confessions of an amateur

2010-04-01T11:23:00.000-07:00

Atonement
for sins, for fruits of passion
for desires, for deception
for the loss of innocence
for the demonstration of grime

Death
The purgation, the atonement.
The callous conspiracy of fate
The detachment or the conduit
Or a playful symphony
that brings the end

Birth
The origin, the beginning.
The chance for atonement
Or an escape from it?
Clemency or retribution.
Or simply a paradox to the eternity- death

2010-03-03T12:17:00.000-08:00

For months now, I have grumbled often tearfully almost like a regular adult about how much I have loved and then eventually lost, but I have ceased to mention, at times intentionally, what I had attained when I did love… and to be honest it indeed was a lot. Love as we all know is a weird emotion, for while it lasts it shadows your entity, your being and when it leaves, it leaves you not with the memories of sweetness but with the bitterness of how it could not last you for a lifetime. We are greedy, greedy for more; we humans feel as if we are naturally entitled to everything that is beautiful that is joyous, and when we grieve, we do it with such a passion that literally nullifies everything that had been good. Therefore, we mourn, mourn and mourn until something else catches our whim or better still, when somebody else replaces our needs. Selfishness comes to us as naturally as eating or shitting does. So let me for once refrain from being such a hypocrite and of course before I realize that I am being stupid mention how much I did enjoy being in love and put aside the fact that things did not quite work out between us as I thought they would, and really say aloud that yes I had been in love and no I don’t think it is such a crime to fall in it again. And to the rest of the lot who feel otherwise, well, what can I say I feel sorry for you I really do, because love is not a bad thing for it does not change you, it never does instead it changes the way you look at things and that makes all the difference in the world. So cheers to all who have loved and lost, for before losing you had been in for a joy ride and wait till you get yourself another ticket to Disneyland.

2010-01-14T07:44:00.001-08:00

Insanity my refuge
The startling prettiness of craze
Tantalizing my concealed vision
And the desire to overlap beauty with the
Scorching sensation of inadequacy

Remembering those
Whose wide eyes and shadow dreams
And marble throats enigma
Love, or something like it

Fantasy and rainbows
Hoods and faces behind masks
Or were they faceless masks
The shimmering gowns, tissues
And bliss
Or life an endless alley to nothingness and utopia- the dreams painted in painful insanity

2010-01-09T12:44:00.001-08:00

The tender touches vanish quite unexpectedly one day leaving behind no traces, the imprint remains strong in your psyche but the entire craze seems so unreal, like it never even existed and you keep probing quite unsuccessfully to reach out to those various myriads of joy or rather the relics that you think you will be able to preserve. Your first instinct is to increase your caution; your desperation takes a toll on your judgment. You are often exasperated at your callousness for letting it go in the very first place, for not trying harder than you did. After several attempts you realize that nothing, pretty much nothing is there to be ensnared in the unyielding darkness, you are exhausted by that time, which again makes you feel incapacitated, helpless often incomplete…… and this is precisely the moment when the vacant sigh escapes. The brutality of fate injects in you a venom so strong that it gnaws at your very existence… and that is when the tears start pouring out not due to pain, but merely to dissolve the numbness that threatens to engulf our very subsistence, to cease the process of our extinction…

2009-08-05T09:35:00.000-07:00

One day I did spread my wings, one day I did somersault, one day I ate chocolates and didn’t stop until my tummy ached, one day I stood on the rooftops with dews caressing my naked shoulders, one day I screamed and screamed till nothing else would ring in my ears but my own sore voice. One day I did catch the first rays of the sun, made a fireball and threw it to the horizon, one day I caught the shadows and stored it in my Pandora box, one day I blindfolded myself and threw myself in his arms, one day I slept and never had to get up. One day I got drunk and did not have to make excuses to my mum, one day I picked up the devil from a bar, one day I stole the summer tint and painted the winter green, one day I danced in the radiant river fall. One day my ashes flew in wind, one day my dreams were sold, one day my memoirs were auctioned and the poorest purchased it all. One day I did smile, one day I did feel my tears dry, one day I woke up once again, one day I did find myself amidst the thousand me…. one day I did try and achieved more than just whispers, I got my song. One day I found that one day.

