1

Meghadutam

On ashadhasya prathama divase,

with the onset of monsoon,

I evoke Kalidasa to recall

the big data of my memories.

In the duta kavyas the clouds

become sky messengers between

two estranged lovers of legends,

sending data at lightning pace.

Tonight from Shantiniketan

I send on blockchain of clouds

multimodal information

to the land of revolutions.

Amidst the din of liberty

and equality and fraternity,

you receive encrypted input

in quantum cloud computing.

At night you do data mining

of clouds transcending barriers

to decipher the sentiments

and render the output as amour.

2

Dim-moon Midnight

Under the light-polluted moon

the AI gives me stats

of the number of human deaths

since the beginning of this earth.

On a night train to Bolpur

I message you, 109 billions

have died, 8 billions still alive.

From a cloudy afternoon

in Barcelona you reply that

this world is a graveyard then.

Whether from dry Bolpur

or from rainy Barca,

it is not difficult to see,

this world is of ghosts, if they be.

But, you say, ghosts don’t exist,

else all terrorists and murderers,

conquerors and warmongers,

will have had a tough time

to survive the haunting

by the souls of the dead innocents.

I agree and wish some ghosts

do exist on this earth –

ghosts of dead children or parents,

who may come to manifest

in a dim-moon midnight,

so that early in the morning

this earth will not have to

bear the tragic rain of grief.

Both of us ask the ghosts to rise.

Statistics say this world is yours.

3

Sorcery

When the Sorcerer left I could

not find anything I disliked

him for, so I wrote about him

as an exemplary father.

Death erases all the faults and

makes you long for them once again.

Until every loss is replaced

by a different love, a new one,

as a safety net to forget

the pain of loss, just like a tree

that mourns not for the flowers shed

but loves the growing buds instead.

4

Magpie Life

At night I tell someone details

of something secret in my life.

In the morning I think, should I

now be tense, nervous and regret.

The clouds sit heavy on the roads,

some rain seems imminent again.

Some birds on a pole though remain

so happy in love transient.

I’m oblivious to their mirth,

they’re oblivious to my pain.

Some drops start to fall on the ground;

the hoardings watch in fading paint.

One bird alone comes in the shade

reminding me what you had said.

Living with no remorse, regrets,

while keeping faith in the unknown.