The journey of my life had started in the industrial town of Durgapur, West Bengal, India. It has, over the years, made umpteen stops in diverse geographies – be it the softness of the Gangetic plains, the sabulous wilderness of the land of Maharajas, a sleepy town along the savannas in a Himalayan valley or the land of the Zulus. The places, the people and their culture enriched me imperceptibly but surely.
Like the wide-eyed little girl who once ran through the paddy field to see the train passing by whistling, I remain amazed to see the wonderful world, the beauty of its nature and the mankind in its motley shades, through my awed vision , and depict the same through my poems, stories and paintings.
And yes, soulful music has been my lifelong companion and vent to my emotions.
I have self-published a poetry book titled ‘Unfinished’ from Durban, South Africa. One of my poems, ‘Grains of Salt’, was published in a South African anthology ‘Poems for Haiti’. My oeuvres have been published in various anthologies viz., Paradise on Earth: Vols. l & II, Ferring Love, Glomag etc.
I am a bilingual writer: many of my poems in vernacular Bengali language have been published online and in local magazines / anthologies . I am also a painter and a jewellery designer and has keen interest in music and art in general.
You may mail to: kakolimajumdarghosh@gmail.com
- FACE TO FACEI command my soul face to face,Success fights failure in a steady pace.Raping corpses you’hv awakened death,But could you glorify your gunpowder breath?Ecstasies of your fatuous rifle do crave,For the throb of brave hearts,that can’t be buried under the grave. Sunrise and sundown are now an illusion,War and peace in pages of history breed hysteric delution.Your atrocities and dictatorial frown, are forgotten with the oppresive crown,Fear detaches as a birth cord, shrivelling into a scab, brown.Like a demented mind you always flaunder,Your vigilant rest wants sleep, fatigued with super power.Drunk with the spirit of the universal lightI burn my desperate…
- NEW ADDRESSNow the world is a shelter,- namelesswith a raw-wood door hanging hingeless,which is never knocked at for an address.The careless dusty lane of time , everknown -has lost its way of returning home.Moments swirl in smoky despairfrom the endlessly smouldering life cigar.Time, older than the universetranscends the fear of ageing,and looks back through the loopholes of leisure.Clumsy souls touch heaps of death,- starkas shadows grow longer and gets soaked in the dark.The newly formed worldemerging out of pandemic chaoslingers with the starry silence in ethos.Wisps of hope billows out of gutted breath,life murmurs like habitual phrases of praise;washed and ironed…
- THE BLIND GODMy shattered shadow pines for my form,as fragrance seeks to fill a vacant trance,my dreams I set ablaze to adore the norm,in floral hues, blooms the scent of silence .The old streets of the ancient towntake my chariot astray through the hesitant traffic,I don’t look simply at the passing crowdas I can clearly see their frustrated shroud.Vulgar details I seek not anymore,thousand shades hide in prime colours;tides and waves of despair, I ignoreas happiness of a voyage rests peacefully ashore. © Kakoli Ghosh Published in Glomag, May,22
