- Poems by Roy

POEMS by Sabyasachi Roy

Angel in disguise



Here I am. Standing at the bus stand. For you.

For your sorrows and melancholic straight lines.

Here I am. Standing For you.                        Facing life.

Few humble thoughts. Speeches. Friendship deflected.

See. This evening stroll. One hard days twilight.

This remembrance yields faith- synchronized nostalgia.

In this perimeter I have none, none else

But lighting candles like fairy tales


 A gush of wind, a pack of wolves

Please start your games. Unruffled.

Children cried that monsoon night

Ooze up candles and dispel nightmares

Crossing; zebra

That delicate face- amidst last twilight zone

Help me- incarnate

And a little warmth for a better life

Or living

Spread it. Reach out. Increase. Widen. Mankind


Utilize, apply, pertain

Like the last bit of a soap

Read me; learn me; comprehend- like a book.

At bath, before you sleep, call me; render words

Wheres your sinful moonlights- moonlight reveals

Drench me, flood me, overflow

Exploit, use me,

As much as you can

As much as it’s possible

As much as it’s feasible


Tales of the road

Those were all tales of the road

Or all roads, lanes and by-lanes

All my correspondences are but a pedestal dialogue

Known- unknown- little known

In this metropolis of drowsy maladies

What else could have been either?

Somnolent candles facing mirrors-

Friendship knots with fire ants

What else could I had written,

But yarn of

Long-short, bent-straight, lifeless roads


Whatever I told you last night

Consider not

For those frigid metaphases write nothing but

Obscure utopia

This morning, today’s daily

You see? Revels no friend-

No cacophony chat, nor spectrum splash-

And yet it’s true- I wanted this.

Dear Seclusion,

Never leave me as per promise


Day by day, more like a popular soft drink

You are becoming democratic

And more like an evening sermon- rhythmic, daily

We happen meet on regular intervals

And among these distressed worthlessness

I keep gazing your nocturnal drained footsteps towards the Minster


A stout furry obscurity spreads its wings in pleasure

And I try to remember you without any formal recognition

Had we met before?

If yes- then when, how?

Inbuilt waves cast questions such

You left my commune decades ago


I wake up in the scent of funeral flowers

Nearly dizzy, fogged sight

Smoldering pale feline eyes amidst pitch-black daydreams

I try to rub it off

With my elocutions, my cohesive correspondence

With the warmth of a dark coffin blanket

 It comes

It comes over the swamp of night for the feast of my cold blood, bones

The luster of a magic lamp tries to divulge it slowly

Crouching beneath those satanic footsteps

A realization claws the brain cells

There is no true defense mechanism against the word ‘fog’


But then, day breaks

Come; let’s hold our guitar

 And have a sit over that burgundy hillock

Come; Let me sing, and for you there are strings

Tunes may falter, and may break

But will; that’s the queue

And a homogenous delight

Play it. For the wrist watch runs fast

And we will never know when its time to leave

Till then, lets resonate the trees, shrubs and the nature above



You had promised me immortality, and this

You have summoned me

From the ambiguity of doom’s day

Where’s my preamble, my preface

My first letter of judgment.

Where’s my promised land of interim certainty?

* * * * * * * *

Metropolis, this


Metropolis, this…

An island…

Triple bridges at work…

Links are- wheel…wheels…wheels…

Any day you take to the road

spy cams dangling above…

Halt! Wander not…



Kingdom blues


Police and priest had a similar initial- “P”

More of a tedious habit

they combed each other’s locks.

The king and queen and The Queen and King were in duel

for the lion’s share of the land.

Red tapes maintained clocks

or the clock did maintain them.

The ministers were Medusa.

The credit note knew returns…

and the public knew nothing of it.

Well. Yes!

This… but a chronicle of the feudal times



The night watch


A parade along the edge of a rampart and

history speaks dumb folded, spellbound

Install a unit for night watch-

three healthy watchdogs on duty;

one snoozing

one dozing

and the other indifferent



One scientific paradox


Flowers bloom at midday by geometric layouts-

or layouts follow a geometric path?

As if splendor…

Mathematics is defied by the poetry?

Sabyasachi Roy is primarily a vernacular poet in Bengali. He's just started writing in English lately. Selected for publication in Quintessence, Dicey Brown, Mindfire Renewed, The Potomac, Poetry Salzburg Review, 13th Warrior, Malleable jangle, Underground Window, TMP Irregular, Real 8, Firstwriter, Indianest, Citizen Culture and in Virtual Writer.

Contact Sabyasachi by e-mail:sabyasachi_q@yahoo.com

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