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Goirick Brahmachari

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Goirick Brahmachari






1. HOW TO SHAVE OFF AGEISTS FROM YOUR SKIN

 
To reinforce the notion that I am weary,
An old man growing older for 34 worthless years,
I sometimes read what they write.
With each page of venom spat,
I add 100 years to my age
And shave, only when necessary.
 

2. SELF PORTRAIT

An underwear wet in cum,
Wetting the trousers.
A head full of things :
Songs, places, time.
A mouthful of bad taste
Blood in gums, broken
Tooth, ash, saliva.
A body that erodes.
A voice that breaks
Urbane silence.
Skin accumulates dust.
But the hurt does not rust.
Just a face in the crowd.
Not even an inch of art anywhere.
 

3. CONFIDENCES

What else do we store in this library of secrets?
few cheesy love letters, lazy, naked weekends, dark- 
-room, snoring dreams, like yours and 
my remorse, intoxicants, 
sweet estrangements, 
forgotten lyrics
of a song 
i use to 
sing.
 

4. LOSING A HEADACHE

It starts from a corner of my skull
And spreads its black, dead clouds
Inside my head; my eyes ache,
 
Black smoke, between
Eyebrows- just where my nose
Starts.
 
My throat aches,
My stomach tumbles.
Heatwaves on my neck
And I cannot face the light.
 
Tremors inside my body.
Tremors in my throat.
Everything that's inside
Explodes.
 
Like a storm, it cripples
My thought, suffocates my lungs,
Blinds my vision
Until I fall asleep. Deep.
 
And a fever leaves the house in sweat.
Rain arrives.
The headache is gone.
 

5. THE WAIT

When the assistant announced that he was leaving,
I remembered how I waited outside the doctor's chamber
With my parents, many years ago,
Just like this.
He took out his torch and umbrella as he 
Asked me to switch off the fan
For I was the last one on the queue.
I remembered the games I invented back then.
The ants I counted, the empty passages of Silchar Medical College,
The flattened staircase for wheelchairs
And stretchers, through which I walked backwards
To kill time.
How restless
I would grow, with every tick of the clock.
Sitting alone now, on a weary evening
Years later, I realise
That my age has taught me to wait.
The memory too,
Lessens the pain.
 

6. EQUILIBRIUM

Like the pain that measures
The size of my aching organs,
Life grips my throat and throws
Uncomfortable questions at me.
Sober again, I bleed in my disgust
Through silent screams. My mistakes, my follies 
Now rage against me, they spread
Like burning lava over my empty skies.
Rage erodes body,
Thickens skin.
I forget to assess my vulnerability.
I list down my crimes. I turn to mediocrity
To make room for some magic.
Even that does not make much sense.
Now I can't even drink this reality away anymore
And flush it in with my morning urine.

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Feature–Contemporary Indian English Poetry

Editorial
    Editorial: GJV Prasad

Poetry
    Abhay K
    Aishwarya Iyer
    Akhil Katyal
    Amlanjyoti Goswami
    Ananya S Guha
    Arup K Chatterjee
    CS Bhagya
    Debasish Lahiri
    Devdan Chaudhuri
    Dhananjay Singh
    Gertrude Lamare
    Goirick Brahmachari
    Joie Bose
    Maaz bin Bilal
    Malsawmi Jacob
    Meera Sagar
    Nabina Das
    Nitoo Das
    Priya Sarukkai-Chabria
    Rajesh Kumar
    Ranu Uniyal
    rizio yohannan raj
    Rochelle Potkar
    Saima Afreen
    Sanjeev Sethi
    Semeen Ali
    Shelly Bhoil
    Smeetha Bhoumik
    Srilata K
    Sudeep Sen
    Sukrita Paul Kumar
    Sumana Roy
    Tabish Khair
    Taseer Gujral
    Uddipana Goswami
    Usha Akella
    Uttaran Das Gupta
    Vivek Narayanan
    Linda Ashok

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