FIVE POEMS BY SUDESHNA MUKHERJEE: TINGED WITH HER OWN UNIQUE BRAND OF HUMOUR

Sudeshna Mukherjee's poems deal with varied human nature. A keen observer she chronicles the happenings around her and writes with a tinge of humour. She has two books to her credit and her poems easily rival Nissim Ezekiel's famed Pushpa poems and take on English in Mumbai.

All rights reserved by Sudeshna Mukherjee

1.     THE CUE    (Malaprop)

Deer deer let me tail you 
How difficult eat is to stand in a cue 
When the son beats down on yew 

They say to save yourself from hit stroke 
Put an orion in your armpeat 
It sets me thinging how and whey 
Is eat seance 

Oh my senses cuddle 
Thinging such hard things 
While such thoughts raze there head
The cue moves froward 
A phew steeps 

The son steel continues to beat 
Beeds of aspirations tickles drown 
Strumming through my throat 
Clammy and dump 
Makes me fill so dam uncomfortable 

The pupil in front bee gin to get restless 
Sum even shout out lout 
The weandows putt their shooters down 
Faring that trouble might break out soon

These maid the crowd hungry 
Day shout abuse 
Eye really do not now 
How to retract 
To live the line 
Or
To bee in cue 

Soddenly the pupil star pelting stones 
A stampede stars 
An orderly made dyes eventfully 
Eye prey that her sole wrests inn peas 

The son steal continues beat down on ewe 
Hot and seering 
I never new eat would com to these
This sanding in a cue

2. RE-SESSION  (Malaprop)

Eat is that thyme of the ear 

When things turn downwards 

The kerb of the graphs 

Hades south 

Echonomists say 

Eat it is re session 

Pupil start to carve their ex pences

They start to horde 

By jiving a wide birth 

Two spending money 

They start two budge ate

Sum re member  

The Great Depression of 1929 

Many busy nesses collapse

Many reach people 

Gate roo weaned 

Hour be loved country 

Deed knot fill it then

Be cause wee were knot 

A freebie country 

Off course our echonomy 

Dead knot grow 

Now wee our told of the slew down 

Of the meld town 

News reeders predict a leak pitcher 

Butt eye do knot fill sow 

Given our demo graphics 

Demands will all ways bee their 

Sow the supply will remean two 

Resession will joust be a ward 

Ass we will knot fill eats effects 

The reach will fill sow proud 

Flaunting their reaches 

Whining dinning and partying 

Telling sundry a bout work 

Hardly working 

Paying dividends 

Eat is a wean wean situation 

Sea when we have wee men 

Having seventeen* to twenty-three* chill drain 

Per purse on 

How can supply fall 

Eat does not matter 

If the smothers fall seek 

So lounge as they can pro deuce 

So let us bid ad dew 

To Resession 

We halve over cum 

The grate deep-ression 

* Lankatai Kharat from Beed is pregnant with her 17th child though her mother-in-law Nadarbai claims the figure is in fact 20 .

Bismillah , a woman from Nuh in Haryana has given birth to her 23rd child in 2007  .

3. RETIRED HURT        

Have you heard the rumour 
That humour 
Has grown a tumour 

Thus began the murmur 
Then a Chinese whisper 
Liberally sprinkled with spicy
mixture

After much conjecture 
Came the clear answer 
"Humour had broken his femur"

Without further demur 
All agreed to concur
"Of no use " any further 

They slapped it with sticks 
Slapstick stuck like glue
It soon turned dark and rabid blue 

An indisposed humour 
Clearly had no saviour 
Limped limply out of favour 

So from now 
Don't ask how 
Serious will kow tow 
In reverence 
In reference 
In conference 
In every sense .