- WHERE DID I GO…?Sometimes…staring at these empty benchesI try to recall, where did I go that day?Now, in this park I come oftento collect fallen feathers of rare birds whom I’ve seen never.I take a quick glanceat the cardboard faces, talking, smiling,passing by these green benchesthrough the autumn lane.I hear the lotus lake lappingjust beyond the green wastebin.I vividly remember the clankingof the trailing away train, its tail light,carrying you away from my sightslowly and peacefully along the track;the shining railway merging into the distant dark.But where did I go then,when, the sky dropped the curtain?The benches count my feathers;the crisp brown leaves…
- DIAMONDS ARE RAREOut of the snow covered peacescream my scattered skeleton piecesyearning through the wuthering winds to merge into a whole emptiness;dreamy as turth, proving a real lie.The flakes of my unconquerable soulcry as silently as the crucified Lovein the snow sleets of the bleeding sky,the bat evening hangs upside down from a parapet of a blasted hospital.Leaving behind the menaced lanes,the ruined square that leads nowhere,I rise out of Love’s aborted embryo,unbowed and imperishable as soul.I liberate my fate from pit of destiny.The shards of a broken mirrornever forget to reflect, whatever,but lies as dangerous as a kniferesting in a crafted…
- ONCE MOREFrom the depth of oblivion,do come back once again, I pray,shaping the void of my illusion in your form of loving array.Let your serendipitous strideshimmer like flakes of prideon my flowing river of night,- dark,carrying the depth of tomorrows’ spark.Do come back once more,like a truth deeper than fact,to leave me behind once again though,like the golden flames of fire, pureleave the smouldering ashes, for sure.One day my relentless yearning for youwill unite in your own eternal hue.I will conceive God in my tomb,an innocent hint of flesh and blood, throbbing in a developing mound;God will breathe in my womb.My…
- BLOOMING WOUNDSAre you bewildered to seemy wounds blooming!See how the deep sores of adversityswathed in love, has started to heal, and the leaking pride of death, seal!Look at the desperate bloodthat had gushed out once like flood,now choking the birth canal of the sunwith wads of gunpowder clods;from heaven unheard prayers return.Leaning on each other’s shouldersuccess and failure share a lit cigarin between their confident fingers.Trudging through the remnants of warthey stumble on the rubbles of power.Fatigued graves gently smotherthe wind pipe of violence and terror. Burning and fuming patience,raped,gives birth to another naked sun. Breath meets life at a sudden…
- MILESAn elusive presence, swayed like a paper rose,visceral in lavender-greyat the wind-washed doorwayof the running train; speed tamedmiles of rhapsody into prose. Dusk behind the Agra Fort was dressed in whispering gold dust,fragrant with ancient incarnations.The thirsty sequins of her flowy skirtabsorbed moist sandy dirt.Footfalls of speeding time ranalong the tracks, – old.The journey, clung as a skeletonto the metallic miles, – cold.Colour of wind turned mauve.The black scarf of absencecaressed the paper-rose presence.Green tresses of the flowing wind among treestraced the brows of the Taj, -possessed by anguish of blue ease.Yard after yard of stolen dreamslay squared among the…
