tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13234234892268638002024-03-21T07:54:52.720+05:30Where heart melts into words.-SOBHAN PRAMANIK'S BLOG-Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.comBlogger112125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-67335263854194045472020-03-08T19:04:00.005+05:302020-03-08T19:04:58.812+05:30Film Review | GUMNAAMI: Whose name India doesn’t want you to know<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;">If Netaji’s disappearance were an uncertain cricket pitch, </span><a class="at ey fw fx fy fz" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gumnaami" rel="noopener nofollow" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: white; background-image: url("data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px); background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: 1px 1px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21px; http: //www.w3.org/2000/svg\"><line x1=\"0\" y1=\"0\" x2=\"1\" y2=\"1\" stroke=\"rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.84)\" /></svg>"); letter-spacing: -0.084px; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><em class="ga" style="box-sizing: inherit;">Gumnaami</em></a><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;"> plays out as a skilled batter standing on middle stump guard. It deals the yorker of </span><em class="ga" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.84); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;">‘plane crash in Taiwan’</em><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;"> with a feisty defence; elegantly holds up the willow to </span><em class="ga" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.84); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;">‘Bose was in Russia’</em><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;"> outswinger; and scores off the </span><em class="ga" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.84); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;">‘Gumnaami Baba’</em><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;"> narrative in a fine display of skill, composure and quest to chart a memorable, history-defying knock that </span><a class="at ey fw fx fy fz" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Srijit_Mukherji" rel="noopener nofollow" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: white; background-image: url("data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px); background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: 1px 1px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21px; http: //www.w3.org/2000/svg\"><line x1=\"0\" y1=\"0\" x2=\"1\" y2=\"1\" stroke=\"rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.84)\" /></svg>"); letter-spacing: -0.084px; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Srijit Mukherji’s</a><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;"> latest directorial has turned out to be.<br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;">For a subject whose deduced fate can bring down castles of history erected over 7 decades of possible connivance, lead nations to anarchy overnight, tumble present world leaders from their exalted pedestals of nobility and tarnish the honour of glistening memorials in the Capital city with obsequious guards obediently changing flowers 3 times a day and respectful citizens paying their regards beneath the eternal flame — it was imperative to dissect </span><a class="at ey fw fx fy fz" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Subhas_Chandra_Bose" rel="noopener nofollow" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: white; background-image: url("data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px); background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: 1px 1px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21px; http: //www.w3.org/2000/svg\"><line x1=\"0\" y1=\"0\" x2=\"1\" y2=\"1\" stroke=\"rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.84)\" /></svg>"); letter-spacing: -0.084px; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose’s</a><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;"> alleged death with the knife of neutrality, and for that matter, Gumnaami fares well in most parts.<br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;">Based on the book </span><a class="at ey fw fx fy fz" href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/45167571-conundrum" rel="noopener nofollow" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: white; background-image: url("data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px); background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: 1px 1px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21px; http: //www.w3.org/2000/svg\"><line x1=\"0\" y1=\"0\" x2=\"1\" y2=\"1\" stroke=\"rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.84)\" /></svg>"); letter-spacing: -0.084px; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">CONUNDRUM</a><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;"> authored by Anuj Dhar and Chandrachur Ghose, the film opens to a monochromatic frame — a classic cinematic tribute to the bygone era — as a sure-footed Netaji (played by </span><a class="at ey fw fx fy fz" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prosenjit_Chatterjee" rel="noopener nofollow" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: white; background-image: url("data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px); background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: 1px 1px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21px; http: //www.w3.org/2000/svg\"><line x1=\"0\" y1=\"0\" x2=\"1\" y2=\"1\" stroke=\"rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.84)\" /></svg>"); letter-spacing: -0.084px; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Prosenjit Chatterjee</a><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;">) is shown ascending a flight of stairs to join pensive-looking Gandhi and Nehru, who sat upright on thick mattresses across the floor, discussing the possibilities of Indian sepoys fighting for Imperial causes. To this, Netaji expresses firm dissent and in a quick exchange of crisply written dialogues, Srijit establishes Netaji’s official departure from the Congress party. An intricately designed credit roll then maps Netaji’s famous escape from British house arrest in Calcutta, serenaded by Sonu Nigam’s mellifluous rendition of ‘Subhas Ji’ in the background, one of the film’s most pivotal tracks. The narrative then cuts to the present as the celluloid return to colours with Chandrachur Dhar (played by </span><a class="at ey fw fx fy fz" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anirban_Bhattacharya" rel="noopener nofollow" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: white; background-image: url("data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px); background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: 1px 1px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21px; http: //www.w3.org/2000/svg\"><line x1=\"0\" y1=\"0\" x2=\"1\" y2=\"1\" stroke=\"rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.84)\" /></svg>"); letter-spacing: -0.084px; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Anirban Bhattacharya</a><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;">) sulking over team India’s drubbing in the 2003 WC final under the tutelage of Sourav Ganguly. In a rather brief scene that seems like comic relief, Srijit masterfully highlights Bengal’s obsessive deference towards its heroes — Sourav Ganguly or Subhas Chandra Bose — through all their triumphs and tragedies.<br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;">Chandrachur is a diligent journalist working for a reputed daily and has been tasked with the humongous job of preparing the most comprehensive story in the history of Indian media on the development of </span><a class="at ey fw fx fy fz" href="https://mha.gov.in/sites/default/files/jmci-I-eng_3.pdf" rel="noopener nofollow" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: white; background-image: url("data:image/svg+xml; background-position: 0px calc(1em + 1px); background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: 1px 1px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21px; http: //www.w3.org/2000/svg\"><line x1=\"0\" y1=\"0\" x2=\"1\" y2=\"1\" stroke=\"rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.84)\" /></svg>"); letter-spacing: -0.084px; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Mukherjee Commission’s</a><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;"> enquiry to address the mysterious disappearance of India’s one of the iconic freedom fighter, Subhas Chandra Bose. And with this begins Chandrachur’s camaraderie with the legend of Bose. He submerges himself in extensive research, reading anything and everything available under the sun about this great man. He fetches the rarest of books from national archives and continues to dive deeper into the winding maze of Netaji’s purported death. Picturised as a recluse, Chandrachur renounces life to wind up in his study amidst towering stacks of books with coils of cigarette smoke forever lingering in his curious eyes.<br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;">However, his piquing interest and the conviction to resolve several decades of national mystery is admonished by his wife, Ronita (played by Tansuree Chakraborty). One night as Chandrachur lay wondering in bed, his restless eyes peering through the murky bedroom light in search of elusive answers, Ronita quietly snuggles up to him. Chandrachur fails at a warm reciprocation, instead blurting out names from history in delirium, that sees a dejected Ronita stride out of the bedroom — and with it, the first of many cracks in Chandrachur’s marital life starts to surface. In yet another emotionally stirring scene, the character’s noble pursuit is deftly established with Chandrachur visualizing himself in round-framed-Netaji-glasses at a New Market kiosk selling fancy goggles. Those unwavering eyes in the tiny mirror as he held his own gaze had a determined voice, perhaps louder than the rapturous din of Dharmatala, making it clear that no matter the sacrifices, the losses, the roadblocks, he cannot be held from travelling against time to that fateful day in Taiwan airport, past the lapping flames of the burning aircraft, that has for over 70 years kept a secret to prevent history from being mutilated. It was, in fact, the character’s paranoia as he further spirals into search, seclusion and addiction that felt rather banal. His hallucinations, conversing with Netaji’s spectre at the porch, as the official declassification is awaited anxiously, was a cliché that could well have been avoided. Chandrachur gave up his job and blithely walked out of a happy marriage to pursue the great man’s truth — the character’s commitment to the cause needed no further validation.<br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;">On the other hand, the film continues to examine Netaji’s clandestine military struggle to launch a powerful armed rebellion against the British in varying theories leading to his alleged death with Chandrachur putting forth his research before the esteemed tribunal constituted to unravel this epic mystery. For a film that carries on its shoulders the onerous weight of time, the widespread reputation of a world hero and the prevailing uncertainty of the very premise it’s based on — it needed astute direction to not go wayward. And Srijit Mukherjee with an incisive screenplay and aesthetically accurate cinematography answers the veritable question of </span><em class="ga" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.84); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;">‘What happened to Netaji?’</em><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;"> with even more articulate questions that border on possible answers.<br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;">Sometimes when the home is too far and the sky too murky, all it takes is a glint of light at the horizon to guide the voyagers to their destination. Gumnaami is that speck of light in a mist-laden world that Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose’s life is. And everyone who wades into the tides seeking truth, everyone with the slightest regard for Netaji, everyone who can endure the upheaval of history falling on its face, simply cannot miss the hope this light peddles along. As Netaji in his khaki uniform walks past the INA basecamp through a corridor of salutations and lifts his head at the Azad Hind Fauj flag fluttering against a plaintive sky — the auditorium stumbles to its feet in the crooning darkness, standing ramrod straight till the last word of the credit roll had drifted up and exit gates slammed open. There, in the sacred silence of realization, and not in the questions raised in the film, Gumnaami succeeds in its pursuit.<br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;">74 years have gone by since the news of Netaji’s alleged death in an air crash in Tokyo hit the headlines, driving the world into perpetual disbelief. 