Friday, February 08, 2013



Luna, oh Luna!

Luna, oh Luna, where did you go?
Remember how I used to love you?
Remember how I used to kiss you, tease you?
Luna, oh Luna where did you go...
To the seas or by its waves?
Remember how we spoke, not by words but by glances?
Remember how we cuddled in bed?
Luna, oh Luna where did you go...
To the streets or by its bricks?
Remember how you used to sit on my lap,
And I used to caress your mane?
Remember how you scratched me,
Once, to bleed!?
Luna, oh Luna where did you go...
To the house or by its doors?
Luna, oh Luna ........my cat, where did you go!?

Prithwish Patra.

Thursday, January 24, 2013


Warrior of love

The day has come to an end.        
The divine rays, drowned under dark haze.
He sits under a tree, not tired, not yet drained.
He is a warrior, a prince of fairytales.
But there are no battles, no wars to be raised.
He sits under the night sky,
Recalls the days, that have gone by.
He was a loner in the crowd, spent his life under the shroud.
Enlightened, he has the prospects to be great, but
He has done nothing to be proud.
The rebel sits under the moon light.
He soaks in her love elegant and bright.
He contemplated-
Relationships are strange, 
The all fall apart, in Bondage
Souls fly apart, in dearth of a cage.
It’s always complicated.
Love is more concrete,
It can be divine, can be sweet.
But can a warrior be a lover?
Love, that is not for blood or for war.
But for peace, beauty, for creative endeavour?
He came to win, to conquer, and to thrive.
So he will, with love not sword.
His heart is now, a heart of gold.
He is now a happy soul.
He wakes up, to a dawn.
It is a promising new morn.
But it’s not the sun, but the moon.
That showed him light,
She blessed him, with eyesight.
She erased his gloom.
She let his soul bloom.
She saved him from doom.
He walks now, towards her starry drape,
He discovers the city scape.
He discovers his life anew.
He solves all that is due.
His journey is now out of blue.
By Arka Patra

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Daily life...

Nothing flies, nothing lies.


Nothing sees , none watches.


We live to strive, nothing dies.


No one cries , we seldom are sly.


We gaze at the birds -"oh my!" 


Prithwish Patra

Sunday, January 13, 2013






 Crowd.

I walk past the crowd.
I stare in their eyes,
In search of the wonder light.
I walk past the beautiful winds,
Asking for a unknown sound.
I walk past the grass,
Never looking down at the unknown weeds,
But in search of fruits that are hard to each.
I walk past a thousand souls,
Never in search of love.
I walk past her everyday,
Never wanting to find her.
I walk past life,
Never realizing its beauty.  

Friday, December 21, 2012


Passing glimpse.


I saw her in a passing glimpse,
Her mane ruffled in the wind.
I saw her still sane.
I saw her smile,
Amused by her own reflection on the glass window.
I saw her turning away, as if in pain.
I saw her in thought,
As if regretting the past and cursing the future.
I saw her in burden.
I saw her wanting,
To be praised, to be known, to be loved.
I saw her nothing left to give the world,
But her life.
I saw her .... in a passing glimpse.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               Prithwish Patra.

How I wished!


How I wished to be anything, but human,
How I wished to be detached of feelings.
How I wished to be that pigeon that flys away.
How I wished to be that deer that runs through the woods.
How I wished to be that squirrel, who watches everything, but understand nothing.
How I wished to ask Him, to let me choose for myself.
How I wished, never to forgive or forget.
How I wished, never to try to find the meaning of everything.
How I wished, never to have the urge to find love.
How I wished, never to feel weak at heart.
How I wished to die, without knowing how or why?
How I wished ....to be free!
Prithwish Patra.

Blogger's Note : This is my actual suicide note/poem ,though I am not going to suicide.

Monday, October 29, 2012


Live another day

I just wanna live another day,
Coz, I have so much more to say.
So that I can kiss your lips in the rain,
That I can touch your skin, feel your mane.
That day,
We’ll forget the mistakes we made,
Forget the regrets and the gloomy shades.

Now that I am here,
Let’s waltz, splatter the beer.
Bring up the goblets,
And the people in fancy attires,
It’s my last party, o my dear.

We’ll smile, we’ll laugh
I’ll veil my face while I caught.
I’ll hide the blood in the wine
And we’ll pretend- everything is fine.

But when the opera stops
I’ll shed two tear drops.

I’ll look into your eyes
It’s time to say goodbyes.
I’ll tell, you how much I love you,
I’ll tell, you how much I need you.
I’ll be in your bangled arms,
In silence. No chattering, no drums.
Surrounded by the wet winter air,
As cold as death,
I’ll set free my last breath.


by ARKA PATRA.





Sunday, October 14, 2012


Love bites.


Scarlet here, scarlet there,
Darling you touched me everywhere.
Slithered on bed like snakes,
Kissed your lips blood red.
I watched your eyes,
Stripped your lace.
Darling we made love.
Held your neck, scratched your chest,
Spun you down by the waist.
Darling, we found ourselves in heaven.
The blazing sun poured against the curtains,
Blood raced through every vein.
Fingers trapped in your mane,
Darling we found ecstasy in pain.
And when it was time you left.
Kept me waiting, trapped in your love net.
Darling you left.
Erased your smell at the shower,
Changed the sheets, replaced the flower.
Now as I stand lone by the mirror.
Scars are the only reminder.
Darling, I feel your hollow presence
Everywhere.
  