- THE LAST BREATHAfter the prolonged livingthrough hopeless medicinal assurances,blue silence creeps coldthrough the network of veins,until the last breath blooms unnoticed.Divine hymns chant peace,White flakes of heavenly blissturns grey, on its waythrough layers of faithless surrendersettling old scores with embarrassed God.Now the last breath breathes a prayer,-like an extinguished flame – smoky, tearful,that can be passed through,but can be held neverin spite of thousand clenches of despair.The morning star on the upper liplineof the ageless tomorrow will glowas a beauty spot, – caressedand kissed by the lazy dawn,until the golden-shower tree declares the morn. © Kakoli Ghosh
- খোঁজআলোর খোঁজে, করেছি আঁধারে প্রবেশ, রাতের মত পুড়ছে অসীম সময়স্বর্ন শিখা জ্বলছে অলক্ষ্যে, অপার, অশেষ;দেখ আমার আর পড়েনা কোন ছায়া,পার হয়ে যাই যতো রেশমী মায়া,পড়ে থাকে পিছে আমার সকল ক্লেশ।স্বপ্নের পিছুডাক বোঝেনা অনন্ত আঁধার,অগ্নিহীন শিখায় জ্বলে হাজার প্রত্যাশা,ছাই হয়ে উড়ে যায় সকল কর্মভার,চেনা নামে ডাকেনা আর মর্চে ধরা হতাশা।এখানে তো নেই কোনো পথ চাওয়া, মনখারাপের সুর তাই হয়না আর গাওয়া।এ আঁধার জ্বলে আপন আলোয় নিশিদিন,অন্তরের আলোয় ঘুচবে যত ব্যর্থ কালো,চলার পথে রইবে পড়ে ব্যাস্ত ধুলো,আমার মুক্তি ফুটবে তারায় তারায় অন্তহীন;আলোর খোঁজে হবে স্বাধীন জ্বলন্ত আঁধার,দেখা হবে নিজের সাথে হয়তো আবার। © Kakoli Ghosh কবি নিশীথ সিংহ রায় সম্পাদিত কবিতা সংকলন…
- THE MARGINThe golden silence, of the cornfield,moist in the early morning dew,braces the margin of the bay;in the fluttering breeze,- gay,the tips toss in golden- green shield,flourishing life’s earliest loving hue.The morning’s soft whispergradually matures into a murmur;the glistening ripples of the old riverburdens the breezy shimmer,as its pining vapours float and perishfar into the helpless cloudy anguish.The soft creased corn-field dawnripens into an ironed stiff morn,a very brief clumsy romantic duskgets entangled in its flimsy husk;its golden harvest goes for a dough, baked and consumed for the go.The ancient night tells the starsthe tales of twinkling success,avoiding the delicate regretof…
- ONCE UPON A TIME© Kakoli Ghosh
- SHOT DEADLife’s stark simplicityflows warm in the blood streamof the shot down enemy.His groans and screamsfill the innocence of air,senses toss and turn in despair.Fear of death sustains his breath,drooping alertness sparksflashing the aloofness of future.Silence crawls panting and sweating,injuries soak slithering moments,breaking news melts like butter. © Kakoli Ghosh Published in Ghorsowar Magazine, Sept’21)
- Moon Drops # 3A lifelong flowgets collected in a hollow,memories pine,pains shine;helpless love goes divine. © Kakoli Ghosh
- মরীচিকানদীর জল নোনা হয় তোমার অশ্রুভারে;সাগরের ঢেউ পাগল হয়ে মাথা কুটে মরেস্তম্ভিত নিশ্চল পাথরে পাথরে ।সেই গভীর গোপন বেদনা ভাসেযুগ যুগ ধরে বাতাসে বাতাসে,ঝরা পাতারা জানিয়ে যায় সব ইশারায়কত সুগন্ধ মনের বনে হারিয়ে যায় ।দূরে কোথাও মরু বালির ঝড়স্তূপ ভাঙ্গে গড়ে অশান্ত নিরালায় ।মরুতে চাপা পড়ে যায় তৃষিত লাশহাজার বছর বন্দী হয় রুদ্ধ দীর্ঘশ্বাস;স্বপ্ন বোনে চাঁদ জ্যোৎস্নার জালে,আকাশ ডুবে মরে রাতের অন্তরালে ।ছুঁয়ে যায় তোমার আলোশিহরণের কানায় কানায়তবে কেনো পারিনা ছুঁতে তোমায় !আছো তুমি এখানে,ওখানে, সবখানেপাই না তোমায় যে তবু কোনোখানে !ভরপুর শুন্যতা উপচে পড়ে নয়ন ধারায়রাত যেমন চুইয়ে পড়ে তারায় তারায় ।আর ঠিক মনে পড়ে না সেই কবেভরা নদী…
- যাত্রাআজ যে পথ দিয়ে চলে গেলাম আমি,কাল সে পথেই ফিরবে তুমি;আমার আলোর কনারা দিয়ে যায় প্রাণ,- পূর্ণ দিবসেআকাশে, বাতাসে, নিঃশ্বাসে, বিশ্বাসে;আমার আছে অনন্ত পথ চলা- ছায়ায় ছায়ায় ছুঁয়ে যাব তোমার যাত্রাপথ, তোমার সকল বেলা।দূরত্ব ছড়িয়ে যায় নিঃসঙ্গ ব্যথায়,ঝরা ঋতুর পাতায় পাতায়;পথ পড়ে থাকে সাজানো অবহেলায়,ধূপের ধোঁয়া যেমন বেঁধে নেয় মন অন্তিম বেলায় । © Kakoli Ghosh