3 extensive probes have been launched so far with the intention of purging all mysteries concerning his death, with the last commission eventually acceding that Netaji did not die of an air crash. Now, if for once the findings of the Mukherjee Commission are believed to be true — of Bose feigning his own death to escape into Russia; his renouncement of nationalist duties as India, driven by Gandhian principles, sought freedom at the irredeemable cost of partition; and his eventual return, as testified by eye-witnesses and drafted in the archives of official probes, as an ascetic in Faizabad (UP) under the sobriquet of Gumnaami Baba — all the mist surrounding Netaji’s alleged disappearance starts to dissipate. Like the missing pieces of a jigsaw coming together. Like the final showdown of long-lasting battle. Like receiving the confirmation letter of one’s dream job. Like a lover’s long-awaited phone call coming through. Like the son finally coming home to a mother’s empty arms.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;">Filed evidence uphold the Commission’s inferences. Eye witness accounts testify the mystic hermit’s uncanny resemblance to Bose as no coincidence. Scrutiny of documents recovered from Gumnaami Baba’s belongings post his demise reveals his involvement in the syndicate of Indian politics. Lastly, there’s the truth itself, like a Phoenix in ashes, with Netaji’s mortal remains at Tokyo’s Renkō-ji temple awaiting to be tested in a First World country laboratory to disperse for good the fog of misrepresentations with the scorching light of truth. But do we have a Government that is ready to declassify the Commission’s probe, given the fact that it could alter the very facet of India’s valorous history of assailing Colonial imperialism? Are we even ready to withstand the consequences of what could result in we questioning ourselves on the deserving candidate to be bestowed with the epithet of ‘Father of the Nation’? Are we remotely prepared for the second term of demonetisation — not so much to reclaim black money this time around, but to reprint our currencies with a new bespectacled face? Are we not responsible to reinstate the voice of a liberator, albeit posthumously, whose efforts in constituting the INA at once weakened the subservient Indian Army’s loyalty towards the Empire obligating Lord Clement Attlee to withdraw colonial fangs from India’s enraged heart? Are we, as Indians, ready to relearn our rich history with new heroes at the helm of things?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;">It’s in the answers to these questions that Netaji’s fate lies, as much as it is at the behest of our Government’s approval of the extensive research findings to lend our national hero a just and dignified closure.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;">But by now, our hearts know most of the answers — and the day a billion hearts beat with the same belief, it wouldn’t matter if Netaji’s mysterious disappearance is officially unravelled. Perhaps Subhas Chandra Bose, in juxtaposition to what Lt. James Gordon said in The Dark Knight, is the hero we need but do not deserve.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.84); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;"><br /></span></div>
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Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-84732913908615352502018-07-08T13:20:00.000+05:302018-07-08T13:20:13.080+05:30Schizophrenic Sky<img class="post-main-img" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/8/7108/7589875204_cb5f82dbac_b.jpg" >
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spears of sunshine come<br />stabbing through wayward<br />branches. and the wind is cold<br />in my face, almost erratic.<br />it shakes massive<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"><br />jackfruits to the ground. my<br />walkway is pulp-splashed,<br />and this lazy drizzle does little<br />to wash it clean. sprinkling<br />soundlessly like fine sand -<br />dusk-colored and oozing<br />out of this schizophrenic sky;<br />touching everything, drenching nothing.</span></div>
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my garden is a messy emulsion.<br />enough earth but too little rain.<br />enough water but no real mud.<br />i am not looking forward to a rainbow,<br />for it will be dark before it breaks.<br />an electrocuted crow falls to the<br />pavement; feathers ruffled and claws<br />turned inwards in death. it’s one<br />distorted rainy evening, i wonder.<br />all i am hopeful is about the petrichor.<br />but the drizzle hangs on grass blades<br />like evanescent mist, too light on the<br />gleaming green spine to go down to<br />earth and break the fragrance free.<br />is this even real? i frown.</div>
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then<br />i remember your naked body against mine.<br />damp. just out of shower.<br />the sensuous odour of your floral bodywash<br />permeate through sheets<br />to become my breath.<br />i had felt ‘us’ on my fingertips<br />treading down the knobs<br />of your slender back; on my lips<br />in salty memories of mouthful kisses.</div>
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just so you know,<br />i sleep alone in that bed now.<br />becoming increasingly privy to rains<br />that fall without filling.</div>
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- <a href="http://www.facebook.com/sobhan.pramanik" target="_blank">Sobhan</a></div>
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Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-43795877098866434522018-07-08T13:11:00.001+05:302018-07-08T13:11:25.304+05:30The Wait & The Welcome<img class="post-main-img" src="https://i2-prod.mirror.co.uk/incoming/article5717313.ece/ALTERNATES/s615/PAY-squirrel-under-an-unbrella.jpg" >
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last summer<br />we sowed lemon seeds<br />in a plastic pot kept on the balcony rails.<br />it had been empty for a while,<br />and pigeons idled<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"><br />on its edges, pecking<br />at the sun-hardened soil.<br />twigs of grass broke out<br />of the soil and perished<br />on its own. mostly torn away<br />by pigeons and squirrels to<br />cushion their modest nests.</span></div>
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for months after, with dots of green<br />hovering low over moist soil, we kept<br />it covered with a wicker basket<br />lest it became nests in no time.<br />and shooed all birds and squirrels<br />from the resting shades of our balcony<br />through four quarters of a day.</div>
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it's close to a year now, and the<br />plant has grown to a couple feet.<br />it has climbed past the balcony rails,<br />as a soft green wing hangs out<br />from our fourth-floor apartment.<br />its leaves big with prominent veins,<br />and stems, mud-laced, tad too thick<br />for pigeons to be beaked home,<br />to be chewed by squirrels.</div>
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now a steady rain continues to fall outside<br />and i watch the tendril bounce in the torrent.<br />the leaves washed, look like the delicate green<br />of its birthing days. a lone pigeon leaps up<br />from the ledge. its feathers damp, and perches on the pot<br />to drink from the puddle at the plant’s root.<br />the squirrel too is back, and is waiting at the rails.<br />it lifts its dark-buttoned eyes to my<br />unhurried face and waits. i wait too.<br />almost holding my breath.<br />then it slowly scurries over to the pot<br />and drinks the rain.</div>
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<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
- <a href="http://www.facebook.com/sobhan.pramanik" target="_blank">Sobhan</a></div>
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Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-28792581567864155212018-07-08T13:03:00.000+05:302018-07-08T13:03:10.290+05:30If rains are lies...<img class="post-main-img" src="https://assets.saatchiart.com/saatchi/800514/art/2735980/1805873-PFZIBTAQ-32.jpg" >
<img class="post-back-img" src="http://s.newsweek.com/sites/www.newsweek.com/files/styles/feature/public/2013/07/24/Laster-cu0527-art-main-tease.jpg" >
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">my weather is</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">not in the radiance</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">of the sky, but in the</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">colors of my being.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">what's daybreak</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br />but my fond recollection<br />of your laughter, a silver<br />brook my poems sailed<br />to become songs;<br />the mellow nights<br />- our secret hideout,<br />where in the shadows<br />your ravishing spirit<br />milks my longings into<br />the tired blue of a crestfallen<br />sea. and the great rains, the<br />devouring downpour<br />is when the old postman<br />slips your letters under<br />the doormat when i'm not home.<br />you write to me asking<br />if the summer is<br />bearable at home?<br />and i look out into<br />the obscure light of rains,<br />and tell you that not a single<br />cloud has stopped overhead<br />since we hung our boots.</span><br />
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<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">- <a href="http://www.facebook.com/sobhan.pramanik" target="_blank">Sobhan</a></span></div>
Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-32406083554022029472018-07-08T12:59:00.000+05:302018-07-08T12:59:30.123+05:30Living Again<img class="post-main-img" src="http://iliketowastemytime.com/sites/default/files/drug-users-composite-roman-sakovish-01.jpg" >
<img class="post-back-img" src="http://www.survivorsartfoundation.org/gallery/KaCl1.jpg" >
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this city is stopped<br />and started by windows,<br />sweetheart.<br />stopped when shut<br />against the dust<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"><br />and destitution of lives<br />sweating at the hearts<br />for the night to settle upon dew.<br />and started when pushed open<br />at dawn to drop breadcrumbs<br />for pigeons, and water the pallid hibiscus.</span></div>
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i’ve been your beckoning<br />both as the evening din and<br />morning's gentleness.<br />but it’s been a while<br />you’ve been out of bed.<br />drifting between shots,<br />syringes and men every new<br />hour. that's not the way, trust me.<br />you can choose not to fuck<br />and hold my hand. and we<br />can open doors to a new place<br />where there’ll be no gravity,<br />and you’ll feel no weight of<br />your scars. we’ll float. near<br />and far. in thoughts.<br />of forgetting<br />and loving anew.</div>
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there's always a way.<br />but this is not it.<br />not all pleasures can<br />be touched through<br />writhing naked bodies.<br />open your eyes. there's<br />a morning in the way i’ve<br />been wanting you for long.<br />and now it’s here at the<br />end of all your drunk nights.<br />for you.<br />to live all over again.</div>
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<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
- <a href="http://www.facebook.com/sobhan.pramanik" target="_blank">Sobhan</a></div>
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Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-3399980631170880222018-07-08T12:49:00.001+05:302018-07-08T13:21:12.430+05:30White Lies of Wronged Nights<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<img class="post-main-img" src="https://canadianinvestigations.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/INFIDELITY-SEPARATION-AND-DIVORCE-IN-CANADA1.jpg" /><br />
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i know you didn't<br />
sleep with him. but<br />
neither does it take<br />
a hammer to break a<br />
heart. and i have died<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"><br />a hundred deaths in the<br />thousand little things<br />you did around it.</span></div>
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there were days when<br />
the summer got the better<br />
of me, and i had dozed<br />
off without a good night.<br />
but i did get back to you<br />
late, close to daybreak,<br />
only to know that you'd<br />
been awake - in a candid<br />
conversation with a dear friend,<br />
and i admit, i felt terribly<br />
substituted. i remember<br />
leaving at your place my<br />
favorite novel on your birthday,<br />
and i had called you to check<br />
if the story was in line with<br />
your taste. instead you sent<br />
me a video of your special outing.<br />
shaking a leg with mr. candid<br />
in a lavish one piece; his gift<br />
to you. 'beautiful' i had replied,<br />
watching you gyrate to the music -<br />
your body a spinning flame<br />
reveling under sweeping lights<br />
- choking on a fresh batch of tears<br />
