Dear Debayudh, A critique is best positioned on one’s timeline instead of the comment boxes that don’t do much justice to the writing(s) concerned. I have been utterly surprised to read the lines of your ‘Afternoons.’ Can you remember almost one year ago I sent in a text and inquired whether you write in English? I hope you can. Even in recent times as you submitted your verse for the upcoming anthology of Epitaphs I took no time to call you up, and shared my views over phone. I’m thankful that you followed my suggestion. “Afternoons” deserves much attention, honestly! And I take this opportunity to invite my readers on my page so they can read and cherish your rendition. The poem comprises of five stanzas / chapters and each of them elicits an afternoon of the poet’s sky. I will repeat ‘poet’s sky.’ This is your sky, Debayudh, in fact, an exclusive sky that mirrors your rainbow of expressions. I particularly loved the third chapter as you wrote, “…we consumed fire for once…” I’m visibly excited as you can assume, and I’m shivering more in excitement while I’m reading your lines again and again. Your pathos, your recollection of the beloved times do create a magical spell. This is all about consumption, right? You have told me the other day that you bought a copy of “My Glass Of Wine” that carries a poem titled “Consumption.” Noted critic Shernaz Wadia wrote in her critique: “The poet Kiriti was born from the agony of a painful relationship with a friend to whom he addressed his first poem in Bengali. While he says that with all its innumerable functions and facets poetry should also entertain, he believes that true poetry arises out of total consumption of one’s being. Consumption Consumed time/ like an infant consuming milk; inevitable/ it remains. Killed essence of the eternal soul; and consumed, Essentially I remain...” Once again, I have enjoyed your lines, especially your expressions! Keep up. Yours, Kiriti P.S. Dear readers, Here you are: Afternoons 1 Perhaps someday well drown in ourselves slowly, stably, perhaps like this well search for taverns in each others arms; I smell of your kisses, I breathe of your heart my lips pout for the sweat on your breasts like rain in Vijaynagar, drop by drop... 2 Beer cans remind me of things better than beer Fuzzier, stronger, bitter, and sweet Having been drunk in the toxic strains of isolation I wish I hallucinated you wild as the forests and deadlier than the moon 3 Teach those stars at Manali to twinkle in Delhi as well So that they carry the ocean of your eyes So that the salt, the waves, the foam, phosphorus growls wake me up at my pigeon hole on another odd night to assure me we consumed fire for once 4 Satan made me Satan Eve made me Eve Ive made myself your fag and allowed you to drag me till I unmasked myself forbidden and clandestine enough for the fruit. Now that if were exiled, now that if were cursed Let us warn God that not even his Son managed to separate the mortal man and his muse. 5 Women of pleasure, poesy of dusk either Ill miss classes or Ill miss them Someday your smoke rings will become my words Ill suck them, Ill caress them finally learn to write, And once its written, together well sweat.
Posted on: Wed, 30 Jul 2014 13:59:59 +0000
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