Poems by Aroop Mitra

Poems by Aroop Mitra


A REDISCOVERED LETTER ( W.B.Yeats to Maude Gonne )

In dreams you stated , sovereign loud and clear
Irish faces inflamed , with sibylline humming
For among the shorn leaves there was no peer
Carndonagh to Clonakilty clad in green

Axes on timber , muscles put to test
Starlings migrate outwards , insecure inland
They held grudges , since the Norman Conquest
We , groping yokels , unbalance to understand

Hands remain to bless , or oft unjust to punish
Unveiled secrets once raw , much to self-deny
Undoing black arts , where bishops admonish
Ships run ashore after the gales ran dry

To uncover was my aim , lay bare secrecy
Thus fueling your fame , my stark dull nature
From amoeba to the whale , was Darwin’s legacy
Enhanced , out fled fancies , diminished our stature

Inconsolable , to Time’s shoddy march I in praxis
Empires rise and swell then are run down the mire
The unloved and the unkind both turn on axis
The toll of infamy rolling from shire to shire

A curséd kingdom : snow drifts clear away fairy cobwebs
Piers of stone , forlorn basements void of habitation
The scribes have fled , no cage is worse for the plebs
The rest stacked away or locked in chains as perdition.

All the King’s tombs , all dens raided , for naught
The battles sifted east , no law had slightest sway
With logic our goals highjacked more oft than not
Our tedious pleas unheard once more , to taper away

Initials incised in oak : summed : we were here before
The mobs churn but they won’t flee their chambers
Put to rout , Collins shot , the civil war sore
Festering riots undo the Ascendancy slumbers

An Aroop Mitra poem @ May 18th ‘ 08 , started 1985.



Perceiving my hands , which pair identical
shapes , ‘decent’ tutored dolphins , which range
plumbed depths , my fingers intermesh , entwine
complex commands , surprises , innuendoes ;
a tongue the deaf can interpret , the blind
aided by memory’s surmises , doomed to obey

the lines that arch these fleshy phalanxes
supplemented by skeletal plinths ,what use
are they ? Cracked fingernails , moles , sprigs
of hair , bristly copses of an ant’s vision.
What are they for ? These twins with a mould
that cages envy , imprisons our wayward acts.

Weft down avenues , the thief-haunted alleys ,
glowering caves with their commodities , yarns
perhaps of a channelised beatific glow , our lives
spread like moist knees on our unmade bed
bridged by cantilevered reams of vocal
flow , our hands , to pluck the buds of dreams

and yet you persist : why , why ? quite desperate
to relinquinsh all clarion calls to triumph.
Our fingers , unbloodied , point to state
where our wounds are : the moans and pleas
unheard of the mute unborn , burn with flames —
hands , restless , warm caress faces , roses , birds

@ Aroop Mitra. Rights reserved. @1988 , 2018.

Studies of “Hands ” by Albrecht Dürer


( scenes from another life )

I found this corner , cosy and nice
musing on the trembling crocus

his intense cheekbones , chubby face
voices salsa in mute bliss

in melodic sway i the bloom
and he the fruit adjust our weight

balanced in the gentling breeze
and i assured it’s me he chose

Stepping off the swing , caught
in strong arms , all went numb

lips rubbing mine , ears heard heart
beats from afar , head on his chest

the rose swirls mid index and thumb
petals dance under drizzle , that lingering kiss

And as I wait for him to appear
my joy bounces , my conscience clear

@ Aroop Mitra , April 30 , 2018. All rights reserved.


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