that i regret having cried. on another<br />
day, if you remember, we had<br />
an argument. and we didn't talk<br />
for a week. i was alone, and wrong<br />
enough to hope that you were too.<br />
mr. candid kept you company, you<br />
told me. that you being upset was a<br />
pain he couldn't stand. that in his arms<br />
you divulged about my lovelessness,<br />
and he, like a true friend, offered you<br />
solace with his lips on your mouth.</div>
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'but you love me, right?' i retaliated, furious.<br />
'yes, baby. with my soul. and so i<br />
didn't reciprocate to his smooch.'</div>
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if going down is the benchmark<br />
of adultery, i have been cheating<br />
since day one. for on my knees<br />
i have prayed to heavens - thanking<br />
for this life that has you in it.<br />
it's to close this chapter, i realize<br />
i committed a sin. having held your<br />
profanity in the sacred rooms of love.<br />
<br />
- <a href="http://www.facebook.com/sobhan.pramanik" target="_blank">Sobhan</a></div>
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Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-68899357563278036872018-07-08T12:23:00.001+05:302018-07-08T12:23:54.110+05:30Shadows, Sorrows, Sorries<img class="post-main-img" src="https://citydiscovery2.imgix.net/4095_Skip_the_Line__Sunset_Eiffel_Tower_Tour_b159d218585e9b3842beb606ce3ce0c5_original.jpg?w=960&h=723&auto=format&crop=faces,entropy&fit=crop&q=30" >
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the dusk upon my office street<br />has no color. this strip of road<br />down the deserted lake, cutting<br />through closely-huddled buildings,<br />and a looming cliff has the sun<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"><br />slowly departing behind it, leaving<br />hollow clouds in its trail.</span></div>
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and all we have here are shadows.<br />lengthening every minute to become<br />the night. the flowering trees, windblown.<br />their blossoms one with dirt. the clinking<br />of glassware from the milkshake kiosk.<br />and employees on smoke breaks: fatigued,<br />frustrated flanking the pavements like<br />boats grounded in low tide - waiting for<br />night to fall, for the water to rise,<br />and take them away.</div>
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i look into their hollowed eyes. wide open,<br />but barely seeing, let alone realize.<br />smoking over a call, the mechanized laughter<br />and practiced pauses drives the client home.<br />there’s new task at hand now. time to head<br />back to the desk. the cigarette stub is tossed<br />into the gutter, and i almost hear its burning<br />tip extinguish in sewer.</div>
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close to 8PM, the offices start to empty.<br />motorbikes screech out of the cellar and<br />melt away in the dark. all i see is life slipping<br />away between shifts, in the quest of<br />making a living. are they aware? i doubt.</div>
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the dusk on my office street<br />has no color. and i walk away.<br />trampling the yellow flowers under my boots.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
- <b><a href="http://www.facebook.com/sobhan.pramanik" target="_blank">Sobhan</a></b></div>
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Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-32733957882821305352018-07-08T12:16:00.001+05:302018-07-08T12:16:53.549+05:30Unkind Dawn<img class="post-main-img" src="https://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/01/20/3c/59/watching-the-sunrise.jpg" >
<img class="post-back-img" src="http://www.incrediblesnaps.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/wonderful-morning-photography-33.jpg" >
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oh what an unkind<br />
glory you’re, sunrise.<br />
perversely you walk-in<br />
on people possessed in<br />
intimate dreams with hot<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"><br />burst of light, and fondle<br />them to lurid consciousness.<br />you seep past curtains<br />into dim, sweaty bedrooms<br />of lovers naked and snuggled<br />under sheets and have<br />them break away from<br />night long embraces<br />to get on with life. you<br />break a drunk man’s reverie,<br />pouring like molten lead<br />into his blurry, double vision.<br />and raid the unfaithfuls escapade<br />in a shady hotel room, as their<br />betrayed counterparts dry their<br />wounds in your glare.</span></div>
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i have this thing about nights,<br />
i tell you. who isn't’ as boastful of<br />
its serendipity. one who’s calm,<br />
grounded and liberal, and is okay<br />
sharing the moon’s sheen with<br />
the jaded stars of distant sky. it’s<br />
the night that gets the poets drunk<br />
on touches of lost people and time,<br />
and have their scars bent into<br />
literature. it’s the nights that embellishes<br />
the warfare of subatomic particles<br />
into the ever radiant northern lights at the artic.<br />
it’s the nights that tames the mighty oceans,<br />
nights that brings the birds home,<br />
and lulls the wearied into dreams.</div>
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do you see how they fade out<br />
without slightest resistance? at the<br />
brink of dawn it dissipates into day.<br />
the dewy grey falling away,<br />
like the melting tip of an icicle<br />
held over the flame. most importantly,<br />
nights aren’t egoists - for they let you put on<br />
lights if you're afraid and feel like day,<br />
and even strike fires to keep zombies away.<br />
nights, you see, can be emulated -<br />
anytime, anywhere – in the cave of your palms,<br />
and behind your closed eyes.<br />
they live with you, inside you,<br />
never abandoning, bringing out the intellectual quiet,<br />
in a strong peg of darkness and destruction.</div>
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it’s on one beautiful night that<br />
i am sharing this tale with you,<br />
and i already feel edges of your<br />
promises scrape my insides.<br />
is it true that you loved me with<br />
your night time fantasies, and<br />
ditched me for the ambitions of day?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
- <a href="http://www.facebook.com/sobhan.pramanik" target="_blank">Sobhan</a></div>
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Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-70094060282579117852018-07-08T12:13:00.000+05:302018-07-08T12:13:01.926+05:30Damn, your PDA!<img class="post-main-img" src="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/54379dc9e4b02667fff75285/t/584c9036d1758e896efbcd2a/1481412668342/chocolate-smears-swatches-creative-food-still-life-photographer-london-photography-1.jpg?format=750w" >
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a jovial you pranced<br />about the kitchen counter<br />in your instagram story. there’s<br />this annoying clanking<br />of pans in the backdrop<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"><br />that wants me to close it.<br />but i stick around. like always.<br />looking at your dimly-lit face,<br />and your delicate lips tinted<br />by beads of moisture, while you<br />pour a thick stream of lavish<br />chocolate into an egg-mold.</span></div>
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<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px;">
it’s bewildering to watch<br />your Easter preparations.<br />last year i remember your asking<br />me what’s good friday<br />all about. i will be honest,<br />i had no clue. but i read up.<br />about the Catholic faith and<br />Christ's sacrifice to absolve<br />the world of its sins. easter is<br />christ’s resurrection, i would<br />have told you, had you not left.<br />but how could tales of return interest<br />a mind that was quietly hatching a goodbye?</div>
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so yeah, this looks made up to me,<br />and chances are that you still<br />don’t know what’s easter.<br />in fact, you don’t need to know.<br />for this is just about your love<br />for chocolate-making and nothing more.<br />this doesn’t work with me: your shitty<br />show of merrymaking. for i see you<br />through filters and fast-forwards,<br />from a place deep within, that at some point<br />of time had known you for who you were,<br />before you started to fake: feelings first, festivities now.</div>
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how do i know it? oh! c’mon.<br />wasn’t our courtship just another<br />enactment of yours? trying love<br />to substitute the monotony of your life.<br />you vouched for love, for us,<br />not knowing the basics of loyalty.<br />you attempted it like any other<br />instagram story of yours, only that i<br />played real in there. what erased<br />off your timeline in a day,<br />stayed in my life like a scar for me.<br />to continue seeing you scar,<br />many alike me.</div>
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<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
- <a href="http://www.facebook.com/sobhan.pramanik" target="_blank">Sobhan</a></div>
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Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-41832536291984353442018-07-08T12:07:00.001+05:302018-07-08T12:07:52.639+05:30ABSAR<img class="post-main-img" src="https://sajadrafeeq.files.wordpress.com/2013/02/srs_8612.jpg" >
<img class="post-back-img" src="https://i1.trekearth.com/photos/128705/dsc_0777.jpg" >
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(i)<br />absar cannot tell<br />red from orange.<br />with a clumsily held crayon<br />between her fingers, she<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"><br />continues to paint<br />the rose orange<br />in her drawing book.</span></div>
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(ii)<br />the last words of the<br />aazaan had barely<br />trailed off the loudspeaker<br />that a massive stone<br />comes flying down the sky<br />towards the army cordon.<br />it was enough to set off Downtown.</div>
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(iii)<br />‘red, jaan! roses are red.<br />like our blood.’ says najma,<br />her mother, rolling her<br />prayer rug off the floor. the falling sun<br />tremendous on her smiling face.</div>
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(iv)<br />stones rain on the streets, as<br />clamoring chains of people pour<br />out of narrow bylanes. the army<br />immediately on the backfoot. slogans<br />and stones rise up the sky.<br />tehreek, they say, is kashmir’s soul.</div>
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(v)<br />i will be used any moment. i am<br />banned. but still i will. that’s how<br />they keep peace. by breaching<br />laws, by barbarism.<br />at the end of the street, the 'peacekeepers'<br />lose their shit. the water cannons<br />and batons are already biting flesh.<br />now it’s my turn – i hate this, i swear.<br />can we not do this, please?<br />oh! they already have me out.<br />the sky’s now dark with smoke.<br />my trigger is pulled.<br />now i don’t know where i am.</div>
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(vi)<br />absar covers her face<br />with her palms. the crayons<br />rolling about lonely between pages.<br />najma swallows tears<br />and screams for help.<br />‘ammi, red?’ asks absar,<br />with blood pouring out<br />of her pierced eyes.</div>
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<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
- <a href="http://www.facebook.com/sobhan.pramanik" target="_blank">Sobhan</a></div>
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Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-17431909462137186612018-07-08T11:58:00.000+05:302018-07-08T11:58:43.041+05:30Conquer<img class="post-main-img" src="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/62/86/8c/62868c4cc9d09f288a98ce9c673b14aa.jpg" >
