শাতটা বিলক্ষোণ ওনুগল্পো

শ্যাডো’স অ্যাণ্ড স্কার্স

Flowers and Fisticuffs

And tigers leap on moon

On whatever’s left, a nation,

a cognition,

Cocaine-kid, whores devoid of cordiality,

Mozart devoid of enchantment moving down a little gray tune

down the ninth lane of forever, skies have spilled over

all that’s unimbibable and beat. The clock shall get us all

Miles away, burning badlands grin at

What we have made of ourselves.

....

I hear my lady friends talking to their lady friends

on men they scalped

and left out cold because they needed them like they need

their mothers. The whole concept is sickening. And then

i hear from my male friends fiddling with drugs and the

notion of suicide because my lady friends or their friends

have scalped them and left them out cold because

they needed them like they needed their mothers.

I’ve been through this whole deal and it does feel

like shit. Apparently, needing your women like you need

your mom is a bad thing. And most of these women

end up with rich round men who need them like they needed

their toys and not like they needed their moms.

....

There are so many stupid people in the world

that i never feel bad when i’m lonely.

And what’s worse, these are cowards who

shall never have the guts to go all the way

for what they want; they choose to moan

and wail and cry and believe in the magic cure instead

 I’d rather be alone and drink alone

That way i can laugh with the gods and the furniture,

set nights on fire and walk through it

and drink wars and

famines down and make life and death

tremble at me without having to give a shit.

...

There are times when it seems like all

the damnation of the world has been heaped on you

even stars start resembling starfishes

and everything that moves look like terrible monsters

sticking their heads up from the cesspool of nightmares

stuck in doom, bells of doom tolling

one big madhouse that the world is

going to the nasty dogs. It’s easy for

the believers of God who writes all

prescriptions for the soul in stone

and for the worshippers of placid sanity to find a way out.

And then there are the ones who finds

salvation in flesh. It’s not that tough for them either.

That leaves us with you and me

And now that we’ve established our cluelessness

Let’s just drink to our doom and stop looking for clues

or for light. They’ll come if they are to.

Well, at least the world’s not running out of booze.   

...

There’s something sinister following me

There’s something fucked-up hollowing me out

It’s written in the doors in the roofs and floors

It’s tattooed on the tits of thick meaty whores

But whenever i try to read it goes poof!

My life’s going to the dogs and the dogs say woof!

There’s nothing i can do but resign to fate

So I eat drink sleep and masturbate.

.....

The unlearning of the soul

Senses and cognition winding up and coiling back

Like a foul slippery mass gripped by rave

Strange shapes and dimensions beyond

What you’ve been taught to identify

It’s a happy world

Rain on arid lands after a thousand years of thirst

Hills and valleys crawling out of the brain

Storms howl through decimated cities

Your defeat belongs to all now

You are godless in heat now

And nothing matters

Lost sailors make compass out of rainbow of dreams

Clowns scare little girls to oblivion

Reptiles shake off slumber

New bride engulfed in smoke

Bridges shooting off guts of another demon

Another verse of dreams

Heroes sweating behind venetian blinds

This world has been shattered by earthquakes and madness

This world is sinking in pits of reckless pink ennui.

Pack up, fast

It’s time to run beyond this

And into the heart of Empires of gold

It’ll be a long smooth drive through moonlight.

...

Watermelon of lawless life big round and red

Outside, there’s pure madness

Days and nights on fire

People busy fighting and dying

People busy knifing and gunning and flowers busy

blooming against the sun. In hills and forests

men women and kids spread out, settle

conquer, build, fuck, kill, and do loads of shit

to stick around between borning and dying.

Watermelon of life, i press its tender flesh

with my tongue and teeth and i squeeze and suck

the juice into my system to derive nourishment

i spit the seeds out.

...

This horror-show of commercial compunctions

That show us the dreams and not nightmares

This great veneration of sugary lies and betrayal

That makes toothless tigers and paper-dragons out of us

Is good because without it being here

I won’t have much to fight against.

Bullshit,

Do you think i’m enjoying this having-to-fight?

I’d rather do nothing and drink and fuck

With my cock inside the juiciest of all pussies

Or else with a cockroach fluttering inside my mouth.

...