2009-07-05T13:45:00.000-07:00

Canvas frayed and novel,
Timeless strokes, stains, tang
Memoirs of blinking eyes
Briny tears, salty gore.

Brews in the perfidious core,
The taste of wasted wits
The savor of unaccomplished reveries
Of decease, of defiance

Death is a marvel, a vision
A revelation, a folktale,
And life an exhausted legend,
With ebbing spells, fading charms

Lured by the perilous summons of the shadows
Enchanted by the mysteries of time
Of desires, of hopes, of spring
The canvas remains nude, our souls empty

And then the call of fatality
The whore who offers it all…
Escape, illusion, the alleyway to infinity…
To the end of life, or the beginning of conviction

written by ananya chatterjee

2009-05-19T13:24:00.000-07:00

He lines my trail to the moon…
In his arms he holds the trampled ME
He walks me from my wrecked ruins
and fetches me a thousand stars.

I settle in his eyes
In his feel I subsist,
as he whispers into my ears
the yarn of sweet nothingness

He resides in my prayers
Dwells in the thoughts I knit
In him I glimpse the countless hues
That paints the shadows in me

And then, he glances at me
One spark
And the sky is on fire…
and I breathe through another night

dedicated to the man who taught me how to live in love...

written by ananya chatterjee

2009-05-15T11:29:00.001-07:00

They say she died a natural death
slithered into the abyss of nocturnal peace
Said, no agony tormented her splintered core
Shut away from the realms of veracity

She bled her final dregs of dreams
soaked herself in the bloody past
the bruises of shame of ignominy of pain
but, they say a natural death… she died

she slept to fight the despair
moved not her lips, escaped not her fears
but her heart lingered bare, rusted…
until one day she died a natural death

Macabre reveries of gory shame
incontrovertible and undeniable
decomposed and putrid masses
surrounding the empty platter called 'life'

and then a natural death.........

written by ananya chatterjee

2009-05-12T00:10:00.001-07:00

Chena gondhogulo kamon jano hariye jachche
Bhorer gondho,purono khoborer kaagojer othoba bikeler moori makhar gondho?
Aamer aachar er tel diye mekhe dito maa, ak odbhut bhalo lagar shei gondho…
Tobe akhon ar paina, moneo porena, uro smritir jaale kei ba atke thakte chae, amio chaina. Hoetoh shei jonnie bhule jai kimba jete chai.
Tobe akta gondho akhono amar hariye jawa roopkathagulo ke tene hichre baar kore niye ashe…. Brishtir gondho. Maatir kol e jokhon prothom brishtir chant eshe pore bhijie die jae amader topto shorir, pipasharto mon sholpo anka chobigulo… tokhoni ei chena gondhoti ochena shobkichuke shorie amar indriyogulor opore acchre pore, amay niye jae she dingulote ferot jekhane ami opekkhay boshe thaktam rajputro ar kotalputro eshe amay bondini rajkonya ke uriye niye jabe tepaantorer pare….
Tai borsha mukhod dine amar monikothay atke thaka bhalolagagulo peye jae onumoti, kheyal- khushir thikana, ami hoi poripurno, kokhono ba nijer ogochorei, kokhono ichche-danae paari diye….. shobai jokhon brishti konar maajhe heem sheetol tokhon amar shara shorire ak odbhut ushnotar choya pai ami….amar moner faankfokor gulo jano abar kanae kanae bhore othe…… ami abar notun kore akash pothe urte shikhi…..

written by ananya chatterjee

2009-05-04T02:58:00.000-07:00

She withered as I stirred…..
Emaciated by the unlit days
of solitude…
of pain.

I stroked to revive her
I urged her to smell, to dream
of loveliness…..
of lyrics.

I dwelled in her essence
nurtured by her effervescence.
Now gone…
forever.

