-
The Philosophy of Preservation: Reflections on Two Decades of my Digital Data
In the quiet hum of technological progress, a peculiar shift has occurred — our sense of self, once rooted in physical places and tangible artifacts, now expands into the digital realm. As an ’80s kid, I lived through the waning years of an Internet-less world, where mementos of our existence were physical and stories of…
-
Live Not a Carcass
Simply because there is no road, does not mean that the journey stops. Perhaps, after the meandering journey of our lives, all of us do reach an end. But, as someone had said, “at the end it is the journey that matters the most.” Occasions remind us of this end — birthdays, anniversaries, that New…
-
Hapless Gemini
And when you come down,To my city of amorous joys.Amidst a social chaos in a plethora of faiths,Fantasizing spirituality, prostituting beliefs,Loud cries of hypocrite secularism —To encapsulate it all: a diverse culture!Amidst the constituted vindictive politics,Unaccounted powers, vested by unaccounted population;Each ballot a dramatised guillotine —Under the guise of the world’s most expansive constitution.Countless crippled…
-
A Somnambulist’s Reality
The dreams of fantasizing resides the truant adore,Of a temptation miles long.Slithering on a jump-board cliffed from one shore.Beliefs and ‘stitions cuddled under the stampedeOf the imaginations’ kaleidoscope,Transient shadows carving shapesThrough ecliptic proportions that can never reborn.The fleeting whims of the moment ignite a faint desireTo behold and venerate The Power;The Power to manifest —Manifest…
-
Looking Down at Myself
When I gaze skyward, no stars greet me,No planets, moons, or clouds; not even a comet’s tail.What I see are faces —Faces that look down, speak, and call…Each face morphs into a star; each star becomes a face.Strange visages abound:Some laugh, some weep, some mock,While others haunt the night’s canvas.Among these faces, some familiar, others…
-
Perplexed Choice
The peals of laughter, how they seem so spiteful,With a touch that feigns sympathy, truly spiteful.Cursed, indeed, feels everything in this life —A relentless echo in the void of strife. Yet life itself, a vicious cycle cursed,Birthing superfluous emotions, overflowing with false redemptions,Stretching beyond the grasp of the tattered, the scattered —Those grains caught in…
-
Orion Halo
It was mid-day morn,A man on the terrace stood,Clad in few drapes,Fresh from his bath,Chanting prayersHe swore to uphold daily. With arms folded, he stood,Facing the sun,In prayer.All that could be seen:Him and the celestial orb,Connected by an unseen beam. His arms, folded, were wingsPoised to span wide,To cleave the winds —Yet like a bird…
Shamasis Bhattacharya 