Graffiti-kolkata. This is our blogzine.We have been publishing stuff for a long long time in Bangla, now it is time for something in English.React and Shout like you always have.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
Graffiti Kolkata Broadside # Issue 09 # July'10
Now retained by the US customs since 18 June '10, the 10 printed copies which I sent to her......
Saturday, June 19, 2010
before light enters upon your solitude
slowly breathe
repeat the words of your prayers in the darkness
before light enters upon your solitude
hold your thoughts close
to your heart
only you understand the trauma
only you understand the terror
the hours belonging to the night belong to you
you are lost in the daylight
fear has blue eyes the same shade as the sky
& you are tired of running, tired of running
tired
of
running
slowly breathe
repeat the words of your prayers in the darkness
before light enters upon your solitude
kiss sleep fully on the lips
and welcome her into your deathbed
growing old is the most satisfying of your dreams
where will you be
when you next awaken?
By Jim Wittenberg
5/26/2010
repeat the words of your prayers in the darkness
before light enters upon your solitude
hold your thoughts close
to your heart
only you understand the trauma
only you understand the terror
the hours belonging to the night belong to you
you are lost in the daylight
fear has blue eyes the same shade as the sky
& you are tired of running, tired of running
tired
of
running
slowly breathe
repeat the words of your prayers in the darkness
before light enters upon your solitude
kiss sleep fully on the lips
and welcome her into your deathbed
growing old is the most satisfying of your dreams
where will you be
when you next awaken?
By Jim Wittenberg
5/26/2010
Friday, June 4, 2010
Yet there's no pain
Federica Nightingale
Yet there’s no pain in your eyes,
dim is the strange breath I breathe,
coaching tears to fall,
tantalizing crooks of bread
instead of sharing.
Go ahead,
far away from my brow,
keep me safe from your narrow lips
The cherry-tree becomes so tender
beneath that low sky
Give me back my hopes
Give me back my proposals
I’m red and mature to be haunted,
you’re my tragedy and my forgiveness
to be accepted instead of mercy.
Yet there’s no pain in your eyes
Federica Nightingale was born in Turin (Italy).She is a poet and translator.
Yet there’s no pain in your eyes,
dim is the strange breath I breathe,
coaching tears to fall,
tantalizing crooks of bread
instead of sharing.
Go ahead,
far away from my brow,
keep me safe from your narrow lips
The cherry-tree becomes so tender
beneath that low sky
Give me back my hopes
Give me back my proposals
I’m red and mature to be haunted,
you’re my tragedy and my forgiveness
to be accepted instead of mercy.
Yet there’s no pain in your eyes
Federica Nightingale was born in Turin (Italy).She is a poet and translator.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Incantation
An emaciated mother-horse was telling the lore’s of Mongolia to her feeble young one while feeding him on the grassy patch opposite Academy.
The last golden rays of the rain-drenched day emanated the fairy of the Victoria Memorial. The remaining greens of the Esplanade and Lady Ranu’s* pigeon-blue aristocratic detachment.
Discussing about the eminent war between terrorism and imperialism I, with my friend, were moving towards liquid fire crossing over poetry sessions and art exhibitions.
In Calcutta’s ambiance of nihilism and depression, hedonism, lust and hypocrisy blossom like flowers—
The homes had been broken. All the promises and holy rituals had been swept away.
In the polluted Ganga hilsa and beauty does not exist anymore.
Cursed embryos, burnt wood and stifled time flow by in low tides,
The unheard incantation of the mother-horse brought into my memory the tribal flute player of Singhbhum, the moonlit night that smelled of my mother.
*Lady Ranu Mukherjee established the first art exhibition hall of Calcutta –The Academy Of Fine Arts.
By Sreedhar Mukhopadhayay
The last golden rays of the rain-drenched day emanated the fairy of the Victoria Memorial. The remaining greens of the Esplanade and Lady Ranu’s* pigeon-blue aristocratic detachment.
Discussing about the eminent war between terrorism and imperialism I, with my friend, were moving towards liquid fire crossing over poetry sessions and art exhibitions.
In Calcutta’s ambiance of nihilism and depression, hedonism, lust and hypocrisy blossom like flowers—
The homes had been broken. All the promises and holy rituals had been swept away.
In the polluted Ganga hilsa and beauty does not exist anymore.
Cursed embryos, burnt wood and stifled time flow by in low tides,
The unheard incantation of the mother-horse brought into my memory the tribal flute player of Singhbhum, the moonlit night that smelled of my mother.
*Lady Ranu Mukherjee established the first art exhibition hall of Calcutta –The Academy Of Fine Arts.
By Sreedhar Mukhopadhayay
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