Poetry By Jayanta Bhaumik

Jayanta Bhaumik is based currently in Kolkata, India. He is basically from the field of Astrology and Metaphysics. Poetry is his experiment, passion and quest. Very recently he appeared as a Poet of the Week in Rick Lupert's Poetry Super Highway (13th - 19th May 2019). 


Family matter

In our adolescence,
I and my sister liked shapes
and colours and textures of
fruits 

in summertime 
we liked mangos, in rains guava, 
peaches we knew of other unknown mapping  
peaches from cold provinces
suited on our neighbour’s talks

other fruits our mother
talked of other fiery times,
Put efforts, you’ll get them quite like weapons 

Father had though
one choice of efforts, 
one pair of socks, 
one track that he had fare for,
only one brain, one cup of coffee
in flimsy afternoons

while we had soups on shelf,
and no dirt on the floor,
we’d rice, and sync without stuffs,
no more lamp to flicker at rhythms 
father not to effort, ever, to reach home
not a wedge needed to fit our door  

our mother one night smiled
at the moon out in the window,
and winced a little while making
some salad, green, at our dinner,
and said she liked cucumber much

I heard and my sister too,
and exchanged no empty look anymore

cucumber a fruit
a shape almost a blunt instrument 
we three said sighing that night,
and munched it then eagerly 
much



Rampancy  

everyday
is a culvert

last night
I was in a song
sung by the visitors

last month
you made 
a poisonous pie

and I felt it so stoned,
its taste was
old pungent sand, dense 

everything is
dippy cobweb like waterflow   

last time
I told of a dark light,
wishing you the best

panicking over a long way gone 
through the meridian of a jouissance  

that’s how a raft rampant on rocks

every night
I eat some immortal snacks
uncoloured ingredients, future-notes

and drink 
an extra glass of fluid 
with bubbles of secret quiddity  



Clemency for our goddamn affairs 

if you walk past the legacy 
onto my splayed long pasture,
I am sure you will cherish 
the sepia coloured sky studded in blue crystals
the flowers I grew
with their polyamorous petals,

maybe you will also visit a mirror 
reflecting diurnal god

a day giving unwittingly so much light  

later, in the night, you 
have the vacuum refreshed in hoax, 
strange meanings lying in many cranky cackles, 
boundless birds loving to miss polestar 

still not vanished in the nocturnal blur
but you’ll ask none, 
what kind of mirror? 

If you further walk on,
you see glimmers
you can see the morons celebrate the world 
of pontificating tattoos 
the multicoloured pixel of spidery dilemma
or even certain gods playing yoyo

I too once asked, why – 

I too found gods,
ambushed by cliché,  
reviving through last tunnel of the world,
waiting to be awesome men once again on screen