- COLOURS OF SHADOWThe Simmons public library was a melting pot of the haves and have-nots, a mixture of homeless people and the wealthy older residents of the nearby neighborhood. An open balustrade went spirally around the circular platform of the library. Many creeper plants with varicolored fragrant flowers added to the magnificence of the nicely curved stone pillars and the wrought iron balustrade of the library. Apart from its wide range of collection of books, its charming ambience attracted people of all ages. It was Amrita’s father’s favourite spot where he spent hours, forgetting the abyss of practical life beneath him. The…
- অনির্বাণএকদিন ঠিক আলোর বন্যা হয়েভাসাবো তোমায় দিনের গভীর ঢেউয়ে,ছায়া যত তোমার যতনে কুড়িয়ে নেবোআমার শিউলি ভরা ভিজে আঁচলে,কেউ যাতে না মাড়িয়ে যায় তোমায় ছায়া অবহেলে ।চোখের আলোয় থাকবো না আর তোমারকিরণ আমার পুড়বে যবে শিখায় শিখায়;জ্বলবো তোমার শুষ্ক আঁখি নীরেযেমন রাত পুড়ে যায় তারায় তারায়মুখ ডুবিয়ে দিনের গভীরে।তোমার চলার ছন্দেবাজবে আমার নূপুর ধ্বনি,নীরব যবে থাকবে পড়ে আমার সাধের নূপুর খানি;তোমার বুকের তৃষ্ণা হয়ে আকাশ হবো অবশেষে,বৃষ্টি ফোঁটায় বইবো মেঘের জলছবি-যেমন আলোর আভা রয়ে যায় দিনের শেষে । © Kakoli Ghosh
- তৃষ্ণাএবার অবুঝ মেঘ হবো অনায়াসে,ছাইবো তোর চিলেকোঠার আকাশে ;বৃষ্টির ভিজে গন্ধে যখন ভারি হবে বাতাসএক ছুটে ছাতে এসে দুহাত বাড়াস ।দূরের পানে দৃষ্টি মেলে তখনবিনাকারণে দিনের আলো হবে উদাস ।বা উত্তাল সাগর হয়ে ছুঁয়ে ছুঁয়ে যাবোতোর আদিম শহরের ক্লান্ত অবকাশ,বালির বেহিসাবী রেখায় রেখায় ।থাকিস ছুঁয়ে তখন আমায়শঙ্খচিলের পাখায় পাখায়,তোর ছোঁয়ায় পাথরে কাঁদবে জলোচ্ছ্বাস ।হতে পারি হঠাৎ ধুলোর ঝড়তোর আসা যাওয়ার পথেএলোমেলো করে সব সাজানো ব্যস্ততা ,কতো না উড়ে আসা হলুদ পাতাএসে ধরা দেবে তোর গতিপথে অযথা,ঝেড়ে ফেলার ফাঁকে পড়ে থাকবে নিরবতা।চোখের বালি হবো কারওতোর বারান্দার আলসে কোণে এসে, উড়িয়ে দিস তখন বাতাসে একটু খানি আলতো হেসেভালোবেসে ;ধুলোর মতো থাকবো জমে…
- Moon Drops # 2
- Moon Drops # 1
- GUNPOINTAfter firing several shots into his gut, I was assured of my existence. I sank like a melting piece of ice, peacefully behind the jagged rock, hiding myself. The infiltrator lay sprawled under the star-ridden sky at a hateful hostile distance of about 400 metres – the effective firing range of my LMG. The stark simplicity of life I could see in the gushing blood stream of the enemy soldier; his warm blood filtering through the snow white nudity of the ridges. It was an imposing red seeking the gradual softness of pink. Crouching behind a huge boulder at a…
- GRAINS OF SALTI could not bury your breathunder the splendour of delight, -Shattered dreams got nourished foreverLike tulips lying dormantin their bulbs underneath,year after year.I have preserved your lightlike an intense pain in a plightthroughout these serene years of harmony, -until that morbid dawn,when the waving, grinding and rollingof the devouring storm was gone.Today’s murmuring waves forgotyesternight’s destruction,its devastating strummingon the placid string of creation.Today’s playful waves staggerand fall splashing like an infant laughter.Among the corpses and half sunk wrecksI found signs of desperate urgefor clinging to life.The sea breeze held boundless cries, -The still-born morn awaited decay -I stumbled on the…
- PAINLESS PAINThe overhead wiresstitch-up blue miles,helpless distances are embroidered nicein fond stitches of freedom.Happiness, – a kite detached from flightdrops levitatingthrough luxurious emptiness.The criss-cross wirescut the mooninto jigsaw pieces of puzzletreasuring solitude.The truest lie, immortal, charms the fabulous void.The captive, held in lifelong imprisonment,had a nickname once.Now he is forbidden to look at the sky, -a perpetual agonycries without a cry.Decades back he had impregnated the moon.Now the precious nothingnesssurrounds him like a boon.He wonders if the moon had delivered another moon,during that pink monsoon. © Kakoli Ghosh Showcased in The Writers Club – July, 2020
