And she always greets everyone with a
tender smile,
Flashing her pearly white teeth;
She speaks in a sweet, melodious voice
...
In a salt desert
under the scorching sun's rays
I want to take a bath
in a white ivory tub
...
Teardrops running down the cheeks should be salty
But they burn like pepper when concealed in a thick beard.
Pains of broken heart
...
no rhyme
no rhythm
just fragmented thoughts
caught mid air in a net
...
Young Nafisa,
all of seven,
sat against a blown up tank
and wished her younger brother Rahim
...
'A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!
I might have sav'd her; now she's gone for
ever.'
[ King Lear,5.3.269-271]
...
They held me down
my mother and that woman
taking off my clothes
on the strange strawy floor
...
[...] c'est cela l'amour, tout donner, tout sacrifier, sans espoir de retour. [...]
The many a humans
hold that love is true only when
...
Wandering between
nothing and everything
confusion and peace
life and death
...
Taken out from a shiny pack of ten
Kissed, sucked, blown, and inhaled
Tar filled lungs full of love
...
Slick, and wonderfully crafted
The world works in mysterious ways
Riches, become more rich
and the poor sway away.
...
On an Autumn's night
with a pledge of voluntary insomnia,
your firefly memories fly across the room
where the nightstand light is always kept off.
...
Zakhm hare hai abhi
Bhare hai ansu aankhon me,
Hai dil me abhi bhi aarmaan tujhe
pane ki,
...
Mai jalta nahi hoon usse
jo aaya pehle mujhse.
Kisi ek admi ke saath aao
...
Sit back and relax
your cup of coffee will be cold
if you don't drink it now...
...
When I would be very old,
with wrinkles on my face and a
stick on my hand,
without all of my natural teeth,
...
I am that girl whi didn't fit into her mother's shoes,
Tormented, cornered, ridiculed for being not too
girly
...
Born on November 10,1991 in Chandannagar, a small town in West Bengal, India, I had very little idea about turning up into a 'poet' ever in my life. I wrote a few poems when I was about 6, but never pursued it. I didn't write a line of poetry until I turned 16 or so, when I wrote things that I thought were 'poems'. By the time I turned 18, I was all guns out praising the beauty of Spring and talking about immortal love, while munching upon chocolates and listening to Taylor Swift songs.. This kind of casual poetry writing continued as I entered college, where I wrote many a poems for 'the girl with the glasses'.. These poems, too were stupid.. Cut down to 2015, and long story short, with a ragging depression and anxiety, filled with anti-depressants, anti-anxiety pills, insomnia, and a prevalent, almost ever-existing desire to kill myself I started writing more poems - this time more seriously - and put them up here at poemhunter. Since then I had written a lot of poems and published them here.. I no longer sing praises of Spring or talk about immortal love in my poems, but Taylor Swift and chocolates are still here! The themes I mostly try to deal with include sexual violence, philosophical questions, human relationship, and social issues, particularly those of gender inequality.... MY FAVOURITE POETS: Rabindranath Tagore, T. S. Eliot, Charles Baudelaire, William Shakespeare, Charles Bukowski, Jibdanada Das.. I had been inspired a great deal by Bukowski perhaps. To a lot of people, including myself, he is a very cynical poet. But what I like about him is that he does not hide his cynicism. He has a 'bold' soul, one that Baudelaire might have talked about in his ”Au Lecteur”... I had been a huge fan of Fellini, Kurasawa, Kubrick, Vishal Bharadwaj, and Satyajit Ray. Their movies, particularly Fellini's ”8 1/2” has been something that I have often looked up to. Kubrick's adaptation of ”A Clockwork Orange” too has meant a lot. But it has to be Paolo Sorrentino's ”La Grande Belleza” with Tony Servillo playing Jep Gambardella that nearly changed everything for me. That one movie made me see artists and beauty in a manner that I had never knew of before. Beauty, some say, is in the eye of the beholder.. But I feel beauty is in the manner in which an artist presents whatever he is writing about. We can talk about filth, the most abhorrent things that exist, the cruel and the disgusting, the sick and the decaying - all of it - none of which will be beautiful to the naked eye, but it can become beautiful from the representation of the artist. A few words, I must devote, to the likes of Friedrich Nietzsche, Jean-Paul Sartre, Samuel Beckett, and the many more philosophers that I have read in excerpts or fully too.. The comparitive reading of Nietzsche's ”The Birth of Tragedy” and Aristotle's ”Poetics” was an eye opener for me, that encouraged me to pursue critical thinking without any shame.. At present,24 and healthy, sober for more than ten months, still a chainsmoker, less borderline than before, less depressed than before, almost free of anxiety, I get about at least five hours of sleep every night and have been in good shape. I need to thank my fellow member poets. It is because of you all, my fellow artists, and friends that I have been able to write poems, and had moved on from ”A Beautiful Life” to ”To the Little Angels”.. My life, today, is on a second innings, so to speak, and it is due to all of you. Thank You.)
Smiling Girl
And she always greets everyone with a
tender smile,
Flashing her pearly white teeth;
She speaks in a sweet, melodious voice
Everyone thinks she is a happy-go-lucky
girl of seventeen,
with dark, deep eyes and silky smooth
hair and a permanent blush on her cheeks.