And now am left forlorn…
Left with my tears and prayers
of sunshine,
of memories…

written by ananya chatterjee

2009-04-14T04:13:00.000-07:00

She calls out to the man on the street “Sir, can you help me?
It’s cold and I’ve nowhere to sleep Is there somewhere you can tell me?”
He walks on, doesn’t look back He pretends he can’t hear her
He starts to whistle as he crosses the street She’s embarrassed to be there
Oh, think twice, it’s just another day for For you and me in paradise
Oh, think twice, it’s just another day For you, you and me in paradise
Just think about it
She calls out to the man on the street He can see she’s been cryin’
She’s got blisters on the soles of her feet She can’t walk but she’s tryin’
Oh, just think twice, it’s just another day For you and me in paradise
Oh, yes think twice, it’s just another day For you, you and me in paradise
Just think about it, just think about it
Oh Lord, is there nothing more anybody can do?
Oh Lord, there must be something you can say
You can tell from the lines on her face You can see that she’s been there
Probably been moved on from every place ‘Cause she didn’t fit in there
Oh, yes think twice, it’s just another day For you and me in paradise
Oh, yes think twice, it’s just another day For you, you and me in paradise
Just think about it, just think about it
It’s just another day For you and me in paradise

This song by Phill Collins often makes me brood…makes me ponder on whether we are humans with their superior intrinsic ethics and principles or are we just bloody hypocrites trying to pretend something that we are not.
Perhaps humanity… merely means civilizations, and the words associated to it like benevolence, compassion, charity or empathy has absolutely no significance ….and the ones harboring these sentiments are exceptions… errors of humanity, fallible and disturbed.
I often feel that perhaps we would have been better off as apes and monkeys, we could at least bear a clear conscience but then I realize humans have evolved and so has our scruples… we are beyond the narrow range of self-realization and compunction …. Our conscience no longer cause us any inconvenience. It no longer evokes a sense of angst or remorse in us. We have reached the pinnacle with all its splendor… we have become true humans, even resisting our very weaknesses that once held us back from exploring the alleyway of decadence. We have emerged as victors…we have defeated our morals our insight… our virtues… oh, I sound so completely fucked up, ‘virtues and morals’? Sounds theatrical does not it; I better shut up now before someone else suggests me to do that….here…. ‘chup’….I become…

written by ananya chatterjee

2009-04-07T12:14:00.000-07:00

The red stains of betel juice, the sickening stench from the dimly lit alleys, songs from popular b-grade Hindi films trying to overdo the loud murmurs of several casually uttered abuses it all seemed to allure us with its inexpensive vulgarity.
Men with bulging bellies, torn ‘loongis’ and lecherous glints that made no attempt to conceal their lusty stares… and women with their freshly starched drapes barely covering their unrestrained bosoms , colored in the brightest of pink, gold and green, reeking of cheap perfumes and strings of ‘gajraas’ waiting to appease their sexual appetite…
Amidst the several objects of deal there stood the traders… the ones who had once been quibbled over too…the ‘pimps’ who seemed to enjoy, even revel at now being the perpetrators of the deed that seems horrendous to our suave eyes. It seemed to ease their agony, their slur; they are perhaps avenging themselves, making up for their long stolen pride… ‘Ijjat’ as commercial Hindi films often refer it as, defiling the term and the meaning, giving it a touch of contemptible humor. Human sentiments are often degenerated and commercialized and ‘ijjat’ fucked both figuratively and literally.
However, what certainly is surprising even shocking is the fashion in which these negotiations take place without the wink of an eye in an almost untailored style as if its not flesh and blood being purchased but mere items without sentiment or emotions…
The deliberate seduction captivates and defeats many with their loose hanging wrinkled moralities… the customer varies in size and shape… but all with one common impulse ‘inadequacy’… the desire to be desired…
‘jouno palli’… perhaps the only alcove where ‘jounango key keo hridoy bole bhul kore na’…where even the curse of impotency is eradicated by the orgasms that are so meticulously faked by the professionals to gratify their clients… rich and poor alike.
Where a human is no longer bound by logic or the morality imposed by the society and ‘jounota’ is not an object of disdain or contempt…

