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Rajat Mahapatra


Bhubaneswar, Orissa, India

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Rajat Mahapatra

You don't deny losing it in the dark.

And still dont believe it if she says
she found it like a dream within sympathetic questions
about bodies and boundaries.
You seek its absence
and pretend simplicity irrespective of mortality,
within irregular fame
and implied reasons of blindness
when the story leans on curves and croons.

Suspense fixes it to an injury in the imagination
while the head forgets the vegetable eyes.
You borrow canvas from darkness to paint passion
before the plasma of poetry perforates desire
thats always older than the mind that means it.

Blood has its own business of betrayal
and the mind mistifies meek minutes
conjoining ears with years
to funnel stories into anxious orgies
that duplicate dishonor for lusty names.

Then follows impatience violated by simplicity
and irreligious denial of the wishes
that perform anguish on the root of life
while the body wilts and wants fire
for cooling the quest for curiosity
masquerading and cruelty.

I wish


Rajat Mahapatra

you were not there and absent
memory calculating fear of poverty
scare me with eyes of low radiation:
a tongue and some lashing searching
swimming along the shores of desire

i am not here within a sigh
or am i sinking into a whisper?
poor answers for truth and sex
and smothered faith of skin songs
painful and paradoxical
like an adventure against the known fears
that dominate the roots of memory

however i scream
within your silence
and wait for a silent gnawing nod
extending some darkness that branches out
from mystic meanings of uncontrolled fun
the deeps rising rising riding riding
like some smoky sin beckoning blood-cream
and ice-sun that guides none to none
and resumes paining ironic moaning
of angry moments
monumental against historical myths.

like the rest
the magic of words
analyse an embrace
or a bracket
that finishes the illusion of meaning
and soaks the darkness of future
with a chance that loots luck
for a meeting that happens elsewhere
in desire



Rajat Mahapatra

Into some depth you descend
and cook up a plot:
two damned words and a lost verb dance
into the climax of the dried suspense
that relates blood as pathos,
as the kings breathe and the queens kiss
the deliberate face that dupes the masks
of unreasonable tears and red eyes
powerful like the wish of a stony heart.

Two men face the sky as a reflex of sighs
and the lightening humours the darkening west
like some contoured kiss of a clouded landscape
sold to ruthless seasonal cries for love.

No one cares for the conclusion
as the evening spreads the rumour
against some dark brown earth,
humid and warm for cumulative loneliness.

An injury reddens your ego like a flower
and cause you say a desire that limits fear.
You anger against the bare drama of wishes
that fulfils darkness within your eyes.

Death precedes all arguments
like an idiom of nature
that penetrates dreams before deflowering
the resistance of an embrace
that deletes passion within a wink.