All posts by ippljournal

HER EUPHORIC SOJOURN On a lovely note that autumn day, She ran after the butterflies , Chasing them in her wildest merry , In drunken stupor of ethereal bliss . Dabbing colours , Yes, all the brilliant ones Oh it must have caught, The passersby eye Who pronounced their maxims , That named all her…

A Prelude to Embracing Horizons As the fading yellow ran its course Through the stringent window panes And the waning afternoon warmth Touched upon the unwatered Adeniums, Probably for the first time in the day, It didn’t feel like approaching The tail-end of something… In that quiet afternoon’s reprieve, I caught the sun in its…

Come December So this is the winter of our discontent As leaves dry wither and fall As promises turn to poison As all is lip-service Flowers nurture serpents Carcinogenic cells spread silently Erotic intimate possessiveness Deadly December battles Eros and Thanatos For a longer life. Sanjukta Dasgupta Sanjukta Dasgupta is a renowned academic, author, poet…

Imagining Varanasi Dear Varanasi, Kashi, Avimukta, Anandavana, Rudravasa I don’t know how to name you. I don’t know which name is dear to you. I have never been to you. But I have endless questions to ask you. If you are Avimukta- will you let me live in your abode? If you are Kashi- will…

Windows I have always fancied a window, A large, square, wooden window. One through which the sparkly Moon can shine, On my not so spongy bed. One which holds the picture of a meandering train, One on which sits the not-so-grumpy owl. Oh, yes! The owl! It comes at night when the tree’s asleep, When…

Bhikhu – The Buffalo Boy I saw this boy aeons ago during my visit to a village … he was the youngest among his peers his slim waist wrapped in a thin towel from his body permeated the odour of pungent mustard oil ! sitting astride his buffalo his black angora skin basked in the…

Autophagous In the first summer we looked askance, eyeing the leisure spread like a feast. We ignored you, children. Winter was far away; summer had to be borne. And we suffered it with pleasures crafted out of iridescent screens, making you grow up, watching adults on a screen. In the second summer, we were bored,…

Ghats of Bengal Every ghat has a story to tell – When the reddish sun rises in the horizon the blushing bride tinkels her bangles the bereaved widow breaks them forever relationships are built and broken here . With arrival of the scorching yellow sun the ghat feels the pale shakled feet of men and…

Boulders Like a glass of fine wine intoxicated by its own essence – an ultraviolet god, you weave, un-weave, you reweave your thoughts like an apprentice Buddhist monk torn between your own thoughts and something more than that while searching for a warm hotel room before the night falls in a lonely mountain town and…

Route to my Home Gallons of rose syrup gleaming in the river God appeared as a vision of eternity I collapsed in agony of bliss fostered by the melancholy of my dreams Beauty of fuchsia appeared on the snow ground It looked like the ravishing melody of heaven Atmosphere changed and orchestrated in rhythm of…