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<span data-offset-key="6172r-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">i know places you reminisce</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="d9kab-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="d9kab-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="d9kab-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">your melancholy in, and no wonder</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="207rr-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="207rr-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="207rr-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">you never evolved.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="1dhmg-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1dhmg-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="1dhmg-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="74st0-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="74st0-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="74st0-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">the park bench you</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="4moec-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4moec-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="4moec-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">burn frigid nights on,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="20ok6-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="20ok6-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="20ok6-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">dew upon your eyes and</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="dlbth-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="dlbth-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="dlbth-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">menthol cigarette to your</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="1qgca-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1qgca-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="1qgca-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">lips, with your ashen spirit</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="159s2-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="159s2-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="159s2-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">winding skywards in smoke,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="fg4an-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="fg4an-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="fg4an-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">is where the aging gathers</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="9lv36-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9lv36-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="9lv36-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">every morning to whine about</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="4libl-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4libl-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="4libl-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">their arthritic knees, or quietly</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="2b9hf-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2b9hf-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="2b9hf-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">count upon their rosary.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="3tn3r-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="3tn3r-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="3tn3r-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">the coffee shop you</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="7ahmp-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="7ahmp-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="7ahmp-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">invariably frequent,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="ciicl-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ciicl-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="ciicl-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">taking to the farthest corner</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="1rpqj-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1rpqj-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="1rpqj-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">that looks out to a bustling</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="uc80-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="uc80-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="uc80-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">road, the chair’s foam there</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="1boa4-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1boa4-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="1boa4-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">irreversibly sunk, and tabletop</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="9nv9h-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9nv9h-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="9nv9h-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">warm with sun-tamed shadows of </span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="ernjh-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ernjh-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="ernjh-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">vehicles crawling down its limbs; it’s</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="b1prf-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="b1prf-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="b1prf-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">where the high school doers escape</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="adndb-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="adndb-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="adndb-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">with their infatuations: hold hands under</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="82vos-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="82vos-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="82vos-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">the table, and clandestinely pass </span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="40rkl-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="40rkl-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="40rkl-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">phone numbers on folded napkins.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="bmph1-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="bmph1-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="bmph1-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="uarq-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="uarq-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="uarq-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">grow up, boy!</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="3osdq-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="3osdq-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="3osdq-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">for a change, wander the </span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="b7cn8-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="b7cn8-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="b7cn8-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">old city fortress on a bright sunny day.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="71ill-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="71ill-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="71ill-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">wait under high echoing domes and</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="1ri41-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1ri41-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="1ri41-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">watch the bats sleep-swing</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="7211k-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="7211k-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="7211k-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">from invisible alcoves, the air</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="b9h88-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="b9h88-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="b9h88-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">redolent with bat shit. wrap</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="5ks32-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5ks32-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="5ks32-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">your palms on the heavy bars</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="fikic-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="fikic-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="fikic-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">of airless captive chambers,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="7duuu-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="7duuu-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="7duuu-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">and peek into the dark: you’d</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="3mnkk-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="3mnkk-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="3mnkk-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">see emptiness repenting the</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="5gp8o-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5gp8o-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="5gp8o-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">death of inmates died hundreds </span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="qrir-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="qrir-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="qrir-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">of years ago. war slaves Aurangzeb</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="ae566-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ae566-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="ae566-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">had pronounced banishment from life on,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="btcbo-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="btcbo-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="btcbo-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">in cells of his fort - with ankle locks, torture</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="8jjeh-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="8jjeh-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="8jjeh-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">and starvation. walk out into the porch and</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="vv4j-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="vv4j-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="vv4j-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">watch the garden ablaze in bougainvillea,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="83qmu-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="83qmu-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="83qmu-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">the walkways green with sheets of moss,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="29emm-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="29emm-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="29emm-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">and the sound of water trundling to roots</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="58e9v-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="58e9v-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="58e9v-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">along channels dug centuries ago.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="e5s0k-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="e5s0k-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="e5s0k-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">reach out, drag your fingers on laterite walls</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="d875b-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="d875b-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="d875b-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">and feel the hot prick of friction ushered by them</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="3puoj-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="3puoj-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="3puoj-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">from countless craters and broken edges</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="fho57-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="fho57-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="fho57-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">gaping at you. know that they are wounds </span></div>
</div>