4. DRAMATIC  MONOLOGUE 
OF A MISTRESS                                        
Welcome to my boudoir gentlemen .
Please make yourself comfortable . 
The velvet atmosphere is awaiting your gracious presence .
I have already drawn the curtains 
Lit the lamps ; see how they are burning burning low in anticipation. 
The mogras and jasmine, are they not lending to the perfumed air ?
Yes , they are like us , always giving, always lending .
Oh , indulge me a little please . 
Every day , we , the chattels do your bidding ,
but today I am in a mood to give 
voice to my thoughts. 
Thoughts that burn holes, drill searing like lit torches .
Sir , please do not fidget. Can you not do this much for me , your favourite, as you always say ? 
Look how you cringe !
Have you read my thoughts like I have come to read your every mood ? 
Perhaps you do not realize 
I may be one of you . Blue blood coursing through my veins. 
Who knows? 
When you rhapsodise my cascading black scented curls 
When you sing eulogies over my rose pink lips 
When you praise my ability to please 
When you wrap your hands around my curvaceous frame 
I may have come from one of you .
Why are you smarting uncomfortably gentlemen .
Is it so unpleasant ? 
Have you ever thought it is because of your needs that we exist
It is always your needs that we have to satisfy.
We are born to cater to your needs .
I know there is no escaping it .
You come to us in the dark of the night as if afraid yet drawn by some pull !
Yes , how we allure, isn't it , pandering to your every whim 
Then why are we so defamed ? 
Why are we shunned? 
Is it so wrong ?
Is that the reason you come skulking silently stealthily slipping through .
Shall I fill your glasses with choicest wine ?
It helps you know 
Ahhh yes it helps I know 
It helps to forget the injustice 
It helps to forget the ignominy 
It helps to forget the shame 
It helps to forget the drudgery ......
We are the concubine
We are the mistress
We are the geisha
We are the much maligned keeps 
Don't we know we are the best kept secret out in the open 
Everyone knows but no one acknowledges 
But we are 
born only to satisfy 
born only to flesh 
born again in this vicious circle 
Do you know that our children have no future?  
Our girls will entertain your sons .
Our sons will become pimps . 
Wrong begets wrong. 
No, no, please don't stop me 
let it all come out 
Let me purge ! 
Let me cleanse my thoughts. 
Let me refill our glasses gentlemen 
For the night is still young 
For the pain is still raw 
The flesh is too demanding 
I want to be numb before I sink....... 
Come, tell me which room would you prefer -
the pink themed one 
Or, the one with Chinese dragon decor 
Or, perhaps the one with the strong incense burning to drive away all thoughts and 
just submit to the rot ..........

5. KICKED AND KICKING     

In a symposium of sorts 
In a luxe resort 
They assembled all 
To discuss in a large hall 
"How kicked are we at being kicked" 
They cheered to, "Hick !Hick! Hicked!"

They all chorused "Tell us Telstar"
"Have no fear I am kicked afar "
"From goal kick to side kick 
Only the referee makes me sick" 
An object of admiration 
They clapped in adulation 

"What about you deuce ball ?"
"For me nothing galls" 
They may change my colour 
Cherry red to white pallor 
"I am a hit all around 
In a maximum I may not be found "
"I am chased in a leather hunt"
In satisfaction they let out a collective grunt 

The moderator with a beaming face 
Asked the golf ball to join the race 
He had already charged a fee 
He chortled "They putt me in a tee"
Loud round of applause 
Reverberated without any pause 
"Hear! Hear ! Tell us some more "
"How many holes do you score ?"

Hmm how juvenile thought the yellow tennis ball 
In jealousy he butted in said with twang and drawl 
"They keep many of us" 
"With ease and no fuss "
"Some are kept in the warm pocket 
We sure have an invisible docket"
Yet all are lobbed to be smashed 
Aces hit not to be latched

Slowly but quietly rose the common man 
With a smirk for a smile and a face wan 
He left the large hall in search of refreshments 
Found a counter selling spurious condiments 
"Are you not kicked about getting kicked ?"
"If I go to tell my plight all will be licked."
Thus speaking he left with a wry smile 
No right no centre it's been all the while.

