Poems by Abin Chakraborty with Sketches by Subarnarekha Pal


Shrunkp01 (2)

Around my father’s frames

Unanswered questions cling.

At night, in silence, they bring out their tapes

And plug in their scales

To shape their reports of withdrawal and loss

Which linger as shadows without end.


Even in the absence of strands of light

They pile upon beds as unpaid dues

And stab at my skin from all sides.


Bruised, I wake and look into the glass

And shrink with each passing night.


Telemachus Redivivus  

His was a far wider world

Peopled with networks of far reaching goals

With anchors in uncounted hearts.

I, a recluse, with few valid friends

Never really moored in any of his isles

And only paid homage with indirect routes

That long have lost lustre and gloss.

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So all of those words which he sang in my praise

As he led me to halls of mighty and great

Now seem as tattered as paint on our walls

And rust in a corner, unkempt.


And even as he beams from his picture on high

On corners of his lips I trace

Such little pixels of unfulfilled hope

That only my eyes can sense.



Long have I grappled with his loss

Tangled in all five stages of grief

Without any definitive end.


A random rewind, and there still reigns

His rich broad smile, with brightness in eyesp03 (2)

And that ever so gentle arm on my back

Tougher than all tempests I faced.


And yet amidst that,

Like superimposed stain

Intrude those images of a frail old man

Curled in a ball of his waste;

Or perhaps ravings of despair or rage

When he bawled as an alien disguised.


Inconstant memories now bicker and clash

And leave my inheritance in doubt.

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