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<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="d5p1k-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="d5p1k-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">caused by mortar shell, enemy bullets and</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="42uq3-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="42uq3-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="42uq3-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">earthquakes that couldn't manage more than </span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="7n72p-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="7n72p-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="7n72p-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">a crack. spend a day in the dust of history.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="ehtj6-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ehtj6-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="ehtj6-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">roam the citadel's darkest of alleys,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="31h57-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="31h57-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="31h57-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">and read its brave stories of sustenance.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="a6c3b-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="a6c3b-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="a6c3b-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="32u2i-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="32u2i-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="32u2i-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">or maybe you should just be there.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="2mq34-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2mq34-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="2mq34-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">just be there with those walls that</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="8dmfa-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="8dmfa-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="8dmfa-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">defied bombs and calamities; the spring</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="a0if7-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="a0if7-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="a0if7-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">that never left the garden; the rains</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="6d5i9-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="6d5i9-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="6d5i9-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">that still pour in its honour; the prisons still</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="47mf2-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="47mf2-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="47mf2-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">bearing the haunting cries of men who'd</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="afs3j-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="afs3j-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="afs3j-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">kneeled on its cold floors and begged for death, </span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="dvjh0-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="dvjh0-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="dvjh0-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">and the sun continuing to rise over corpses</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="v40a-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="v40a-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="v40a-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">of derelict times, shining like a jewel atop its minarets. </span></div>
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<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="dqp12-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="dqp12-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="dqp12-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="94apf-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="94apf-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="94apf-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">it’s amid blood, battles, banishment, </span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="6tlbe-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="6tlbe-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="6tlbe-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">and the ultimate triumph of braving it all, </span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="df16b-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="df16b-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="df16b-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">that you'd know why they’re called monuments.</span></div>
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<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="f4idb-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="f4idb-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="f4idb-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="1pvc7-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1pvc7-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="1pvc7-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">now go back to reminiscing if you will,</span></div>
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<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="8n63s-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="8n63s-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">to whimpering of your betrayed heart.</span></div>
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<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="f0spr-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="f0spr-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="f0spr-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">would you still say love damaged you</span></div>
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<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="7h5ch-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="7h5ch-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="7h5ch-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">beyond repair?</span></div>
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<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="cgp13-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="cgp13-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="cgp13-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="9mk1k-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9mk1k-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="9mk1k-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9p8n5" data-offset-key="3ceje-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="3ceje-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
- <a href="http://www.facebook.com/sobhan.pramanik" target="_blank">Sobhan</a></div>
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Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-37390884434968498192018-07-08T11:54:00.000+05:302018-07-08T11:54:29.742+05:30On Being a Writer<img class="post-main-img" src="https://images.pexels.com/photos/529926/pexels-photo-529926.jpeg?auto=compress&cs=tinysrgb&h=350" >
<img class="post-back-img" src="http://www.hurstonwright.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/HR-Slider-Background-41.jpg" >
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<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
grieve if you must,<br />but know where to<br />draw the line.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
any further than that,<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"><br />and you'll be trapped<br />for life - in this quiet<br />squirming of words on<br />your skin. like the gentle<br />hands of a woman roving<br />down your chest, and you<br />cannot resist being taken.</span></div>
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<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px;">
it's alluring, but it'd<br />twist your soul and<br />clinch your breath.<br />make you see the world<br />in absolute inverse where<br />you'd cut your vein to laugh<br />at the throbbing blood,<br />and weep hard at being loved.<br />where you'd shun laughter<br />and friendship to close yourself<br />in burning silence and let it kill you;<br />slowly.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
know where to draw<br />the line, oh! bereaved lover.<br />before thy heart transcends<br />all human realms<br />to be a writer.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
- <a href="http://www.facebook.com/sobhan.pramanik" target="_blank">Sobhan</a></div>
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Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-50156986694741866232018-03-18T11:49:00.002+05:302018-03-18T11:49:52.630+05:30Adolescent Summer<img class="post-main-img" src="https://images.fineartamerica.com/images-medium-large/adolescent-ivan-filichev.jpg" >
<img class="post-back-img" src="http://www.ucd.ie/medicine/ourresearch/researchgroups/childadolescentpsychiatry/Hero%20Image%201a.jpg" >
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<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px;">
it's still some time<br />for summer, but the tropic<br />sun is already harsh.<br />a brisk walk causes<br />my head to perspire,<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"><br />and the hibiscus too<br />on my window has<br />begun to wilt at dusk.<br />it's what one would call<br />an adolescent summer.</span></div>
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<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
but i loathe adolescence.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
i loathe adolescence for<br />the soft bristles of hair<br />that made my face patchy,<br />and bore my voice an impolite<br />androgenous lilt that made<br />me sound confident, but<br />never convincing. i loathe<br />it for i how i discovered<br />myself in the dark: feeling<br />places that i never knew<br />was part of me. of blood<br />pumping into my groins,<br />and blissful contractions<br />lived over and over again<br />in secret sanctity.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
i loathe adolescence for how<br />internet became interesting.<br />how the thirteen something<br />who had to be reprimanded<br />to finish homeworks and tied<br />shoelaces, grows the wisdom<br />overnight of realizing the most<br />genuine of humane truths through<br />loud voyeurism on adult websites.<br />i loathe adolescence for the<br />aloneness it brought to my thoughts.<br />for the new feelings that though<br />being powerful and spontaneous,<br />was surmised as a fleeting emotion.</div>
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most of all, i loathe adolescence<br />for how seeing her would cause<br />my heart to start thudding in my<br />chest, and my palms would go sticky,<br />and i would helplessly harden<br />only to be adjudged as an infatuation.<br />because of course, she too has been<br />preached the same: to not believe in<br />the truth of her body, to disregard<br />growing up, to shun love.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
i loathe adolescence for<br />how it was trying to grow<br />me up, make a natural<br />evolutionary difference to<br />who i was, and the world<br />dismissed it all as unreal.<br />erratic.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
no wonder how broken relations<br />are now an everyday reality, and<br />people move on with broken hearts,<br />like they had with scraped knees,<br />with an 'ouch' and a band-aid of<br />'chuck it' stuck across it.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
easy, and without remorse.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
aren't we, after all, reared<br />to not take feelings seriously,<br />from the time we begin<br />to feel it all?</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
-<a href="http://www.facebook.com/sobhan.pramanik" target="_blank"> sobhan</a></div>
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Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-35637121467514597812018-03-18T11:47:00.001+05:302018-03-18T11:47:20.960+05:30Terrains of Truth<img class="post-main-img" src="https://www.visitnc.com/resimg.php/imgcrop/2/60726/preview/800/480/camping+at+Great+Smoky+Mountains+National+Park.jpg" >
<img class="post-back-img" src="http://miriadna.com/desctopwalls/images/max/Mountain-landscape.jpg" >
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<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
i remember being with a<br />trekkers tribe once at the<br />Shivalik in Himachal.<br />amongst a drunken,<br />singing ring of<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"><br />backpackers around a<br />sputtering golden fire,<br />and four greasy whole chickens<br />sweating on the flames.<br />the stars hung low in<br />the night’s looming net:<br />like balled tea leaves in a<br />strainer, as we drank the dark<br />that filled the cup of our eyes,<br />over moist whispering and words<br />that became intangible<br />smoke leaving our mouth.</span></div>
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<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px;">