- ON AND ONI have invited sleepto celebrate my wakefulness, deep;sleep came slept with my dream,my awakening drifted awayin a void stream.Reflections of the far city lightssparkle on the flowing riverof the illusive night,as flakes of hope shimmerin the dark depth of intense fright.The distorted gleamof passing car lights on a pool of rain water,in splurges ,scatterunder the speeding wheels;the constant rhythmic pulseof the impatient wipersdraw glimmering imagesof hazy and glinting whisperson the canvas of the windscreens.A longing homebound, throbs captivefor a peaceful sleepin bed-spread darkness,moon slowly melting on sofa;mysterious solitude soakingin waving familiar curtains, crippled senses seeking another life.Distress of anxious timedrift…
- UNFINISHEDWhen the search ends,dreams are touched no more,the empty anxious streetresounds no homecoming feet,at the soft bends and known turns…When the moist words of longingdrizzle down the dusty window pane, with a sudden afternoon rainleaving behind, a rough scribblinglike that of an unfinished poem…Drowsy senses sail away throughthe delta of wrinkled nerves;the sea of undisturbed solace wavesin rhythm with monitored beeps,writhing heaves finally rest in peace.Yellow leaves carry the scent of time;broken promises ,forgotten deadline,like torn strips of medicines, shine. Flipped pages of magazines flutter in crisp air of emergency unit of care. © Kakoli Ghosh, 2021 Published in the…
- SPIDERTrapped in its own thick webthe shocked spider,writhing and wiggling in the sticky net of its own desirefeels insecure and goes haywire.Entangled as a poisonous gestureit suffers a throbbing deaththat never do expire;the dark mildewed corners shelter and suspend its cold breath.The woven spit of its tensionhanging in the smoky mesh of fear and protection,imprisons its own delight.His unsure limbs creep in sooty light.The cleaner’s sweeping bashwraps up its outstretched trashfrom the corners of doubt and misery;the drowsy cobwebs are forgotten,sunken eyes of depravity sleep rotten. © Kakoli Ghosh, 2021 Published in the Autumn 2021 issue of The Poet Magazine…
- BLOOMING WOUNDSAre you bewildered to seemy wounds blooming !See how the deep sores of adversityswathed in love, has started to heal, and the leaking pride of death, seal !Look at the desperate bloodthat had gushed out once like flood,now choking the birth canal of the sunwith wads of gunpowder clods;from heaven unheard prayers return.Leaning on each other’s shouldersuccess and failure share a lit cigarin between their confident fingers.Trudging through the remnants of warthey stumble on the rubbles of power.Fatigued graves gently smotherthe wind pipe of violence and terror. Burning and fuming patience,raped,gives birth to another naked sun. Breath meets life at…
- LIGHT OUTLIVES FIREPatience endures the blaze of violence,Thunder slits the dark in flashes bright.But it has its brevity of significance, Tiny sparks can’t flame mellowed light.Wings of flight scorch in fatuous glory,Ignited tomorrows sizzle like embers;Fatigued fumes of pride rains ordinary,Tolerance left in silver ash smoulders.Choked dreams murmur in dry leaves,Pregnant corpses breed bloody peace.Brewed life strain through rusty sieves, Flooding terror stagnate and freeze.Tongue of thunder stammers in anger,Washed in a shower, light outlives fire . © Kakoli Ghosh, 2021 Published in the Autumn 2021 issue of The Poet Magazine , Theme: ADVERSITY, Volume 2. https://www.thepoetmagazine.org/autumn-2021—adversity
