What is love?
This is a recent translation meant to promote my old Bengali original, which is a fictitious piece I wrote as a 17-year old.
This is a loose translation of my recent Bengali original, about waiting to be back in Calcutta, my home.
This is an experience of a dear friend, who narrated it to me, and I could not help but pen it down myself. Some of the details are cooked up, but the emotions were real. It is being posted with permission.
A tribute to poets.
A fictitious sexual encounter with an imaginary red-haired girl.
A humble attempt to describe the beautiful sunset by the TIFR sea-face on a peaceful February Sunday.
Whom is poetry written for?
On a lover of the past.
Realizations of a pained soul that looks forward to see the world.
An ode to the city where I grew up, before leaving it for long.
About sharing sunsets with a stranger on a distant roof, day after day.
Standing by my dreams.
Debris of first love.
A war-poem, with a deeper meaning hidden in the identities of the people involved.
Lies crush innocent hearts.