‘it's gonna get colder through<br />the night’, the instructor remarked<br />gulping from his hip flask.<br />that all tracks would be<br />snow laden tomorrow, and we<br />would have to shovel our ways<br />into the trek. but I wonder anyone<br />paid a heed. we were stranded at<br />a remote hilltop cut off from all<br />possible mode of communication -<br />from sustainability and comfort,<br />from sunshine and abundant oxygen.<br />and the only way out being the way ahead:<br />of wading through steep snowy terrains,<br />and unyielding pine forests<br />waving in the blizzard with ice in their veins.</div>
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i sensed a deja vu,<br />for it felt a lot like love.<br />of how it happens to us.<br />and when. amid the wilderness<br />of our hearts when we are<br />most unguarded, open,<br />vulnerable. when our feelings<br />are buds unopened, seeking<br />sunshine, and the sky denies<br />and darkens, raining in hails<br />to deny all blossoms of desire.<br />i have known people perish in<br />test, giving up, renouncing thereafter<br />the idea of courtship. but i have also<br />known souls who braves the<br />torment with arms crossed on their<br />wounded chest, half-smiling and<br />hopeful about gentle winds and clear<br />sunshine that lurks behind all devastations.</div>
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that night on the mountain i was<br />glad to be be amongst the tougher<br />bunch. the ones who looked ahead,<br />into the climb, on an airless,<br />snow-shielded morning on the Himalayas.<br />the ones who didn't consider calamities,<br />let alone fear, put up against<br />their ardent love for mountains.<br />and as it started to snow with flakes<br />floating into our faces, i saw men lift<br />their smiling gazes at each other,<br />opening their arms in welcoming<br />to their partners who nestled in their chest<br />with trembling jaws and purest joy.<br />i watched them retire to tents,<br />booze in hand and clammy chunks<br />of chicken on paper plates.</div>
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and surrounded by the medley of<br />feasting shadows on fluttering<br />tent walls, i felt no cold, no hunger.<br />but the profound reverberation of<br />hearts put together in hardship<br />caressing my conscience -<br />that love and only love is the<br />answer to this ailing world<br />fragmented by differences -<br />like forgotten songs awoken<br />in one’s heart and set on tune,<br />to a lost lover’s forgiving kiss.</div>
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-<a href="http://www.facebook.com/sobhan.pramanik" target="_blank"> sobhan</a></div>
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Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-28378271824023176492018-03-18T11:39:00.001+05:302018-03-18T11:53:34.017+05:30So You Know<img class="post-main-img" src="https://cdn-image.hipwee.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/hipwee-Help-750x422.jpg" >
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i am not used<br />to the water.<br />and at the gentlest<br />dash of waves<br />i stiffen and <span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"><br />stumble; falling over<br />breathless, as broken sheets<br />of sea empty my toes<br />of muddy sand,<br />and i claw at the<br />seabed with all<br />my might to hold<br />up against the current.</span></div>
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once the<br />waves are gone,<br />and the new ones<br />swell at a distance,<br />i sit embedded on<br />the shore like a<br />washed-up water<br />weed, as my hands<br />form determined roots<br />into the yielding brown mud,<br />and a cluster of shells<br />in chalky hues<br />gather in my<br />clenched palm.</div>
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the new wave is a<br />frail one; it breaks<br />a long way from the<br />shore, and eddies of salt<br />rupture sunshine into<br />liquid rainbows under<br />my heels. i nonetheless<br />grip the beach harder,<br />digging my fingers deeper<br />into the bed, as a dozen<br />more shells press into my fist.</div>
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i vouch to bring them<br />home for you; something<br />from my marine odyssey.<br />so you know nothing<br />can shell your life, as long<br />as you wish to blossom.<br />so you know that life<br />can thrive in worst<br />captivations, as long<br />as you dare to endure.<br />so you know you aren't<br />ever powerless,<br />or inferior than any,<br />when a handful of<br />dead crustaceans<br />stuck between fingers,<br />can keep a human<br />from losing to the sea.</div>
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- <a href="http://www.facebook.com/sobhan.pramanik" target="_blank">sobhan</a></div>
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Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-56677621431566663082018-03-18T11:36:00.001+05:302018-03-18T11:37:12.097+05:30Season of Void<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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days have started to die late.<br />
the dusk grieves along the<br />
skyline in wails of red, soaked<br />
by the uncaring monotony<br />
of this city. i already miss<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"><br />the early stars blushing in<br />masks of fog; the cold tremor<br />of leaves; and the winter breeze<br />that cracked my lips and flaked my scalp.</span></div>
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the onset of summer annoys me,<br />
just as the unwarranted departure<br />
of winter upsets my heart. did I<br />
not love you enough? i wonder.<br />
beaten blankets strung in empty<br />
balconies flutter lightly<br />
on nylon ropes: as if they were all<br />
prepared to bid adieu;<br />
to let go, and espouse the spring.</div>
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this frail January heat wounds<br />
my memories, and i remember<br />
the moisture between your fingers<br />
on exhausted evenings: their soft<br />
saline taste while you caressed<br />
my face between your palms, like an<br />
ocean wave lapping against my cheeks<br />
as I napped tired on the shore.</div>
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but i have come to hate summers<br />
for that one sultry evening<br />
you left in my study your goodbye.<br />
a transformer had blown off<br />
down the street, and the blackened<br />
night had men huddling outside<br />
their homes with torches in their hands,<br />
and salted peanuts in paper cones.<br />
i passed out in the dark<br />
with your note on my perspiring chest,<br />
crumpled by fingers in disbelief. and i<br />
had woken up to a similar, defunct reality:<br />
of people having moved on with life,<br />
as if there were no disruptions,<br />
as if they were always prepared,<br />
as if they all slept sound the night before:<br />
on lavish mattresses, and in the<br />
supple skin of their wives.</div>
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not grieving is no strength, but betrayal -<br />
to the love you wove with pearls of tears,<br />
and the puffing truth of your breathing.<br />
being prepared for departures is no valor<br />
but weak roots of love. i shall weep this<br />
winter’s going, and be cold to the spring<br />
flowers in my backyard. i shall loathe the<br />
summer thereafter for the way it would<br />
reignite her smell in my heart.</div>
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but then seasons return to our tired longings,<br />
unlike loves that wash clear our imprints on<br />
their bodies beneath tender touches of<br />
juvenile passion. you see, goodbyes are not<br />
meant for those who return. and those who<br />
wouldn’t, never loved enough to pay for parting.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
- <a href="http://www.facebook.com/sobhan.pramanik" target="_blank">sobhan</a></div>
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Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-71382261376137744712018-03-18T11:26:00.000+05:302018-03-18T11:26:07.136+05:30Fly Away<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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the pavements have swelled<br />
with the thicket of boys. and the<br />
rustic clamour of their lives drift into<br />
my room coloured in January sunshine.<br />
i watch them in vibrant apparels<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"><br />huddled across the street: their faces<br />lifted to the sunlit sky, and<br />a legion of fluttering kites<br />swim in and out of their squinting eyes.</span></div>
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there's Mustaq at the promenade –<br />
an oversized flimsy maroon sunglass<br />
rests on his firm cheek bones,<br />
with his sister behind him. a reeling<br />
spool of glittering manza in her hands<br />
while he stands upright like a mast<br />
in sea-songs, his fingers wound around<br />
the string, at the far end of which soaring<br />
loosely in the blue was his kite. he tugs at<br />
the chord as the kite dips against the wind,<br />
passing close to another kite flying in<br />
from the smoky northern sky. the spool<br />
whirls faster in the girl’s grip and Mustaq’s<br />
arms row in sync, as the strings<br />
invisibly lock in the firmament.</div>
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as his kite starts to float away owned by<br />
the wind, Mustaq stands sucking the blood<br />
on his finger with a smirk in his eyes. a<br />
boisterous cheer from the adjacent colony<br />
rides the wind to them. and even before his<br />
lilting kite vanished from the sky –<br />
fading like a speck of fly ash in the face of light –<br />
in a fall to earth or torn by a stray tree wing;<br />
i watch him on his knees on the dust mattered pavement,<br />
stringing a new kite, for a new flight.</div>
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it’s better that way, i assume. to not know if love<br />
returned home or got wasted midway; and<br />
instead set out for a new meaning. i recount<br />
myself on the pavement beside Mustaq, flying<br />
away with my aspirations till she joined me<br />
under the sun, and i let the manza loose on my<br />
fingers, surrendering to the romance that sliced<br />
my skin and spilled my blood.</div>
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only that i never flew a second kite again.<br />
not wanting to be wounded;<br />
not wishing to wound her.</div>
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© <a href="http://www.facebook.com/sobhan.pramanik" target="_blank">sobhan</a></div>
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Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-74140193474527817982017-12-17T20:45:00.001+05:302018-01-08T20:35:11.589+05:30The Vagrant Trust<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">‘You’ve all my mother’s trust.’<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I heard the words come off her mouth, as easily and instinctively, as pleasantries exchanged in a greeting: without any reflection or consideration, unrehearsed and spoken raw, the way it first originated in her mind. The way truth is spoken perhaps, as I believed – on the face and without a flinch. <br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We were seated at the promenade of a buzzing Calcutta theatre. The evening show had just ended and people boisterously poured out of the gates like jets of water shooting from the broken edge of gushing water pipe: chattering and hooting on top of their voices; their faces ecstatic. Children, quick to adapt the antics of the protagonist, had their flimsy glasses tucked to the back of their necks; women shied under their coquettish smile imagining the bare-chested, beefy, ageing hero setting the world alright on screen; while men, as they seemed with their lurid faces, discussed the heroine in explicit details.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">For the initial few minutes as the mob ran amok within the premises, we stalled our conversation and sat with our gazes affixed on an abandoned fountain pool where our shadows brushed at the temples. I leaned slightly to my left to check if the shadows belied, and felt her hair brush my cheek. She withdrew, smiling; and I watched the shadows part on the dusty tiled bed. A colony of creepers unrestrained, thrived in the crevasses.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">‘She was asking so many questions. Gawd!’</span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> she declared, animatedly holding her head. <i>‘Where are you? When’ll you be home? It’s getting late. Blah Blah!’</i> <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">She had just ended the call with her anxious mother, that a solemn smile, like a ripple growing on a lake as the stone of concern slowly sank, I watched, quickly conquer her face. </span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">‘I just told her I was with you.’ <br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Until then we had no formal acquaintances of what could suffice for the necessary bit of information required to placate her worries concerning her daughter’s convenience on a day out with a boy she had known only as far as her eyes could make out from the second-floor balcony of their house: leaned over the sidewall with her eyes spread out in wait on the dim alley sweeping up to the entrance, as I walked her home a couple of times from our evening classes; or rode up early morning on my bicycle with a roll of notes from classes she missed (damn the migraine) and waited outside the porch, until she emerged through the door with sleep imbued eyes, and unkempt hair to collect them from me under her mother’s gaze, affixed on us from the balcony, spreading wet clothes on taut nylon ropes. To let her worries, rest with just one statement, that she was with me, and contently ending the call, given our limited exposure to each other’s lives was a little too much to believe, even while the idea of my love making inroads with her had my heart bursting into confetti. Or, had she picked the changed air of my body language, of me missing steps and fumbling with words while I was with her? Was the auburn glee in my eyes, as I waited at the porch with my head turned to the door, desperate to behold her daughter once in the garb of lending study notes, busted by a mother’s unfailing instincts? Was there finally someone in this world, except my own smitten heart, who knew how my bones became water and my head a raging sandstorm, abandoned of consciousness and thoughts trailing skyward, every time she lifted her smiling eyes to me?<br />