FIVE ROSEATE SONNETS BY DAIPAYAN NAIR

Born in 1988 in a small town of Silchar, Assam, India. Daipayan Nair is a freelance writer/columnist, poet, fiction writer and essayist. His works have been published in a lot of printed anthologies and online poetry journals like The Poetry Breakfast, The Galway Review, Tuck Magazine, 1947 Literary Journal, Duane's PoeTree Blog etc. He was recently awarded The Reuel International Poetry Prize 2016. His works have been translated in quite a few languages. He has also got a book to his name. His first collection of poems is named 'The Frost' which was released in 2015. His recent publication is a co-authored anthology of poems titled ‘THE VIRTUAL REALITY’ which was released at the end of 2016. Currently, he is working on his upcoming project, a detailed poetry book on the new poetry form ‘Tideling' titled ‘Parallelism’ to be published soon.

Daipayan Nair
1.

The thread's so thin...

You hold my hand like possibilities, and dark drools fresh down that skin, in this never-ending December

As we lie, secret and naked, like a hundred days and ninety-nine nights, wrapped in a calendar

Unforgiven is the hour of the kiss, we age to our comforts, unforgotten becomes the touch

I seek no God, I meet no soul, the crow lands on my grave without a faith, and I love you very much

You hold me age-old like a dead branch, and we fall high and low

On my return, I find you soft, I find you fragile, that's how a sin breaks into kisses, melody shatters into a song

Yet there you're, lover of the old, mother of the new, with arms, open wide, there you're, like one fine romance

Waiting till forever lasts, till the musk of dusk's all there is, he's all over you, somewhat like my bleeding heart, how far can I go...

Love desires power and power needs love, both possess, it's like our first kiss, a hundred years old

And likewise we grow, over a hundred Decembers, that's how I challenge greater forces, that's how I love your soul

Ruin is where you hold my hand tonight, and creepers grow fast, we're still not done ruining each other enough

Often during Decembers, our powers rain, it's black and white, like those eyes, I flash and silence is human, joy is pain

Seconds after you begin a rose, I end a poet, lover or a sin, I end with a weak faith, that's how easy for love it's been 

Every December love's different, and every December we think we're similar, our beloved kin ties us both to our age-old tree, and the thread's so thin.

© Daipayan Nair

2.

Love's holier...

Love's holier when you fall naked and I'm warm on your breasts, and God's no fire 

Love's holier, when the Sun sets on your face, and dead silence takes a gigolo for hire

Love's holier, when you ring my tongue like a temple bell, it's an abusive fuck, and God's no liar

Love's holier when I return like a dusk, like a loner, her wishbone hangs by a wire, and the Thrush's done with the fire

Love's holier when you burn trees high like desire, I fall on my knees alive, and God's no fire

Love's holier, when I'm done with a doppelganger, it's thousand bucks, and your soul still tilts my bum

Love's holier, when I scream your name loud in an alley, all hair and spine, they look nothing like you, and God's no liar

Love's holier, when in winters, I'm warm on her bum, you hang holy on the wall, it's a cruel picture, we're no longer moonlights, but an ancient fire

And so we die into sounds, night after night, you as a river, I as a sigh, our immense silence

Till they give it back to you, the holy tomb of your breast, and my temple on your chest, now I ring in a thousand tongues

Red is how I rise, and red is how you fall, we're flames of our own making

On hardness, you grow soft, and God's kind, He ensures, you're spoiled only by lovers

Settling like death, you rise nothing like life, you ripple my Sunrise like a rose, and God's no saint

End is holier, when you sprout out of my extinction, you're nothing like sexy but soft as grass, before another stack of fire.

© Daipayan Nair

3.

Pure alcohol...

