There must be a rainbow somewhere

by Subhankar Das

It was a sunlit four o clock afternoon
and it started raining.
We have a saying in this part of the world
when it rains like this
it is time for the dog and the fox
to marry.
Before I could tell her that
she came near the window and said
there must be a rainbow up there somewhere.
But we failed to find it
from my lone downtown window.
So I came back to my coffee machine
to check if there is still some coffee left.
Wondering all the time about that marriage
of the dog and the fox.

Afternoon sex was good.
Now she has to go back home
to her family again.
And it’s getting late because
of this beautiful rain outside.

All Alone

by Subhankar Das

The man who sits all alone in a coffee shop
who says he is sitting all quiet?
He babbles away
with himself
with you
with me
ceaselessly.
He is the one who never stops to listen.

I try real hard
to sit in silence
but fail every time
start babbling without even knowing
without any reason.

I have to practice
to keep quiet and stop being a blabber.
I will try to draw a void
a circle
without a compass.
Though
it does not mean much.

the call

by Subhankar Das

After a bottle of whiskey
when this world becomes easy
and i can even sing a spring song to you
completely off key

but thank god you are busy
with your friends
and forgot all about the call
you promised

Flowers

by Subhankar Das

Those are our flowers
This is our bedroom
and this could have been a study.
But never mind
time is always more powerful than
a wish.

Thank you

by Subhankar Das

We do not have a Thanksgiving Day here
In this part of the world
And it was not the second Monday of October
Or the fourth Thursday of November
But still I thought I should say thank you
For the smell you kept locked in my cupboard
Thank you for the three beautiful mornings
Thank you for the waves that moved back to the sea
Thank you for the reality that never existed
Thank you for the dream where kisses were still alive
Thank you for the mad days, thank you, thank you.

King is dead

by Subhankar Das

God was living with me in disguise
and I did not realize it for
eleven long years
and when he created that void
and left I understood
that I did not deserve that love
that purity.

My King is dead. Simba the King.
‘Bring him back’ – she said
‘Put him back where he was’.
I tried you know, I tried
all those medicines, injections, mantras, vibrations,
fights were never enough.

‘But Alex is still around’ – he said.
Yes I know that
but this is more than fiction
this reality of life.

My King is dead.
‘I am sorry baby.
Hugs little boy’ – she said.
But I need kisses too
allover
and specially there
you know where.
She never replied back
but turned her face
on top of her long long neck.
Long necks always reminds me
of dicks.
And you must blame Man Ray’s
Necklace for that.

My new red silk lungi,
few candles and flowers and incense sticks
and an empty plastic water bottle
was all to accompany him in his last rites
and maybe a few drops of tears
and howls that managed to escape
from our civilized self’s.

He loved to play with an empty plastic bottle
for I never remembered
to buy him balls to play with
so he adjusted
and never complained.
My King.
My King is dead.
Simba the King.

Moments

by Subhankar Das

Sometimes her eyes are so flat
that I doubt whether she is
really with me.

I only hope when we kissed
I was there in that kiss at least.

The stars, the tomorrows, the smiles, the street lights
keeps on glowing
as I walk past them,
those moments of light
or darkness.

Wrong

by Subhankar Das

Sometimes you need to be wrong to save
your ass from bondage.
It is so boring to be always right
to be a letter of alphabet
whose character is always same for a thousand years.

Smoking

by Subhankar Das

It is so boring to brush your teeth
the moment you get up in the morning.
Better to smoke 2 cigarettes one after the other
at least you can hide the stink when you kiss.
You always smell of tobacco but I am used to it
(actually it is sexy).
I smile and press her lips wider.

Something Like Love

by Subhankar Das

There is an impossible moon hanging up in the sky
for no reason tonight.
The mosquitoes are on rampage, up from their
slumber making a game out of me
and I am too drunk to fight.

She left me saying sorry
The 5 years seems too long a time now
making their slow moves as if
a very old Salsa footage running
real slow with lots of light eating away those memories.
Figures smudged in delirious joy
soft trembling skin which are not afraid to sweat.
Longing hope and pain just like love.

She comes back after 2 days
saying she is missing me,
and goes away as quickly as she came.

Next time she comes back
we will be wild in bed once more.

Birds

by Subhankar Das

There is a saying that the crow is the vehicle of the God of Death. So falling at his feet in supplication, imploring him to eat this morsel of sacrificial food for my dead mother, so that I am allowed to eat. How long can you be on plain air o crow? If you do not like this milk and water have this morsel of buttered rice.

In cities inevitably there are no birds except crows. Crows do not live in forests; they love to stay near human habitation, near the world of humans and not in the non-world.

The dressed meat of the fowl has already gone straight to the kitchen or in the chicken roll. Thus the notion of being the most accepted bird. This meat is cheaper than the fish in the market. Where is the chance for it to fly to your roof top? The pleasure of being accepted.

Though I have seen a peacock in Mathura city that never misses a chance to dance if it gets to eat bread. It is not that it does not dance for the peahens on the sly on roof tops and parapets just like ordinary men full of sexual urges

Shopping Mall

by Subhankar Das

The overhead throng of starry starry lights
of the shopping mall are burning
through the layers of air-conditioned air,
and that boy goes on scrubbing with a cloth
the side glasses of the BMW
which was up for sale.
He was scrubbing clean
his wishes dreams anger opportunism
and the color of his failures.
And right on the opposite side
sitting in a coffee shop
I was unable to drink
this bleak black coffee long gone cold.

Getting drenched in this endless death shower
I felt there is nothing heroic
about being alive or to die.

Game

by Subhankar Das

you are playing a double game
she said
promising both of us the same moon.

i know I am soft
and crave for all these
lunar moments of eternity
as forever does not mean anything anymore.

i would love to play a triple game
instead,
one for my heart

it’s time I think.

A city all alone

by Subhankar Das

These days I do not feel like going out of my house anymore.
I am bored with all those walks.
These days I love to have a cup of coffee all alone.
This is another city where no one knows me.
I also do not know anyone here.

I was so surprised to see my father jerking off in his sleep.
Surprise was still alive at that point of time so long ago when in our
mother’s school
we were trained every day to grow up as a stupid man.

Growing up

by Subhankar Das

I hate to dream these days. I take those dreams out of my eyes and keep them beside my pillow and let them play with my pillow cover.

I close my eyes and I count those various blacks and try to hide in their darkness.

As I was walking in them I saw hand in hand coming out of them are my pillow cover and those dreams.

You will soon grow up love – I sighed.

Fire Water

by Subhankar Das

I am too sleepy my treasure. It is not that this fragile desire of the body is too tired. Just feeling sleepy in this tiresome living. You also must be sleeping now. You do not get up this early. When did you last get up to see the dawn breaking? I only learned it from you that if I want dawn I must stay awake the whole night. You know I also stayed up the whole night and at day break rushed out in the city. I always loved the cold morning air. Just like hunting the crows on the roof top days, when I was a kid. The wooden gun never made any sound or no bullets can be fired from it. So I tried making sounds like gun firing and aimed but not a single crow would die. ‘Why they are not dying father’? I asked. And my father gave that infallible reply – ‘They will go home and die’.