withering and yellowing
Our pure friendship ended with stain.

Mother's birth/journey to grave

She died once more
After she was born. 

The husbands she married 
Were blind, since she gives joy. 

Her children spread;
Convolvulusly but not convolvulus. 

All her breath were shadows out. 
Not knowing she corrode in corral. 

Yet, her children were blind in proposals ;
On whom to titled a father... 

Since 70s, 80s, 90s, 20s, till date ;
All the cosmopolitans enjoyed her hood and goes away. 

May the spider-weavings of her children.
Fall out from their coronets. 
To rewind mother, back alive. 

Morning Dew

I sat down beside the tree

Talking to myself and and the surrounded bee.

Inside me, nothing shows but thy love

Turning and turning as the day rough.

Impossible possible, not my love for you,

Table for two is ours for true.

If your love is a prison, then I’m your criminal

Tag me around you and take me to anywhere tonal.

Is love not a beautiful thing?

Think of it, and tell me everything.

I am not ready for your preaches

tones that come by your inches.

Instantly, I wake up everyday,

Thy love comes to me as the morning dew and stay.

Oh father

oh father, oh father of the nation
You are the Bangobandhu, Shaikh Mojibur Rahman
From the heaven make the garden of Sonar Bangla
You are alive in the slogan 'Joy Bangla'.

You have given us a flag of green and red
We are still under your love and shade
We shall never forget your contribution 
You are the father of the nation.

You have given us wind of independence 
We see in our heart your courageous face
You are the source of our inspiration 
You are the hero of the heroes of the nation.
Oh father.oh father, oh father of the nation
You are the Bangobandhu, Shaikh Mojibur Rahman.

Ash

When the tips
No longer sprout 
Leaves
And those clinging on
Curve upwards
Almost drawing
A blanket over
Itself
Means
It is dying
It is easier to bring
Down
A dying tree
Than a dead one
Like transferring her to the hospice
After we had transported her 
From her home
To my bedroom
And then
From the hospice
To the mortuary
To be burned
Amongst tears
And scattered memories 
Of a life
Voiced
By someone else
In my room
Clearing
Magazines
With half finished
Crosswords
And curling pages
I regret throwing out


Pyre

Purity
Rages
Its swollen scent

Sucks
Oxygen inwards
Along with terror

A procession
Of curtains
And burning eyes



Terrarium

A melting vortex
In the shape of understanding
A blind tear

Virulent
Energy blast
Claw scrapes
A cistern 

Spat in
Capped
Shaken

The fizz forms
After it stagnates
Repugnant
Ooze

Bubbles
Joy flicker
In the slime of
Transmutation

Dare you touch the glass?





Plush

A flying
Slug
Torpedoes
Glitter
Trails
Through a
Black
Eco-system
Will it hit?
Will it miss?
Will it be lost?
Will it even be first?



Flirt

Pheromones
Tangle in the air
Ejaculate
A liquid rain
In colour form
Invisible
Tangible
Yet free of fingers
Eyes
Trace
Lines
Minds 
Wish
To caress
Inside a black hole
A claw
Waits
For reckless
Forms
To eviscerate
Or smother
With
Pathogens