A Voice in the Dark | Shubhodeep Pal

Some day, when you return, that which you feared, that which you knew would happen, will occur and you’ll remain stranded on the grimy asphalt of life— stuttering, muttering, grumbling. Your home will be empty, the door battered, windows barred, and chairs untenanted. The house will cry for glowing souls to warm its milieu—to make it sublime… You’ll stand outside the gate, banging on the rusted iron: hoping, waiting for some seraphim to alleviate this incandescent distress. You’ll stand on the lawn, having broken through, the grass will burn your feet, flowers will singe your atrophic core. And you’ll still hope the house isn’t dead. You’ll gaze through the cracked panes, a veneer of false sanguinity shrouding your senses and feel the house wobble on its foundation. Your fingers will be glued to the glass and your hands turn to therapeutic liquid. But you’ll know that you still have the pack of currency to console you, that which you earned in lands afar, that which lends you your men...

Recently, I went to Calcutta to attend a marriage. The journey by rail took about a day and a half. It was tedious yet enlightening in a bizarre sort of a way. I tried to capture this experience through a few haikus. Hope you enjoy them!!! Any travel/observance haikus that you might have written are welcome. I. THE JOURNEY A blur of colours —camouflaged with my weird soul— glimpsed in black and white II. A.C. 2 TIER The insomniac train charges old, tired landscapes— rails warp in the sun III. OUTER SIGNAL The weary train chugs out at last: one latecomer does a final sprint IV. NOCTURNAL VISIONS On platform no. 10 rabid dogs accentuate their puerile choler V. THE TINTED GLASS The yellow-green land— unwillingly soused in heat burns to thin red dust VI. IDIOSYNCRACIES The branded morons plunging into compartments without rhyme or rea’on. VII. THE CLOCK STOPS At night, the violent serenity murders rude, callous wakefulness.

APPROACHES Life is a dreadful disappointment if you don’t keep your appointments RECREATION Drops of sun melt and descend like fiery dew: I relax in water REFUSAL I wait in a queue stare at her questioningly She says, No thank you MISCALCULATIONS The needle goes in the errant slot, fumbles: the thread of time breaks and rolls away FUTURE The dim light shining bizarrely over the car about to be stolen ODDITY The red wall with the gaping void in the centre, and light shining through

When all our niggling conflicts are past This land will lie a sullen death Life will stutter on with its broken mast Parched lives will pine for moist breath. The wild winds will be presently hushed Grey souls will tremble with servile dread Even in the stillness, amity will burst Gnarled hands will scream for moulded bread. Animosity will range on far and wide Bloody waves will batter bodies through— This earth will become Satan’s bride Tears of blood will stain this land anew.

I met her at a club dinner one Saturday night. There was an odd sort of radiance on her countenance. I was helping myself to a fifth glass of chilled lemonade when I spotted her. She was standing alone—though not in a corner. I walked up to her out of sheer curiosity. Something magnetic about her seemed to be drawing me towards her—irresistibly, inevitably… Hesitating slightly, I sauntered casually up to where she stood. ‘Don’t you think the music’s playing a bit too loud’ I asked casually. ‘Uh…yeah, well sort of’ she replied somewhat warily. ‘So, enjoying yourself?’ I asked. ‘Yeah’ she said without enthusiasm. ‘Don’t sound like it’ I remarked. ‘Well,’ she said more freely, ‘I thought I’d meet some friends at least. But my luck seems to have run out.’ She sighed. I looked up and nearly gasped. For the first time I noticed how pretty she was. Fringes of hair ran down her face, and as she pushed them back I noticed her eyes—sparkling black—she looked bewitching. ‘Oh well…yeah it’s that w...