<br />We had bunked our classes to watch a Nolan rendition at Matrix, Calcutta, and it wasn’t until I arrived at the theatre teeming with cine-goers under its low domed roof, and the air abuzz with chants of <i>‘bhai’,</i> with jostling bodies in long winding queues braving the humidity before dust-laden, gigantic pedestal fans as they made way to a shabby ticket counter,<i> </i>did I realize that we were at the wrong place, expecting a movie as foreign and distant to their knowledge as sense and artistic credibility to the movie being screened. <br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">‘How could you even imagine <i>they</i> playing a sci-fi here?’ she confronted me at the desolate kerb of the cinema, where, disappointed, we were sitting down to while away the evening.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">‘Sometimes they do.’ I shrugged. ‘Hindi dubs.’<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">‘You came in for Hindi dub?’ she asked with stretched eyes.<br />
<br />‘Nothing like DiCaprio mouthing Hindi lines in American accent.’<br />
<br />She plunged her elbow to the side of my stomach in response to my mirthless retaliation, as we sat down on concrete steps flanking an ornamental fountain that had long lost its use. A mesh of rusted water pipes ran around a tubular sprinkler with a dead motor at its centre. In its nooks were nests of stray birds with reeds of fodder jutting out of the weave and unguarded eggs clustered in the hollow. Its dusty blue floor of broken tiles was carpeted with decaying sheets of leaves that ruffled and sung with the afternoon breeze. With the city at work on a weekday, the road outside was relatively empty as the market strip idled and napped under the mild August sun. The distant rumble of tram carriages occasionally floated in, and vanished before it grew in prominence. A groaning ambassador flew past the gates tilting the balance of quiet, that she pulled me by the shoulder and planted her lips on mine. There on the steps of a scraped fountain, and in broad daylight, with a room full of people at our back in their matinee, we led ourselves across boundaries our minds built and bodies broke. Till she pulled me by my shoulder, till I saw her luscious mouth close over mine, till my arms very reluctantly crossed on her back and our breaths mated; we were only friends. A friend who could seize my senses with a look, whose mother trusted her safety with me, and whom whenever I looked at, even thought of, regardless of the circumstances, life felt like a delightful, more purposeful voyage. We must have sat there long, and not until did we hear the scurry of footsteps land back on the kerb, and the clouds darkened between astride electric wires running high on the poles, did we care to sit apart. She checked her phone and it revealed a dozen missed calls from her mother. She called back and was subjected to a flurry of questions. That was when she said she was with me and startlingly, no other question followed. She slid the phone back into her sling and smiling, stood up to dust the back of her denim. I followed her down the steps, wading through littered butts of tickets towards the exit.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We took a bus home standing by the barred window beside her, our hands inches apart on the same iron grille, as evening flashed past us outside in frames of dust and smoke. I watched her in silence: breathing sedately down her chin, locks of her hair rippling in the wind by her face, and her eyes averted from mine, rested lonely on the smoggy horizon. I wanted to talk about it: put out my feelings dressed in choicest of words, talk about how I lose my step and fail my words every time she looks at me; how all this had been raging inside me but could never muster enough audacity to pursue them; how she was everything that looked and felt like love in the dreams I had so far been weaving in her longing. But nothing came out. Just a smile that tasted like her breath, as the bus lurched to a halt at our destination. <br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">It was close to 9 in the evening when we got off and was walking her down the familiar lanes towards her house. She was instructed to be home by 7, no matter what, but we had flouted that ultimatum by a good two hours. I expected her to be animated, panic, be afraid for what would be awaiting back home, absolutely anything to break the silence that hung on us throng the entire course of our journey. But there was nothing, and that in turn cemented my faith about her parents being okay about her being out with me, about us, about my love that I was certain she would confess any moment soon. <br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">She walked a few paces ahead of me: through shadows of buildings leaning into each other, crossing arcs of saffron light from street lamps that lay washed in mud suggesting a passed spell of rain, past the municipal trucks parked to the side and taking right from a square past a pack of stray dogs maddened and howling, gnawing at the litters, headed straight to her house. I lifted my eyes from her back to the second-floor balcony where her mother stood: bent over the balustrade under a diminutive lamp, chin in her palm and waiting for her daughter to be home. I waited as she ambled up the stairs, and looked up to her mother. She returned me my prized smile of acknowledgement, and at that moment, it sufficed for every word of love and promise I couldn’t say or hear from her daughter. A heart won with trust, I believed, was a big achievement to start with, as I walked home with ambrosial dreams of an accomplished love. <br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">It’d been six years since that day of walking her home late in the night, that I caught sight of her at a grand Durga Puja pandal in central Calcutta this year. Resplendent in a crimson saree with her undulating curls left open on the back and doubling over in an impressive laughter. I glanced at my watch; it was well past 2. She should have been home by 7, I told myself, and almost impulsively started striding towards her. Until soon I watched a man step in from the dark and hold her by the waist, joining in her laughter. She then flipped out her phone and cheerfully, started talking. I watched her lips move in a familiar murmur. I remembered her words, <i>‘You’ve all my mother’s trust.’</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">From a distance, I watched them walk away, with old trust retiring to bed in new hearts. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Author: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/sobhan.pramanik" target="_blank">Sobhan Pramanik</a></span></span></div>
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Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-11673099595939983652017-11-25T19:23:00.002+05:302017-11-25T19:23:25.425+05:30A Quiet World, A Better World<img class="post-main-img" src="http://betweenbirdsofprey.icdif.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/enjoy_the_silence.jpg" >
<img class="post-back-img" src="https://www.scienceandnonduality.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/silence-mind.jpg" >
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Imagine all the people you ever came across staying back, never leaving your side, a world without goodbyes or heartbreaks, of all friendships and acquaintances retained, of never being through abandonment, of no one ever forgetting anyone or letting go; our lives would've been a bloody chaos. An incorrigible disarray of lives breathing down our neck about their dreams, desires, and apathy. Much like the city's Sunday market strip: an alley thronging with people desperate abo<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;">ut their needs, all of them wanting to be heard, to be prioritized; everyone going out of their way to opine, to lend their voices to a political debacle around the corner that had started to amass impetus; everyone in a frenzy, rushing to be elsewhere; an entourage of bodies pushing against one another, hollering, haranguing, never ever having enough of it.</span></div>
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What a pitiable situation it would be, to be living lives without silences in them, without a corner of quiet to pray, to play soft music, to write letters to loved ones or pen verses in longing. If not for anything, let this soothing environment of calm be the justification for everyone who left with or without notice, to everything you held dear but eventually lost in wanting and all the pieces that fell off leaving you hollow. It's alright, friend. That is how it is supposed to be. Only when the contours of a boulder are chipped away that it gives way to a sculpture. And you're on your to being one. Relax. That last failed relation you're grieving about was destiny sculpting a handsome set of eyes onto your soul. Now the light shall reach your blood and you'll know that you had done no wrong. It's all fair. To be left out, forgotten. Every receding wave leaves more than just muddy sand; a lasting silence to sing yourself a song. Embrace it: this fall, the quiet. You’re an art in making. Don’t ever worry. Nothing is ever so precious to be substituting your inner quiet. No love so valuable to be losing your music.<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">By: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/sobhan.pramanik" target="_blank">Sobhan Pramanik</a></span></div>
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Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-73677919315182063452017-11-25T19:07:00.000+05:302017-11-25T19:07:01.455+05:30Diwali: A Realization<img class="post-main-img" src="http://standrewsclayton.org.au/wp-content/uploads/2014/12/DiwaliOilLampCrop-e1419231709918-608x411.jpg" >
<img class="post-back-img" src="https://happydiwali.net.in/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/1505412214_happy-diwali-images-wallpapers-pictures-photos-pics-greetings-for-facebook.jpg" >
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It's much more than just lighting the lamp.<br /><br />In fact, it's the easiest of all - to strike a match and lend the flame, guarded in the cave of your palms, to an oil-slicked wick curled in the hollow of the earthenware. That's it. The lamp comes to life, its muffled-yellow sheen encroaching upon the dark, like weary ocean waves closing around rocks, catching our appreciation altogether, our love.</div>
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But that's not all - the oil, meanwhile, would be quickly depleting in the lamp; t<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;">he wick, burnt to its half and the flame a disfigured leaf of orange walloping perilously against the wind. It would die any moment and, so here's the larger consideration, the better understanding to courtship that is to be espoused: one of us has to keep checking on the lamp, responsibly, from time to time, with a fresh wad of wicks and a cup of oil, to keep it glowing; to keep us going. It's not as easy. And unless we are truly committed to keeping vigil - our sincerity consolidated, our loyalty upheld, our faith unwavering; until we learn to hold onto things past their initial epiphany without losing zeal; let's not light one.<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">By: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/sobhan.pramanik" target="_blank">Sobhan Pramanik</a></span></div>
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Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-62385083181481437422017-11-25T18:58:00.000+05:302017-11-25T18:59:08.132+05:30Oh! Poor Man<img class="post-main-img" src="https://wallpaperscraft.com/image/drawing_paint_hair_dark_507_1920x1080.jpg" >