Sad heart like sad cherry ripped in cruel cold

Sad like dead elephants on red mountains

The unbearable pain of profanity dripping from

Snot-rugs and red puke in bathroom beating dawn

Rain beating windshields howling one true world

That rings in Utopia and Dystopia of deadland dead mayhem

Our movements recall earnest thoughts

and

Our wants recall earliest needs the contact with

The self, the repairing of television, noses

Broken by angry fists angry gods lashing out

At the protagonist of this play as i

Count stars and try to remember their names

All education and therapy and zen and yoga

And selling of lingerie and polka-dot romance

By moonlight sunlight candlelight all light dims

As singsong policemen beat tired madmen

off the sidewalks this stupidity of people

breeding more stupid people and not

thinking of volcanoes, solitude, Rembrandt

is getting to the depth of perception and

eating it out like slow maggots in terrific action

like happenings in theatres of the absurd

where no one has any clue and all nods

and claps. All art is horseshit. I’d rather fuck and booze and dope.

    

...

Only the burning and the truly burnt

Keeps silent about the great sadness of the world

While the others speak of it.

because they’re living through what the others

can only imagine.

....

This profound profanity of the masses

Feeble in love and bitter in hatred

Can destroy all and create none except more chaos

And inane devastation.

And the intellect is even weaker

The only solution it can draw is

through absolute obliteration. It’s a game

of stupid chances being played over and over again

And no one seems to be getting bored of it.

...

Pugmarks of affliction for women

Draws me closer

To flesh

Teethmarks on their shoulderblades

Push me

Towards death

I wouldn’t have been bothered by mortality

had there not been other men alive

and biting.

...

A storyboard for the rose:

Blooms

Booms

Busts

And lives another life

As a cannonball

Wrapped in dragonskin

Waiting to get even

with the sun.

...

A storyboard for the puppets:

Puppet-horse jumps

Puppet clown dies

Puppet-house on fire

Puppet-master charred

Puppets free

Puppets frozen.

....

A storyboard for subtle movements:

Tenderly, breeze rolls through

Dust flies

Fingers clear dust from window panes

And then the rain.

...

Conditions of Conflict

Caught again and rising

In the communion of steel

Once again, these four walls

And these ten fingers

Stank up by compulsions of endurance

Fouled by litmus-sour lies

The same rain-clouds

The same trams

The same guards

The same sets of betrayal and honesty

And then it’s time for the hounds

To tear through the night

The best part of this play

That makes supermen out of clay

is where the clown gets butchered.

And the butcher gets clowned.

 ….

Dainty whores with pastry-flesh

Birds fly all night

Come all voluptuaries of these times

These are not very happy times

These are the right times to lose and never regain

Birds lost in motherly arms

Birds lost in neural decay

Monsters smiling through glasswalls of love

Cold train passes by.

Everyone smiling, dancing

Everyone happy.

Lyotard didn’t expect this.

Pygmies from paperback dreams

Breach weary horizon.

……..

The problem with electro-social expression

Is that everyone seems intent of serving their shit

In a platter to the world, and everyone

is convinced of their genius. And all these self declared

masterpieces are so similar to one another

that it’s rather tiring. Mass production of porn has killed

our libido. It’s poetry’s turn next.

…..

The landscapes we inherit in the market-places

of mind

decay through over-use and symbols,

war and litigation,

famines, infamy

as death-birds peep through keyholes of fogged heart

and life-birds await the sun

and the in-between birds rage against the vile debauchery

that surround our purest inheritance of lusty cognition.

And on and on mad elephants dance in rain

Till all is silent and bells stop ringing inside brain

And the much voodooed charm leaps out

and hovers over the fiery tip of midnight

for the reptiles of love and of hate to wake up

and slither towards open spaces that never were.  

….

In beginning it began

And then the wind got stronger

And darker

And love was bitter

We drank from the river

The river flooded

We sailed the seven seas

We followed the seven stars

We discovered, invented and constructed

gods and cities and vitamins and towels

All was good

All was bad

In the end it will end

And the wind won’t get any stronger.

…

I entered this very strange room

There were 50 little people and 50 little houses in there

And there was a filthy old man lying on the floor

And pissing at the roof that had paintings of splendid naked virgins

He winked at me and said

“society won’t notice”

It seemed fun.

Soon, I could see tiny helicopters flying all over the place

And there was some music too.

I was there for a long long time

And then I was bored

So I got up and walked towards the exit door at the other side

As I turned the knob, I could hear groaning and moaning behind me

Soon it turned into a shrieking lament so sharp that it pierced

my guts. There was no sunlight, and as I turned back I saw the old man has vanishd

And all the houses, people, choppers melting like chocolate in heat

I opened the exit door. The room was at the edge of a cliff.

