Friday, December 30, 2016

Confession 9 (Winter Night Blues)

Three winters have passed,
And the warmth of leaves
Being burnt to ashes,
Sound of children
Playing late in the evening,
Smell of the smoked meat
In the distant greens,
Takes me three winters back.
We trod different paths
That's diverged into
Worlds that know nothing
About the other.
It was the warmth of the leaves,
Helping me get back my senses
While taking away all I had;
Smell of leaves burnt to ashes.

©Chandrajit Mitra

Friday, October 21, 2016

Tell me, I'll fade away

Lets get drunk once again
And gaze into infinity, and
Explore the timelessness
Of what lies between us.
It's dark and black, and
You can see as far you want.
If you find a brighter star,
Tell me, I'l fade away, fallen.

©Chandrajit Mitra

Sunday, October 16, 2016

Star that bears your name

Look up and tell me
How many stars do you see
shimmering in the autumn sky?
Ask me if they bear a name,
Pointing out the brightest, I'd say,
'Pole Star there in the north'.
You point out at another,
Less brighter, less shining.
"And that?", "that bears your name".
A little pause in the conversation
And a smile to behold forever.
There are stars today too,
The brightest and the one less bright
And winds sweep the same autumn sky.
There're clouds forsaking the stars,
Too afraid to hide them behind.
You could count all those millions
But you ain't here by my side.
They all smile, they laugh, they shine,
They ask about you, O woman,
The first one to ask their names.

©Chandrajit Mitra

Wednesday, September 28, 2016

When we meet again

Years later shall we meet
In a cafe in a stranger part
Of this world.
I will read poetry to you, and
You will read poetry to me
While sipping coffee, and
Not knowingly
We will drink from each other.
We will talk about how
Poets pour life in words.
We will talk about men
And women who failed
In writing good verses, like us.
We will talk about men,
And women who couldn't weave
A better story.
And when the evening falls
We will walk till our roads divide.
It'll be time to depart again
And I would stand firm before you
Under the moonlit sky, and
You'll bid me a goodbye forever!

©Chandrajit Mitra

Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Confession 8 (I write about no one else)

I write about You
And no one else.
I write about your eyes.
I write about your lies.
I write about every
Single thing you despise.
I write about You
And no one else.
When the wind blows away
The pages of my notebook
I can feel your soft hair
On my face, as if You,
You were standing
Right beside me.
I write about you
And no one else.
I could feel your aroma
And the sound of those bangles
Never lie; You were there.
As if the pages on which I wrote
Poetry about you and your eyes
Would crumble down at your touch
And grab your finger tips
To greet the woman they never met;
The woman whose beauty
Their breasts are inked with.

©Chandrajit Mitra

Thursday, September 15, 2016

Confession 7 (You were like the rain)

You were like the rain - moist and blue,
Drizzling on hot gloomy sundays.
I would go out although I wouldn't have to
And smell you falling on the greens.
You were like the bird that flew
Across the spring morning,
Charmed with the songs of love
As if it is you I belonged to.
You were like the seven-coloured rainbow
Each of whose colours signifies a tale;
Tales with blessed ending,
Tales where it is you I belonged to.

©Chandrajit Mitra

Wednesday, September 7, 2016

For beloved

There lies heaven in the depth of your eyes
There you play music for my soul,
There's thirst in each of the pores on my skin
And the piper sings,
Beloved, where all my life have you been?
- Dancing, dancing in the woods
To the howling clouds,
Dancing across the brook.
The piper asks, Beloved, with whom?
- With the sky, the trees, the northern breeze,
They bit me into pieces, the cold wind;
They tore me apart and asked - beloved
Won't you dance with me?
I stood beneath the fall
Did the mountains call
- "Beloved sing, sing about the rain"!
The piper weeps, beloved, where have you been?
- Singing, singing blues, singing about you and me.

©Chandrajit Mitra

Wednesday, August 24, 2016


Across the barbed wire fence lies a land green
Where babies feed on their mother's breasts
And the farmers till,
Where young women are promised love
And there're men those women despise,
Where fragrance of the flowers carry
The same message of peace.
Where art your hatred
In hearts across the cease?
Just a barbed wire fence
And we call them enemies.

©Chandrajit Mitra

Confession 4

Nothing else that I could write
About your kohl draped eyes
And the smile that fluttered
On your lips;
They've left paw marks
On mine, years ago.
Nothing else remains
To earn or to lose,
For what was gone
Was gone for good;
And all that remained
Were your paw marks on me.

©Chandrajit Mitra

The Stars and You

I stared at the countless stars
And imagined a constellation
That sketched your face.
Your beautiful locks hung
With the archer's grace,
And brows were painted with
Beauty and pride.
Your majesty drizzled upon
Like light snowflakes
As a gift from the sky.
I stared at the countless stars
That stood miles away;

©Chandrajit Mitra

Saturday, August 13, 2016

Confession 6 (A lot about love)

A lot is left to scribble
About you and me,
A lot of words have left
With sorrows may be,
A lot of love were wasted
On the sandy shores of
Your eyelids.
A lot is left to pen down
About how much love
Were yet to be wasted;
Love, that turned into
Sad lines and popped up
On gloomy noons
In the summer sky.

©Chandrajit Mitra

Monday, March 28, 2016

Confession 5 (Don't get me wrong)

Don't get me wrong, but
While writing you a song,
I stepped on the lines
You asked me to avoid.
I clinged to the words,
To all the wrong chords,
I tried to erase
Every note at times.
And, today I drew a fish
That drowned in your dreams,
And still stayed alive.
Don't get me wrong, but
While waiting for so long
I admired the moon tonight.

©Chandrajit Mitra

Sunday, February 14, 2016

It's past three in the morning

It's past three in the morning
And the stale coffee marks
Have not spoken a single word
It's past three in the morning
And somewhere a youth
Is getting wasted
In lies and kisses.
It's past three in the morning
And in some time again
the giant clock would sing
For the lady he never knew.

©Chandrajit Mitra