Dedicated to the sex workers around the world. Kudos to the professionals…who have had the guts to struggle against the atrocities inflicted upon them as also the stigma attached to their very entity.

written and sketched by ananya chatterjee

2009-03-28T14:22:00.000-07:00

reflections...Her eyes looked inebriated….her senses obscured with desire, the yearning to feel the heat, to touch the almost tangible craze that steamed amid them, to make love, to roll into that one fiery ball as Marvell opines…to be intimate, to be absolute… to be filled with the dews of ecstasy, of youth, of hedonism.
She craved for lust to devour her very existence…for frantic passion to pillage and assault her piety, her virtue, the chastity of her soul…for the bondage of virginity gnawed at her womanhood and men she despised…her felinity was affronted, ridiculed it became a mere object of derision under the callous scrutiny of men.
Now she was liberated, free to taste the intoxicating sensuous wine of ardor, she was a defiant in the face of thousand puritans…she heaved her head to smell the scent of her conquest and the flame in her eyes smoldered the silent spectators, she castrated them with her power to violate.
She closed her eyes to emerge from the wasteland and dive into the nadir of pleasurable sins…

Inspired from a portion in the book ‘ DAUGHTERS OF ARABIA’ by ‘JEAN SASSON’ where a princess in Saudi Arabia indulges herself in homosexual activities a silent yet radical gripe against the horrendous restrictions imposed on women by the self proclaimed fore bearers of the society

written and sketched by ananya chatterjee

2009-03-20T11:29:00.001-07:00

I offer my prayers to the vista of life
It rises to tell me the yarn of disguise
The drape it has donned to evade the cries
Of tender follies and deadly lullabies

It seizes my hand and dashes with me
To underworld and over the sea
Where agony is a merciful delight
and darkness is a sane man’s sight

After the sunset I wake up to the dawn
The shadow of night embraces the morn
The smell of pine darkens my mind
It fastens my tongue and leaves me spellbind

Ecstatic with splendor I stand up to beam
The trance seems true not a gleaming dream
I long to return to the start of the ride
I obscure my pain I slain my pride

I am a miracle, but a profligate spawn
A wasted brilliance that fate has drawn
My verve is my might, my soul’s voice
My being is my blessing; a bliss to rejoice

written by ananya chatterjee

2009-03-03T13:30:00.000-08:00

The symphony of life is a bittersweet one, but we hardly get the opportunity to strike the chords, so lying back in my bed when I try to call upon my muse it shows its middle finger and asks me to fuck off. I try to find sense in my failure; try meaninglessly to search for that one thing that could inspire me, invigorate me and I gradually end up in perpetual agony of hopelessness. They say desperation is born out of despair, but my anguish comforts me, bizarrely it keeps me sane. I see that my addiction towards that inactive stage grows each time I lose the battle against my dormant vision.
Am I finally losing it or is it that the canvas of life is too dark to be colored by mere words? Perhaps I am too freaking lazy to correct my idiosyncrasies.
A perfect product of this ‘fucked up era’ where my crippled emotion is my only refuge, where expressions become a luxury for I am too goddamn exhausted to play with prosody. I am stuck in an orb…confined in a niche I have carved for myself where thoughts elude my empty brain and aggravation sedates my tautened nerves.

I assemble up to type my hollow words and then I lounge back yet again to leer at my futile efforts…I slither back to enjoy the mirth of oblivion.

written by ananya chatterjee

2009-03-02T11:50:00.000-08:00

The littoral view
The sun kissed hue
The sublime seduction
of dipsomania

I elude
the mystery call;
the parlous chimes
of liqueur….or is it the fervent whisper of linnets?

I know not.
I heed not.