…

Ice-cream van of pain, slugging past weary twilight

Dark flowers abloom

Caves caving in

Soon, all paths shall be gutted

And grave catastrophe shall dump down like sludge

on our hunchbacked lives.

Ice-cream van of pain brings this sad news

And has been condemned by tyranny and attrition

to crawl away and move apart

You, who is beyond all shadow

And keep the hangman away from the noose

And the noose from the neck

And the lion from the flesh

Please do something about this.

…

Pick up a sparrow-song from the cesspool

Pick up a pickaxe from the carnival wagon.

There’s no surrender

Heart shall fight machine

Till one or both are dead.

…

O meat of love pure and true

O meat of love I yearn for you

Delighted, pigeons fly.

O meat of love in the sky

O meat of love o regal pound

O meat of love o profound

Smooth swans afloat.

Meat of love in feather-coat

…

Superman-story isn’t finished yet

I dragged by one sixty odd pound corpse out

And the skies were thawing in frenzied chaos

I get bored easily

And it’s not my fault that the world is

The most boring of all prisons

Half-crazed children of the moon

Are suddenly very happy

And pure souls that smell like freedom

Are being pawned off to meet interests

That pile of the debt of sanity

As tax, toll, fee, rent and other charges

This duress is amazing

Even the flies are getting repulsed by shit

And are settling for and on air-conditioned popcorns instead

Mom, why did you let Dad screw you?

Did you moan and shiver when he was crushing your petite body

against his demonic frame?

Were both of your sweating like a brutal dog-and-bitch pair?

Did you wrap your legs around his waist while he was pumping his wrath inside you?

I will kill him for this.

Superman-story isn’t finished yet.

….

I look at stars tumbling down the turmoil of cosmos

I look at the grand silence looming outside my window

Even the cockroaches are placid sometimes

And the earth makes no sound and shows no light

Sadness and solitude like twin archangels sitting atop the tallest minaret

of the world from where everything can be seen and heard

They know of every light that’s put out

I’m sure they can see me to

I’ll be sad and lonely without them.

And in the silent bar-room full of strangers – all are

staring at me.

I can be a killer,

I can be a lover

Or I can be both.

…

Being born into this world of ill-conceived erotica

ill-timed humour and ill-bred sanctity

is the ultimate price we pay to exist

the load gets heavy with time and more of the same shit

is injected. Look where we live. It’s a fortress of strict accountability

being guarded by wild beings. And new guards are reinforced every day

some people jump out of windows

some go insane

some go insane and jump out of windows

and the rest gets numb.  

Exceptions do exist – those who plan ways and means of escape

But they keep disappearing in the strangest of manners

And no one gets to know

what happened to them.

And through these little games of love and shit we’re taught

To play to keep ourselves busy and

To keep ourselves from going crazy or suicidal with boredom or

getting the idea of resistance.

It’s a lousy joke that’s being played over and over

The irony being that we had designed this whole thing ourselves

because we had nothing else to do

other than fucking and dying.

….   

আউট কোল্ড/প্রব্রজ্যা কিছুমাত্রে চান্দ্রগ্রোন্থি/০-১/হী-ম্যানের ইয়েটা/টবে বৃষ্টিজ্জল জোমছে

শদাগর চলে শুখোমএ

অজাচারী পোর্টিকো

Raining Green Daisies Grin etc

right here

I walk till body aches

See them coming. Loads.

48 hours of stoning

and the city seems sadder than ever

I walk inside brain and out.

Footsteps from the womb of poetry. Right here.

Mothers become whores. Wives become whores.

And vice versa. Pangs and pings. Crucifix and lingam.

Right here.

binary eyes, codes, shapes mix up.   

six puffs and I blaze the city.

I think of pagan love rituals. My shadow becomes my tail.

dick becomes artifact of objectivity.

Too much blue and yellow all throughout.

jaded neurons, jaded flesh, tissue, fibers

trying best to hold fort

when demons attacks

inside and out

seeks to suck it all out

till it’s all a dry fagged knot

suited to serve all purposes of existence

it’s a duel to grisly death

and it worsens with every throb.

Right here

It rains

dead lovers come out of their graves

to face history.

Souls of little girls raped

by Greek heroes

on midsummer nights

arise

to become quotable stanzas

of neglected verse.

Poetry becomes word-wound

Scary birds swipe down from the red ass-crack

of sky

Body’s dick in mind’s cunt

Sailors seduced by geometry

Stoic soul watches

Static beats

Mad void

Wolf eyes

Tiger jump

There’s a splendid world locked inside this

Red boats on green rivers

Green boats on red rivers

Boat’s red on river’s green

Boats boats rivers rivers and et cetera.