<img class="post-back-img" src="http://acelebrationofwomen.org/wp-content/uploads/2012/12/WOMEN-EQUALITY-MODEL.jpg" >
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What's hugely distressing, sardonic and unpardonably hypocritical, and in all probability is leading our society down helpless despair and imparity is, where a happy looking man in neat, ironed clothes at work, carrying lunch boxes packed with delectable, sumptuous food is attributed to being blessed with wonderful and loving wife; is, on the contrary, audaciously endorsed as a disciplinarian with so-called high morals, when she starts panicking of being late with a meeting e<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;">xtending beyond 8, afraid of being rebuked; when she never makes it to team dinners at swanky hotels, skipping glittery evenings of lavish cuisines and flowing alcohol, lying of ill health or responsibilities at home, reprimanded by 'the man' and in-laws; when on a shopping spree she unwillingly racks away that exquisite one piece that held her just right at the waist, with plunging shoulders giving her butterflies as she turned to the trial room mirror, feeling 21 all over again, complaining of coarse texture in a rather fine material, half imagining the scalding parallels that would be drawn at home afterwards.</span></div>
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Well, why do you think we even need feminism? The fact that one needs to be handed out pre-set rules about how they must interact and go about human beings of a particular gender, speaks galore of our incompetency as a community. The fact that one has to probed in the eye with demands of equality only goes to reveal our lopsided idea about a perfectly balanced society. In other words, feminism, like a bottle of disinfectant, is more for us, men to wash clean their vision, redevelop and align their deranged ideals along the common line of humanity; shifting their fulcrum of prejudices to the centre of this see-saw, of what could be an egalitarian world. More so for the poor man to know that freedom was never so little, so tameable as to be crushed in his fist. It had always been a milling two way street and the only way forward is to stop and make way for others. For everyone. To live.<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">By<a href="http://www.facebook.com/sobhan.pramanik" target="_blank"> Sobhan Pramanik</a></span></div>
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Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-89230184707560405362017-11-25T18:48:00.001+05:302017-11-25T18:49:56.591+05:30Fools, Flowers and Falls<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I remember keeping your rose in an empty beer bottle on the bedside stool, as I got home that night. Passing the stem through its mouth and withdrawing my fingers, letting it drop. Its petalled bulb coming to rest against the rim in a soundless thud.</div>
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I do not know why I did that. On other days there would have been no bottle at the first place. Having never realized sense in the idea of a person dutifully showing up at my door and asking for a bagful of garbage, I personally <span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;">took the trash out first thing in the morning, without anyone's asking, to a designated bin in the lobby for it to be picked from there. And likewise, with that habit, went the bottles too, emptied overnight in desperation. But that morning I was getting late, and so it all stayed in.</span></div>
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Though I fell in line with my habits soon, that bottle with your rose in it never quite left its place. Not that I didn't want to, but I never remembered it was there. Until all the petals had fallen dried, their hue drained, their fragrance faded, their purpose lost; and that once green stock, reduced to a mere wilted line of black against the thick glass.</div>
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May be there always is a thing called conscience that we choose to not pay heed. May be we all do know what awaits us before it really unfolds. Perhaps not the whole picture but that slightest of inkling, that undeniable tremor of vibes at our throat is always there, unlying, through everything. But the hazard in love is that it wants to get to the bottom of everything even when it’s a bottomless pit, and the imminent fall, its doom – seeking clear answers out of grave silences and be broken as ever; awaiting warm goodbyes from the unwelcoming who departed without a trace; and for everything there was to wither and lose fragrance before giving it all up. Love, in its quest for truth, wants as bad to be wounded as it wishes to triumph.</div>
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May be it wasn’t sheer nonchalance after all that I left the rose there that day. May be we were destined to not happen: like the beer I solemnly chugged, knowing well it won’t get me drunk.</div>
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© <a href="http://www.facebook.com/sobhan.pramanik" target="_blank">Sobhan</a></div>
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Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-30798809194650780802017-11-25T18:38:00.000+05:302017-11-25T18:38:26.225+05:30Just Hugs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Let's just hug each other to sleep tonight.</div>
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No, don't get me wrong - I am not saying you're unattractive or that you don't turn me on. Trust me, my feelings belong to no one but you, moored to your soul like sail boats at the harbour from being blown, for you to cut me loose with your own hands and row me ashore. Nor do I possess any dark desire for someone from the past either. If there was a way to click and save everything I see once I close my eyes, you'd know that as the<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"> heat starts to radiate from my loins, up my stomach and to my heart; I see just you. I see just you in colors of your skin crawling upon me: a fever under your chest, your areolas ripe; and our mouths submerged in the unsaid. That pinched wedge of skin on the inside of your thigh throbbing warm under my kneading palms where Ester bit you once, as you tried to bathe her on a cold day; and our pelvics pressed, like a cornice in rain, dripping lasciviously into each other.</span></div>
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But tonight, let's just lie hugging each other, shrouded by the dark, permeated by the music of falling rain. Your head on my chest and my fingers doodling upon your collarbones. Tonight I wish to pursue you in quiet. Like the sun eventually rising on a storm-wrecked island: in complete silence, with the sea at rest. I want to count your breaths on my fingers and fathom the infinity we have spent loving each other. I want to lie sans any space between us in a tight embrace, feeling the breeze in your bones to decipher your guileless nights, wrapped in spewing demons or flowering meadows. To see how your hair slides off your face as you turn in sleep, like a wisp of wind passing, your lips gently parted.</div>
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Do not misunderstand me, but tonight I needn’t our desires seethe, for the greatest depths are touched only in great silence and the truest loves often realized without the wanton striving to fuck.</div>
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Let me just hug you, so I can touch your whole without any sound and still hear the loudest echo of everything that we are.</div>
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© <a href="http://www.facebook.com/sobhan.pramanik" target="_blank">Sobhan</a></div>
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Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-85537855138968240832017-11-25T18:29:00.002+05:302017-11-25T18:29:48.240+05:30The Bookcase<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<img class="post-main-img" src="http://cliffordgarstang.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/Bookstore-Indie.jpg" />
<img class="post-back-img" src="http://simpecado.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/5-6.jpg" />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px;">I love sitting hidden between the doors of my wooden bookcase. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px;">In fact, when I am too unsure about picking a new read or simply feeling worn out by the chores of a routine life, needing a deliberate escape, I do exactly that: pull up a chair in between; the doors hanging from the hinges by my sides forming impenetrable walls to the most private, quietest, thought-inducing space I can have to myself, and sit with my legs crossed on my lap, smelling the musky </span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; display: inline;"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px;">odour of its rain-fattened timber, pulling out titles - read, unread, half-read; and turning over to stray pages to catch the story midway, off guard, littered in passages of wordy brilliance. Like impishly walking in on your woman dressing at the mirror and running your cold fingertips down her moist, bare back, evoking a love that is to remain a secret between them, like the lost reader's existence in a sea of books.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px;">By -<a href="http://www.facebook.com/sobhan.pramanik" target="_blank"> Sobhan Pramanik</a></span></span></div>
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Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1323423489226863800.post-60382578320033400042017-09-11T15:34:00.000+05:302017-09-12T10:23:23.370+05:30going away: a night left behind <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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you wouldn’t know<br />
this day coming.</div>
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the 3 AM alarm<br />
buzzing by the pillow,<br />
and my dismissing it<br />
instantly, as if waiting,<br />
which I were in an<br />
acidic insomnia;<br />
before staggering through<br />
the dark hallway to your room.<br />
with a soft tap, i wait with<br />
my knuckles on the door’s<br />
shiny timber<br />
hearing you wake:<br />
the rustle of your<br />
clothes, your bare heels<br />
lowered to the marble.</div>
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it’s always the same.<br />
platform number 2. <br />sparing <span style="font-family: inherit;">its somnambulist</span><br />
travellers the ardour of wandering.<br />
from the parallel of<br />
of the foot-over-bridge,<br />
i glimpse at the idle<br />
column of coaches beneath –<br />
freshly washed with water<br />
splashed on glass windows<br />
of AC cabins, its tail<br />
vanishing beyond the bright<br />
signal poles in night’s translucent<br />
mist.</div>
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an IRCTC kiosk, half-opened,<br />
hosts a ring of travellers at its<br />
façade. sweet aroma of hard boiled<br />
tea wraps around the complex<br />
like gauge tightened over a wound.<br />
i purchase packaged water and tea<br />
through the crowd of tea-sipping,<br />
news-reading travellers,<br />
and head back to the coach.<br />
you’re on the lower berth. the VIP<br />
suitcase chained to a ring under<br />
the seat. the adjacent ones to<br />
be occupied from distant stations.<br />
in the cold hum of air-condition<br />
we drink tea, partly veiled from<br />
footsteps milling the aisle.<br />
only a fluttering blue drape of curtain<br />
to our humble guard of privacy.</div>
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it’s 30 minutes to departure<br />
when i leave, ascending the same<br />
bridge out to the exit, feeling the<br />
moist tip of your fingers on my chin,<br />
and your lips on my forehead.<br />
back home, it’s still too early.<br />
close to 5, the air quiet. cold.<br />
the horizon ablush and trees dewy.<br />
i lay to bed and immediately fall asleep.</div>
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when you call to wish<br />
morning, I squint my eyes<br />
at the window looking down<br />
at me spilling hot light.<br />
you tell me about the<br />
station you just passed.<br />
i imagine of the sun risen<br />
on your back, of meadows<br />
rolling by bathed in day.<br />
may be joined by another traveler<br />
on the next seat. but you sure<br />
have missed this day. one that’s<br />
on my city. in my eyes. feeling like<br />
an abandoned night in the wake<br />
of your absence.</div>
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nights<br />
that the leaving<br />
shall never know of.</div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">© <a href="https://www.facebook.com/sobhan.pramanik" target="_blank">Sobhan</a></span></div>
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Sobhan Pramanikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11585520910025336550noreply@blogger.com0