Bibaswan Maharana

Art by: Subash Chandra Maharana He had left the windows open that night. It wasn’t normal as the calendar read “12 December” in bold red, studded on a picture of a snow bed in some far off place he already had a Saudade for. Supine was he on his ages-old bed that squeaks every time he tries to find some comfort. Motionlessly, there he was lying, almost like a carcass but having a pulse still strolling in some vein of his body. The body named Akshit and that feeble pulse, named, Ziva. Turning around he spotted some stars through the gap his window provided him, a gap that allowed him to keep a track of a syzygy, hoping that would justify his love. Just then, that happened, suddenly, abruptly, and in a trice! Yeah, that epoch slid down the path from maybe a star he stalked each night and hugged him. A past, a name, a soul. In those dark memory lanes that his brain had, a street graced incandescence. That pulse got a bit stronger and with a throb reached his heart. He could no more find t...

  It never happened before. Its occurrence gave me many thoughts. Thoughts that worried me. Worry about losing what I loved the most. I had been trying to write a poem. A poem which was more of an elflock decorated in some corner of my messed up life, a corner which had him, a corner that sheltered him. Yes, the poem was for him. Annoyed and irritated on my inability to complete that poem, I made my self some tea and dragged my body to the balcony. My lips kissed the hot rim of the cup and then with that one sip which wasn't only a sip but satisfaction that hugged my soul. My eyebrows gently relaxed and uncurled. A psithurism gently brushed my tangled hairs and my eyes were still shut. This ethereal feeling just threw to a place, far off. I was so lost that I couldn't even sync my hand which had the cup with the lips that waited for yet another sip. Eyes opened, and opening them wasn't a choice but a necessity. My eyes then helped   my lips to reach the cup yet again. I t...

मेरी   नग्म आधी सोइ सी   मेरी   नग्म आधी   खोई सी ... रूठ   गयी   है आज मुझसे ... यूँ   जो   मेने   उसे   इतना डांटा ...   मगर   क्या   करता .. वो आधी रात को टहलने   निकलती   है   जहाँ   जाने   से   मना   किया   है .. जिंदगी   ने .. वो   उसी   कमरे   को   खोल   देती   है .. वहां   पड़े   टूटे   खिलौनो पर   से   धुल   हटा   कर   देर तक खेलती है .... हर   रोज   सजाने की कोशिस   की   है उसे ... . हर   बार   एक नया   रंग दे कर .... और रोज   वो कपडे गंदे   कर अति है ..   टुकड़ा टुकड़ा कर बिखरा है मेरे   पुराने   गीतों   का   एक शीशा ... अजीब   है .. . मेरी नग्म उसी मे जा सजती है ... .                       ...

Sometimes I pull my specs off  Just to punish my eyes.. They have learnt to recognize People by face and of course The heart  has issues with it..   I pacify my eyes somehow.. Without those scratched glasses Weak they turn... All they get in view are just  Colors mixed with  Some more colors..   I pull my specs off sometimes Just to see a blurred world And yes, far better than  the vision of real one..                                      -Bibaswan   This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License .

सफ़ेद हों अगर छाये बादल   तो सुहाना .....  काले बादल मंडलाये तो   मौसम ख़राब कहते हो .....  इंसानी फितरत छुपाये नहीं छुपती   रूह की चाहे कितने बाते करलो तुम   आज भी शुरू चेहरे से होते हो ..... This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License .

It was a serein and not a rain Covered, they slept Under the excuse of their inability To differentiate….. Selcouth psithurism gently brushed An elflock, which probably lacked an existence, or it might have been an irusu yet the scarlet of aurora was faded it was time for everything to be alive and liveliness was not there in the air.. the reward of me waking up amidst a sleeping world was nothing but oneirataxia a fernweh embraced me hiding in the mask of anthrophobia novaturient in my decisions vividly encouraged by akrasia.. I was then a wayfarer with coddiwomple Something somewhere, in some corner was waiting for me to give it the name of trouvaille   and also the reason which made me a noceur was waiting for me to whelve it …. I don’t know if they would Ever come searching for me Or if they would simply forget It was going to be uncertain, I had to absquatulate..   This work is licensed under a Creative Commons ...

तेज किरणों को घटा घेर आयी थी   मानो एक काली छाया फिर छायी थी   जननी के सीने मे दर्द किया चिंगारी थी   भाई के आसूं मे भड़की अग्नि थी   बाप के चेहरे पे छायी डर अनजानी थी   बेटी उसकी हाय लहू मे जो सनी थी   दरिंदे मिल उसके जिस्म मे लूट मचाई थी   हैवानो ने गर्भ उसकी चीर रखी थी   होठों से मधुर वाक्य बोला करती थी   शुष्क   पंखुड़ी सी कहीं सुखी पडी थी   कलाई मे जो उसकी कभी चुडिया सजनी थी   रौंध दी गई थी सुईओ से अब उनसे खून चढ़ानी थी   वो चीख रही थी चिल्ला रही थी   पूरी क्षमता से अपनी वो छटपटा रही थी   वो बहन मेरी खून किया आंसू रो रही थी   पीछे पड़े भेडियो के बच कर भाग रही थी   कोमल पाओ कि चमड़ी उसकी उधड रही थी   दर्द उसकी देख समाज ,  वो अपनी बेबसी मे डूबी थी ...  लिबास उसकी इत्र के महक से महकती थी   हैवानो के चारे के लिए टु...