Take the body bake the mind

Kill the father shag the mother

Eat the devil eat the god

Eat the pussy eat the brain.

Let’s talk of hardcore reality

Reality being titty rolling shitty

Yummy, are you really God?

Mummy mummy they took my rain away.

Fuck!

Meat and wine for the goddess.

Opening of the splendid chamber.

Trams moving at speed of light

Dissection of the heart.

Everything bound

Everything frozen free.

There are crocodiles inside.

Too tired to frame.

Virile men riding black tides.

Horny women in medullar wilderness.

Wall of darkness all around. City fading faster than me.

Picture glazing walls haze love.

Right here

The sharp burst of all that’s finite

Apathetic exposure of this mortal that mortal

Violence and hedonism

One child’s death meets a rainbow

One personal rainbow two three I’m counting rainbows

City of rainbows shades on lakes, river, gutters. Heart’s gutter smells of pain.

Motivation samurai. This is chimera. This is a candle. This is very holy. This is where we stop thinking of doom

This is where this sturdy grinding numbness stuns us

Fall, silent.

Silent, fall.

O relics and ruins of time lost in space

o RELICS AND RUINS OF TIME written in uppercase

I reject all.

I accept pure.

It’s like liberation, but it’s much more than that.

Right here

It all comes out

Like loose shit with pockets of gas inbetween

Right here

The sun is bright.

Arraborra arra starra blurra blurra clarra Houdini o Houdini

In the disco of my burning sting

Heart heart flower flower

Lions roar at what we have done to us

What we have done to the city

What?

Me here, this, irksome

voodoo bloat blablablobloo bloated hoot hoot iron mirage mud bells in brain balls in brain

Rubbed against dust

Shadow stitched by mirrors

Flah

Flums

Scaring moths off flames

Right here

Cosmic topology

Smashes every stone

Muscled robots from China

Shake every Pharaoh’s tomb

Buses jut out of city’s butts

Buses dissolve in foggy dark.

Dogs knife themselves

Cats stealth to ether

Snails crawl to light

Ants have fun.

Right here

twinkling Sabbath meets my propaganda and falls in love because frangipanis melt like candy coated epitaph of all soft and tender core. I dig to the deep of I dig to the deep of this depth this here that, there

eating flesh eating meat

eating blank things that can’t be eaten

right here there’s a magic sword which i touch and feel invincible. fuck the night till it bleeds. i. me. Boom. Bust. All enemies. I fight all. This empire is mine. This nebula is mine. The stars have nipples.

Under the mountain under the fountain we go

Snakes and ladders we play. Biting down, throwing out. There’s fun in this

grand game.

To see this maddening spirit break open

As little soldiers of heart charge at the world

Drowsy yearning spilling through, spitting at the eyes of judges who evaluate

Earning a good royal laugh

Right here

I see happy dolls dancing sad dolls seeing them become happy and join

I see the evil face of puppet master

Thundercaps of dazzling glory pass through me and nothing matters anymore.

Hangman has found me hounds have hounded me and slowly I cross over to where it’s all cold and grey and right here one mad unity of recollection condenses into one insane million coloured beam.

Right here right right here god sees me naked I see god naked and neither of us care much.

And then I am sad no more

I am lonely no more.

   

    

অবোশন্নো বাইনারির সাইম্যুলেশন

Kind Cows Shot Through Inter Alia Death Desiderata Disco-Pain

Let us all unite against this damnation

Let us fight this decay and defeat

It’s late and the Gods from the skies are spitting

on our heads

and the sparrows are shitting there too

but better late than never

there might be some light or

there might be a lot

or there might be none

the frogs might make love

and the nuns might all go insane

but it’s a shame how we wait

for things to happen

and then things don’t

and then we wait some more

till our outsides and insides

start rotting

teeth and balls start falling

and guts start curling upwards

like diseased leaves.

it’s all a shame, this training

to get used to boredom

to abhor solitude

and poverty

or to love them, desire them

to piss on living

to piss on dying

to waste and wither away and conk off with a whimper

it’s a shame, this denial of choices

this worshipping of compromises and stale morsels;

we’re melting down

and soon we’ll all become

waxes on mud

horse-shit on straw

maggots on the rotting flesh of life

it’s all a crooked parody of what we were supposed to be

what we could’ve and should’ve been:

Kings and Queens of the world

Let us resist this disgrace of total decimation

Let us beat the shit out off the conspiracies the pile up

on the hunchback of life,

this utter indignation of being forced to

wilt away before being allowed to bloom out loud

Let us fight the doom that holds us down –

Before it’s too late

Before all doors and windows shut off

and walls and roofs close in.