Love is one bottle pure alcohol, my friend, after you're one bottle down

Two sips more, and friends lose their ground, you get back on your feet good, you enter her gown

Jazz sucks its tongue, and the saxophone blows hard, the blonde with her blonde hair, she yells in love, it's pure cocaine

She crosses her legs, we cross ours, she's some terrific sex you say, we leave the bar, two hands in one, she was my beloved, before I left the town

She burned half when I was gone, she burned half when right next to her, mother was blown

Tonight I return, like a 12-year-old sin, eager for none, and she burns full, like a Cuban cigar

She's posh now my friend, she blows the mic for some, that's another word for 'talented'

As we get over her, we still get out of the car, windshields moist, and our hands held above, I remember how she sang for me back then, her moans were love

It's ok my friend, you're one bottle down, you fell deep, it must be her, it's 5 o'clock, and that's five flush down

And she's still heavy on me, like an old Christmas, I carry her light as fuck, and I'm no man, she was shot, long before there was a town

Remember my friend, now that you smell her in the Sun, feel her thorns too,

Offer a hand, relaxed and easy, somewhat soft like trust, and that might just make a wine out of you

She was never a game, she's just a rose, she couldn't bloom beyond her name

Ends the love tale, two bottles down, you jump, there's a chic for sale, she ends her silver breast, she ends me fast, "I knew you'd end like this someday, don't stop now, keep coming, it's better than a stranger every day".

© Daipayan Nair

4.

Jack Daniels...

And when it comes to beauty of grief, I try the blankness of your skin, in simple laments, I don't hold true

You take my drags, my kisses, and bites, as some spoken word and this new hunger is a fake poverty

And when we lie on that cold floor, naked, our lips eating air, we're just homeless on a beach that's blue

I'm fucking urban babe, my tears are distilled, it's Jack Daniels and you

And when it comes to handling grief, your face is a luxury I have

Something's easy babe, you don't kill hunger, and your hunger seldom kills, it's easier for me, with another ninety-nine in the queue

This is the urban babe, love here is fancy, things here are stored for long,

In your case, an unspoiled heart, and a few words, those better than alms, I'm urban, I still survive with 'I love you'

There lies the damn bottle, 18 years blend, I blend in you babe and hell's heaven

I blend enough and your face empties in my hand, damn! grief is beautiful

Red is my grief, yes that is what my grief wears, I don't spill enough when bullets spill me

On a piece of paper I just sympathize, and to revolutions, I just nod, I easily settle for your lipstick

Save the child while he's still young and I become urban with a rose undone, I sleep in my porch where there's none

Endangered sits my beauty of grief, red frozen on her lips, I am urban, I know little how hearts bleed, I die beautiful, I die without a fist, I die rich, it's Jack Daniels and a wrist.

© Daipayan Nair

5.

Back & forth...

You know how love grows pure, it grows like a child on your lips, like a woman in your head

And then they say, love ages faster when I am with you, love ages deep when I am in your bed

And when love fails common, like a man, and black hairs rise like ash, what sky-blue left of your gown is dead

You know love grows pure, it grows like a ruin when we're gone, like a daffodil on your head

Love is mysterious, and love grows humble like a pasture,

We mix six feet below our kins, they've just begun, they just kiss

And love fails young, love fails good, when a young boy hurls sorrows towards the sea

And there you're silent, growing on rocks and sands, six feet from the shore, growing with a love that's pure

She who waits beside you, has a pure heart, she has beautiful eyes, and she has an eye for beauty, she finds her man, he has a strong wrist, she's still very far

So you ask yourself, how failed are we, to grow in each other, as a hot body, as a beautiful mind

When in the world of forgetting, happy and sad, only a simple heart survives

Remember none, my love, after I'm gone, I know you will, it's just my way, of reassuring my kiss

Only roses provide a good challenge, the ones who mean something, even when souls make love

Stored in this world is a lot of pain, sometimes it's severe, sometimes its just me and you

Ending grows pure my love, like your last ember of gold left alone on a disrupted shore, and I am almost there, back and forth.

© Daipayan Nair