Goodbye Bob.....

(For Mr Woolmer,a south african , and Pak coach, who died under mysterious circumstances during the World cup '07)

The bells that chime in twilights mellow,
proclaimed a depart,bading the last show,
sojourn, so long, harked with the last beat,
flew the soul miles, life's sun to horizon meet.

Of bouquets, and stress of mundane bustles,
of brutal tides and bonds: of daily rattles,
of glories to Nations to the peaks atop,
of losses, of lashes by the fickled crop.

A life that spelt many a sporting boon,
vacates, with a void tune of sorrow to croon.
Peace at last, the Coach left for a New life,
in Eternity, to breathe Bliss, away from mortal's strife.

Indrajit Ghosal

A Pimpled Story.

Ushered earlier than one could imagine,
the first tryst found in springs of a fluffy skin.
A saga of cheeks, in blood and bruise and a scratchy Rebel's gory,
One tiny here, a bombastic there, his life married one Pimpled story.

Glared in unison, of varied sizes , in vivid constellations-
Pimples two or more bonded, shaping scary proportions.

The prints that soaked- red pillows those days bore,
Spoke untold grimace , in silence the child endured.
In grief, he vexed and complained the Uprisings,
Faced the jabbering jerks queer silly rantings.

Pampered the pimples with potions to heal in early days,
Stubborn they rose from death, to scribe the untouched mazes.
From cheeks to back, treading the innmost of the 'Lost' eyes.
He lived pimpled batterings,in agony ,in anguishes and sighs.

Seldom they frequent with time now, yet the scars remain,
Time will not heal them-the scars seemed to tell the tale.

"Lost" eyes is referred to a prominent wandering, searching trait that is
so much in the eyes of the character described..
Indrajit Ghosal.
Colours of Red.

Red bedecked all corners,
with celebratious grandeurs.
Red were the cheeks blushing,
clad in sparkling red attire.
The palms reddened display,
forthcoming joys to surmount.
Red went the moist eyes sudden,
when the bygone days I recount.

Red were my doll's eyes,
to every bruises I would inflict -
red screamed the bonny cheeks
of the pains my hand would indict.
Red my eyes then,I thought, I deftly hide,
Red I blushed , when she nabbed at first sight.

Red ,those fingers little,
I once, holded in childish gaze,
I hold a red bangled hand now,
guiding her through the crowded maze.

Baptism rounds in vermillion holy,
witnessed the world and the red fire.
Empty howled my mind's house,
soon would die my teasing desires.

A part of me would empty lie,
yearning all the blabbers and smiles.
Heart will sing the paeans of past,
When she would have gone miles.

Indrajit Ghosal.


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