We must reclaim our bright Empire

under the sky

and blaze through the dark

avenues of timeless history.

We deserve this.

…………………………………………………………………….

There was an aquarium at the reception

of the office where I was waiting

for my call from the interviewers

It had green and yellow fishes

and the water had a bluish tinge to it

maybe because of the tiny bulb inside.

The receptionist, she was a middle aged lady

of tender bearing:

her lip-gloss was pink.

The plastic flowers peeping from the vase

on her desk

were pink as well.

It was raining like hell outside

though nothing could be heard from inside the lounge.

It seemed like a monster was lurking somewhere

ready to burst out through the curtains

and tear the calmness apart with terrible rage

and I was there, sipping my double-shot espresso

staring at green and yellow fishes,

waiting for it to come out and explode

But it didn’t

and I got my call from the interview board

comprising of a fat old man in Armani

and a fascinatingly ugly woman

with massive boobs.

There was a picture of a white stallion –

running –

on the table

Among other things I was asked what creature

I relate to most.

I said fishes, mostly green and yellow ones

in aquariums

of posh lounges.

I wasn’t lying.

While coming out, I noticed that

everything remained just the way I had left them

The fishes the flowers and the receptionist and her lipstick

were all in appropriate places

No monster had broken free yet.

And it was still raining outside.

I went down to my favourite booze shack

and spent the rest of the day there

and stumbled back home way past midnight:

Tripping on happily despairing visions

of green and yellow fishes in Armani and colossal boobs and pink lipsticks

interviewing

hopeless drunkards,

from across tables with pictures of white

horses

running,

and fat old men and ugly women and tender ladies

floating around in bluish waters of sparkling aquariums.

They had told me that they will let me know

Three months down and I haven’t heard from them yet.

……………………………………………………………

Chromosomes march out tonight

They’re playing the music loud

in squares and parks and pavements,

they’re letting me know

of their hunger and thirst,

of their life and death:

through pamphlets and roars

and everything loud and everything clear

Soon, all rivers will flood

all mountains will break

and all skies will open up and pour something dreadful out

And cities will shrivel up

and sidewalks will be ablaze

and buses and trams will turn into demons hideous as sin

and theaters will show shows of fear.

and love will turn lawless

and hate will run free

and flowers of tender mercy will not be of tender mercy anymore.

The chromosomes are brutal tonight

because I had ignored their letters of deliverance

and they’re marching out in fury

loud and clear.

……………………………………………………………………………….

I had seen a street dog die.

It was hot like devil’s armpits

and the dog was sick for some days –

wasn’t making any sound,

limping.

My neighbour –

a forty three year old widow

with splendid curves and reportedly loose morals –

had given him rice and a boiled egg

and a bowl of medicated milk.

I know this because I was

observing her stately ass

as she bent down

and crushed some tablets on the milk

a few minutes before.

The dog

ate a little

of the rice,

nibbled at the egg,

sniffed the milk

and staggered away

Like a beat soldier walking back home

it dragged its weary body down

to the loose widow’s staircase,

shivered for a few seconds

and heaved into an abrupt arch.

And once that moment bigger than heaven or hell

or everything the dog or the widow or I knew

or didn’t know

passed,

it flopped down

into a large still mass of flesh bones and skin

and just that

and not a dog anymore

Soon enough, folks from the municipality

came down and took the mass away

because this is a posh neighbourhood

and stray dogs aren’t allowed to lie dead on the smooth streets here

for very long.

I watched the entire thing as it happened and did nothing.

God’s been closing in on me since then.

………………………………………………………….

This I write for you.

This dank dark room you saw me living in

before you left

is still here

and I am still here inside it

while you’re flying away

to a different world, a beautiful dream.

The concept of you

not being here

is scarier

than your not being here.

Outside, the sweaty August night

is etched with sad patterns

of desperate minutes and seconds of love.

You’ve taken everything when you left

And with you the idea of absolute purity is gone.

Those furious beasts inside

whom you made me make peace with

are breaking through

once again.

I’m staring at your pictures

I’m staring at everything silent, everything ghastly blank.

This life is no better

This death is no better

And it’s all shit.

Be happy, you splendid woman.

……………………………………………………………………………….

হাএ মোধুরিমা ও কোতিপএ ছম্মা ঘনত্ত্বো