- FRUIT OF THE EARTH / বসুন্ধরাMy bengali poem Basundhara, which means ‘The Earth’, brings out the green essence of the earth. The earth never ceases to ooze out its blessings and love in spite of the severe tortures on it like the draughts, floods, volcanic eruptions, earthquake, bombing, shelling etc. The poem was originally written in Bengali, but one of my dear friends felt the urge to make it universal and to spread its fervent spirit also beyond the circle outside the language barrier. Both the versions are presented below What’s the worry!Here I am, touch me !My open far grown fieldsnascent green, shyCall you…
- SOUNDS OF VISIONThe blind grave-digger has now come to know that loneliness is not so lonely. It has silently covered his blindness like moss, along with his creasing old age. The age-old burial ground has become his habitat since long. Now he can’t remember when Cynthia had suddenly matured into a grown-up lady tackling her clumsy motherless girlhood. His blindness has now become his fondness for listening to the sounds of vision. His spade works like assured hits of death on life. He digs graves with all his might; the spade thuds deeper and darker into the restfulness of the earth; the sound…
- PURPOSELESSBlossoms are bound to bloom;Neither for a duty divine,Nor for adorning a bride,Or to daze the scent of departureOf a lifeless prideOn the shoulders of corpse bearers.Blossoms have to bloom;Purposeless, relentless.Their whispers of fantasyEnclosed in whorlsBud into simple floral freedom.Neither for love or despair,Unaware of pleasure,Sorrow or wisdom.Blossoms can’t help blooming;Can’t refuse or restrainFrom coming into fragrance ; They bud self-contained,Fearless and careless ofAny suffering or prayerFor the day ahead. Painting & poem ©Kakoli Ghosh, 2019 Published in Glomag, Sept 2019
- DISABLEDWar appears blind Like Homer;the lines of control shimmerlike Helen,to stay alive here is fancy smitten.Every moment of suffering,staggers inch by inch, crawling.Dumb breath facing blanket firingfeed the helpless flame of human cry.To choose between ration and ammunition,Sustaining life is only an intuition.Food packs or bulletsa burning irony to select.Triumph in war flutterin the wind beaten National FlagVictories and defeats, history discoverin green silence of graves, long after.Consuming fragments of streams,patches of clumsy meadows and dreams,Some chunks of valleys and hollowsa few border settlement follows,blasting off ancient towns,demolishing relics and monuments, war crownsvictory hoisting fame and sacrificepatriotism boils in more…
- VISTA
PC: Kausik Das On the careless lane of dusty daysUnsure were the footsteps,Busy were some strides of hasteAnd some were strolls Of scented leisure. TreasureOf the profound waste Of empty times. Wider grew the laneAnd longer, its trail….With dust of nothingness, frail. The untamed weeds of wilderness Measured time.Visions grew hazyUntil the dusty lane disappearedIn a whispering dotAt the wavering lineOf the glistening horizon. © Kakoli Ghosh 2019 PC: Kausik Das
Beautifully written
Thank you so much
Interesting piece! 🙂
Lovely imagery.
Moon Drops creations 
Wow! Wonderful write! Loved it.