Volume 4 Issue 2, June 2020
Special Issue for Indian Poetry

Baidurya Bose


Peace is a swan swimming
Inside mosquito net,
swerving through
dappledblue smog
of life-freshness.. 
Gong ! a second earth
Spinning in each of us
exchanging absent gifts
and we frolicking on
like bubble gums...
Peace is a swan swimming
in rubble-gums...



Are they really lifeless whom we call non-living?
I want to sleep
Get inside a bubble
And travel into
the time of our dreams;

Travel and touch 
the jelly of limitations,
get inside the breathing air of insides
and vibrate with eyes 
the algae of the dormants,
ravishing the human senses to ooze out some
green blood.

And one day we will have to pay revenues
for hinting at colonisations
so let it be undisturbed
but our mind cannot stop
And this conflict is forever
We can connect
We move forward

Someday we will find children in the playground
Playing with timeballs
Juggling the temporal
And the chiaroscuro of Melquiades
Foretelling an evolution
A strange confusion
And sprinkles of smiles and pleasure.


The holes in our blacks,
Holes entry-exit mixed , 
Holes transformed into rice-cauldrons
Among the weeds carpeted on the sides along Dumdum rail-track,
Holes leading to eternal nothingness, eternal uncertainty smelling of a blue life---Life, that is.
Holes where is spirituality (beggars cannot dream cannot dream, they need rice--- that spirituality)
Mixtures, repetitions, clashes , dialectics, isolation, Desain, zombies of dawns, Negation--- New birth;
Ever moving cycle.

Blackholes cannot be false 
They have all our mass
They are our One mind ---pieces of that One Cake 
Of Nothingness' birthday party...
Holes cannot be false
Without holes no grip no grip no grip no grip no grip...

My Modern Condition

I wonder at men's reactions 
At death news---six, nine, eleven--
Uncomfortable supine on the deck of
Fresh newspapers, smoking tea...
Are they sad? Feel? O-gape...
What to understand? Not even a sensible twitch!
Uttering mouthlessness in a
Sunless sun and Godless world
Staccato in their brain, legato in their lips (smooth as foul butter)
Fast machine movements
No air between fingers...no air in the eyes!

Must I play colours now that the season has arrived?
I can smell rotten rice scattered around coins and dice...
Must I dare say politics is personal veiled under democracy?
Ain't despots hiding within general apparently wise?

No air in the eyes or in the semen !

I wonder at men's reactions
I know this is going nowhere
Beyond newspaper reading
And milky tea
And desire for sex
Without love
Married women though like Dido.

These began in the early 20th century 
And people think that it has ended.


As I was playing with death
In front of the buses
A brown leaf fell
Piercing this stony-road, piercing silence, piercing my eyes and heart
And my clueless skin beating with lights
And this star within my navel
Not letting me sleep, not letting me think, 
these lousy bedbugs, these petty heads beyond the back
Trueness lost its gear, only works following my beliefs

But here they are not going or letting me go
Not letting to let me not think
Thinking is a bloody syringe to 
Pierce your birth
And your birth is that brown leaf
Falling falling piercing nothing to 
Make lousy dreams out of the leaf's
Abulia... Perhaps it is never born

Perhaps I am not yet born
This is not life, 
I have just begun to be processed.

Found Something

Inside the vast expanse,
Bottomless which has no out or in-sides
Beings as a sole being 
Have been floating since no beginning
Will float till no end...
The dark like God's milk from starry tears
Shines on my rice plate... I eat rice..
Each grain I'm 'bout to gulp takes me to the edge ,
Each time I gulp makes me fall as a floating bird
Into the timeless lighted dark with you all,
No borders, no contours, shapeless truths like hyenas
Just a floating sensation...
Will float till no end...



Stupid pupil, it has to take everything in.
- Sylvia Plath

Taken many things in, this flowing edge of my bedsheet, this smoke turning into misty mind-light.

I am lying down, these creases resemble war, a bottle of water weeps lifeless (lid locked); Shadow and light, light and life, Chiaroscuro of my eyes taught me the alphabets, realized, when the sky now is drinking a bowl half of milk. 

Taken things in. Into my heart-drains floated life names and that passel of bluebirds shown in yesterday's dream. I have taken into my mind

The blind horizon behind time's eyes and my eyes with our eyes playing deathgames of children. Oh, my childhood had not been that tasty biscuit to crunch. 

Eyes had seen dead bodies of blueblack oceans flirting with storms. Silence. Silent-ly

I am lying on my bed and thinking the things my eyes had taken in. Our eyes take in. We exist. We live. We don't die as our eyes take in.



About the poet

Baidurya Bose lives in the outskirts of the city of Kolkata. He has completed post-graduation in English Literature from the University of Calcutta. He loves reading, observing what is within and around and writing how he feels about it. Exploring the unknown has been a fascinating activity since the inception of his senses and poetry is his medium. Poets like Rilke, Rimbaud and Seamus Heaney have been a great influence on him. His poems are more inclined to what he calls strangeness. 
      Apart from poetry, he watches films and listens to music. Film directors like Andrei Tarkovsky, Ingmar Bergman, Kim ki-Duk and Ritwik Ghatak have helped him look at life from different perspectives.

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Published by The Alternative.