Arka Patra.

Sunday, October 07, 2012



  IT’S JUST A DREAM.


What if you wake up some day and find out that the thing you call life is not your life at all. All of it was just a well extended dream, with minute detail.
You open your eyes and for a moment you stare at the ceiling, you find it to be an odd color, not the usual white you are used to seeing every day and night with the hint of blue by the night lamp. You force the fact upon yourself that it was mistake of your eyes due to the heavy sleep you have just woke up from. You close and rub your eyes. Get half of yourself up and rest on your palms. Somehow you fell incredibly light, but you again demolish that thought and take it as an after effect of your sleep. Then slowly slide your legs in an angle to reach the end of your bed, let your legs on the ground,
 “Weird I never leave slippers beside my bed, maybe it was someone else’s...”
You, being the meek person you have always been, don’t get into those shoes though they look snug. You draw out your arms and walk down to your big mirror, but you just find a blank wall facing you.
“Hey where did the mirror go!!” you eye though the room, which somehow seem more spacious.
“Ah! There’s it is!” lying in the corner. You walk to it. Stare at your body at full length.
You are taken aback by the sight .You are amused. Your fingers reach your face, pressing the skin slightly only to find that it has gone a little harder.
“That is a pimple.”
 Your hair is short and kinda good looking. You discover your facial hair has grown bigger and is all over your face.
The details of your life with big facial hair don’t need remembering as you know what you are doing. Suddenly the new unknown life becomes known.
 You are born with a silver spoon. Your dad is a millionaire. You are in New York. The last thing you care about is Somalia and yet you shared a picture in face book once, which said: “Share if you have a heart!!”
 You don’t care about bills. You don’t check the menu’s right hand side first before you order when you walk in a restaurant. You are a Casanova among girls. You have got friends, all swanks.   
The memory of your face gets weaker as a memory of a dream. You soon forget minor details of your previous life of fifteen. The faint memories of that life would be there just to crack jokes and taking part in a conversation tonight at the party like: “You know last night I dreamed that I was a different person!!!” and your know-it-all-friends would put in the picture, “You, they call it something like déjà-vu or something?” and the conversation would end with the coming of the next round of vodka.
You are on the verge to getting drunk, and you remember you have to drive. You move close to your beautiful girlfriend and plant a small kiss on her cheek, “Shall we?”
She turns her face to you and smiles, stretching your lips simultaneously in a smile. You get up with her in arm.
“Have a good night amigos!” and everybody (at least who are conscious), raise their bottles, glasses, half finished cocktails or whatever they have in their hands in a gesture to bid good-bye, but unable to speak out the two words.
You turn out of the bar, and as you go you side your arm out of her’s and slide it over to her shoulder and dragging her close to you. She lets her head on your shoulder with a smile.
Thirty minutes pass then; she’s staring at the New York’s well lit buildings that pass her on the way from the side-front seat of your car.
You glance at her; she’s fogged the close window and drew something on it with her slender finger. She turns to you and smiles, and you smile back.
You park the car and get into the elevator to get into your apartment. Your girlfriend is laying her side to the elevator wall. You press the round button with the number 5 written on it. The elevator starts up and the ever annoying elevator music starts with it.
“I would like to know who composed that music, someday!”
She just tilted her head to one side and just smiled understanding your joke but too tired to make a comment. After a few moments the elevator will make a sound somewhat similar to the small old bells attached to the top of the doors of old London antiques shops alarming the incoming of a customer; and the stainless steel doors of the elevator will part. You would come in front of your apartment door, fish out the keys from your pocket. Unlock the door, let the keys rest on the rack and get out of your shoes and rush to the bed. Your girlfriend, being a journalist, remembers that she has work tomorrow, takes an aspirin and then jumps on to you as a kid will and then slides to your side. You stare in each other eyes. You fall in love with her all over again; then die in sleep in each other’s arms.


“Papu can’t dance…sala..” a voice came from under your pillow. You take an instance to remember that’s your alarm tone. You blink your eyes and slightly stare at the bare white ceiling, with the hint of blue by  the night lamp. “papu nach nahi sakta…”  the alarm goes into snooze.
“Was I dreaming all that??!!”
Prithiwish Patra.



Blogger’s note:   This is a work of friction and as usual an intriguing topic to talk or write on. This has been my childhood fantasy rather a question, “What would happen if you wake up in a different world?”  And “Is it even possible?”    Well I don’t know maybe you are dreaming right now.


Sunday, September 30, 2012

The crowning wish.


The crowning wish
Like the flowing river,
Like time and desire,
Changes, however dear.
When you look back,
You see the decisions
The right and the wrong
The once, you were instinctive,
And the once that took long.
But when you look at as a whole,
The decisions were never wrong.
Coz you believe, whatever happens, happens for good.
Be it the grand dinners, or the night without food.
There is no regret,
Coz you are a positive person.
Coz you adore what you get.
It all comes down to happiness.
No matter how long the chase.
We all find it more or less.
Coz we are men,
With the good and the bad,
That makes us complete.
Happy or sad.
The love gone to dogs.
The love of Gods.
The murders we have committed
Of outstanding possibilities and thoughts,
For the lack of guts.
But they all make us what we are.
Call us coward, call us safe.
We don’t care, we are deaf.
Its all a part of life.
This beautiful wonderful life.
That doesn’t wait for your decisions
Nor for your wishes.
It only flows like the river.
Like time and desire,
However dear.
By Arka Patra