But inside she is like a ballerina with a
broken toe, in an opaque glass globe,
where charcoal snow falls and freezes her heart,
with an occasional acid rain that melts her bones.
But she always flashes her tender smile at everyone
And speaks in a voice that sounds like music.
No one knows what's inside her,
What broke her so bad,
that she cannot but always smile...
Dear Souren, you write ''I am.. not really a poet per se.'' Well, I can't agree. I think you have got a poetic mind. You are a poet in his 'early stage', but a true poet. I find your whole cycle of poems dedicated to 'A GIRL WITH THE GLASS' a well structured write, where love, passion, hope and sorrow interweave with a previous cowardly violence on children and the aftermath - the subsequent, deep psychological effects - on their psyche.. draw an enticing story.. 'Love' is what we need, as frail human beings, but it is not guaranteed.. as it is 'Justice'.. (especially in a society that is too often deaf and mute.. and doesn't care of the weak and/or the poor) .. Thus 'Life' remains a tough, severe - and even brutal - 'Master'..
thank you so much, my friend. You've shown - again - , dear Souren, your sharp critical judgment, so incisive and able to go delving deep.. We have another valuable Literary Critic in our team! - Good news for the new publishing projects.. ;)
I have neither been able to comment much, reply, or anything due to my growing depression and panic attacks during the last ten days or so... I am perhaps in dire need of a break from every activities here... I wish all my friends at poemhunter a very productive time ahead... Have a great time friends.. Thanks for being a part of my journey.. I will be back, like the Terminator ;)
Unique in thoughts, bold and beautiful in description, poets like Souren Mondal are born once in a blue moon.
I am amazed by Souren' Mondal's poetic skill.His writings are very powerful, sensitive and unique in style.His poems have immense depth and insight.He is always eager to improve upon his writings.I love to read his comments on poems.He goes deep into a poem and analyses it from various angle.He is a social activist and most of his poems reflect his rebel against social injustice.Souren has a great future in literature.
Souren is one of my favorite poets on poemhunter.com. Reading a single poem by him makes you want to read more of him. His work has deep impact on the reader and you just can't ignore his writings. His work reflects his sensitivity n his beautiful soul. He is not only an incredible poet but I can see a social activist in him too. I believe he is a gifted individual and will go far in his poetic journey. And what's most endearing about him is that he is absolutely honest. Blessings n best wishes Souren.
Souren is a realistic poet, His rebellious writings showcases the unspoken barbaric customs of this society. He writes for the people and his writing has a tinge of boldness. Let your pen bring to surface all the age old customs and let the youth analyse things in right perspective. We need poets like you who can speak without any fear. Keep the good work going. All my wishes and blessings.
Perhaps the best I've ever seen... Scratch that. Hands down the best I've ever seen in his ability to pour his soul out into words. Reading Souren's work is like stepping into his brain and experiencing the world through his eyes. Never have I read something that seemed so honest, so candid and personal. His poems are gripping, powerful, and jam packed with intensity and emotion. He has a very rare gift, one worthy of recognition. And for those of us fortunate enough to have sifted through his work, it is utterly apparent, he is in a league of his own. Best wishes Souren. And thank you sincerely for sharing. I know you've impacted me, and likely scores of others. Please keep the words flowing whenever circumstances permit. You're nothing shy of brilliant
I have recently realised that I have a seriously pathetic bio posted here! !
'I had a glass of rum, three cigarettes and a daydream at three thirty nine A. M on Wednesday, when Life was taking turns at a road in the big mountains. I heard some strange noises like paranoid schizophreniacs do and there I heard Tiresias saying - - 'Beware of the plague that will ruin your imagination' What is imagination? ?
'The evenings and days and nights, and everything in between.. I have your thoughts on my mind You breathe upon my shoulders at night when I go to sleep, In my dreams and nightmares It's you - enjoying a sojourn - a vague promenade across my heart with spiked boots, None shall remember how You and I have had written stories upon stones, Hyerogliphs upon the walls of the cave that I live in, Protecting your memories like rose plant in a barren desert... What have I done? What had you done to me? ? What spell, what magic potion have you intoxicated me with that I can neither sleep nor forget your words.. And the sun does not shine anymore, the moon has lost it's glow.. At twilight, everyday, I hope for the sun to go down in the river and re-awakwn with a fresh soul, a heart free from your tar.. But it beats for you only... The evenings are lonely, the nights lonlier... There are no silver lines on the horizion, there's no diamond ring waiting for me, neither is there a white dress... All that is there is your memories, and memories of a Love that never came out of the womb, And that shall be my downfall, I will happily one day go to the sea, and like the sun will go down in it, surrending myself into the pure water and still my soul will love you...'
''The greatest challenge for an artist is to find the magnificent in the mediocore''
'Sometimes dreams are like a butterfly made out of scarlet clouds. You can look at it, chase it. But try holding it in you fingers and it disappears...'
I’ve been reading you since i discovered on the myth of loving without expectations”. Each poem I went through was an awesome read! They’re full of symbols and images. Yet, well-articulated. No poet who ones stopped by your page can’t resist returning again!