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Abhijit Das Poem
A dead boar, a terrible Ram Rajya, a crippled grasshopper—
A toothache-stricken sky—you, I,
The frustrated Jampui and Bhuban Bru.
My twenty-first lover—Bhuban Bru,
He had two hands, a brain, and a dozen or so bidis.
He knew how to cook well, and he could eat too.
One day, he made a broth with a wild boar and my blood—
Eating it, I felt like sacrificing my entire body to the cooking.
I even told him so; he didn't agree and sat down to write a poem,
The poem was titled Soil—
'Soil is nothing but the saliva of a spider
Soil means some deaths, soil is just the spider's own spit...'
Those memories come floating, sinking and rising in the Manu River,
I keep staring...,
Then someone comes and covers both my eyes and says—
'Tell me, who has come! '
Copyright © Abhijit Das | Year Posted 2026
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Abhijit Das Poem
After Course No. 172—
He finally learned to love.
Under the glare of the halogens,
Playing badminton with beloved,
He noticed—
The moon had sunk so very low,
Lower than anyone has ever fallen.
Copyright © Abhijit Das | Year Posted 2026
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Abhijit Das Poem
All the fireflies of the town
Have gathered in front of
The Town Hall.
Being mere sources of light
Not worm
Nor life.
Mere sources of light -
The way sometimes
Humans become
Mere genitals.
I can't look at their light
Are they brighter than the Sun?
I can look straight into
The sun, Day and Night.
Still, I can't look at
The Fireflies
Like the people who
Look at the genitals
Can never look at
The Eyes.
Copyright © Abhijit Das | Year Posted 2026
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