I am a nefarious myrmidon
to the forbidden combats in me.
The heady lover of a hussy
ensnared by the impetuous chalice of wine

written by ananya chatterjee

2009-02-26T10:54:00.000-08:00

I bargained with the petulant conspirator
The last dregs of my dream
The dreams, I had wrapped
In glitters and lavender hue

He leaned from his gothic fort,
And winked at his graft
Stretched out his arms lackadaisically
Eyeing my dead ‘forget-me-nots’

I shuddered in dismay for the benison from my love
My tears washed his urbane cenotaph
Fate the depraved commissary
Smirked at my sunken soul and flamed the way to Elysium

written by ananya chatterjee

2009-01-30T10:34:00.000-08:00

Inside my heart
Burns the flame of passion
Forgive my soul
for my sin of loving you.

I came to pray
Yet my eyes searched for you,
The silence of your lips
Burned my thirsty eyes

You touched me father
To purge me off my sins
I craved for you
My lust soared so high.

I closed my lids
To feel god’s grace
But my dreams remained
Incomplete without you

When you stood there
Blessing me and all,
My vision was blurred
My thoughts were stained

I wept days and nights
My love scarred my soul
Hoping against reality
That one day we shall unite

The man in you I see
With blood, bone and desires
Yet the touch of your hands
Never answer my prayers

You stood so close and yet so far
Never hearing my pleas for love
But one day you will yield your soul
For a woman’s heart lies with you

written by ananaya chatterjee

2009-01-27T23:14:00.000-08:00

Standing in the sleepy line
With closed empty eyes
I scratch my ass I dig my nose
I duck to escape the scorching glances

My unfinished dreams of yester night
Lurks from the dusty corners of neverland
The incessant drone of morning prayers
Jam my garbled senses

I wobble my oversized head
to clear the commercial traffic
of formulae and theories…
The misery of history

Moral science remains a wasted effort
Trapped in the confinement of the assembly halls
I stoop, from the nagging ache
The victims of educational despair

written by ananya chatterjee

2009-01-27T07:19:00.000-08:00

disturbia

painted by ananya chatterjee although it is copied from a magazine cover , not her original creation

2009-01-26T13:24:00.000-08:00

And the night whispers in the ears of darkness,
Somewhere a heart pains and bleeds,
Tears of joy flows down to her bosom,
Her solitude…..has been revenged.

The golden hair, the azure eyes,
The sardonic smile, with coral touches…
She laughs aloud to the silent sky,
Echoed by the sound of lamenting

Scarlet drops flowed from his wounds.
drops that eased her pain away.
She looked up with her triumphant eyes,
And watched the shadow that wept for the hunted

The mirth, in her heart, no longer she felt;
Her victory so futile, so vain
To avenge the soul of her buried beloved,
Another was left love less in the desert of vengeance

written by ananya chatterjee

2009-01-21T23:17:00.000-08:00

Narrow dingy lanes
where death is a treat
Mongrels and men
are companions and competitors

the stench of uncovered drains
where shameful humanity lies low
the naked newborn starves
the deceiving streetlights burn brighter

diseased by hunger
deprived by fate
the toxic by products,
the wastes in the way of progress

here morality is a virgin whore
it sells but remains unfucked
and emotions are leftovers
from a rare meal

written by ananya chatterjee

2009-01-21T14:17:00.000-08:00

My tears bear the traces of gore,
No wounds I see, no pain I feel
An empty lane and alleys of bygone days
Mirth and joy, lurks in the dusty corners.

Scarred was I, by the gashes of time
The road to salvation was dark, was cold
I was lost amidst the silence of stars
Alone I stood at the edge of life.

My hands felt numb, drenched in sweat
With a shallow breath, I reached to trap my life
Memories I grabbed with my empty hands,
My tainted hear was bleeding again.

written by ananya chatterjee

2009-01-21T14:12:00.000-08:00

the sky has lost its color
the noon is dusty grey
the sands of time stood not still
the memories fade away

rising from the heaps
of empty pages,
tossing my head in pain...
my words are lost in eternity

i hope to drink
the wine of slumber
yet my shoulders stoop
not from dreams, but delusion

written by ananya chatterjee

2009-01-21T13:32:00.000-08:00

I stay awake all night long,
To catch a glimpse of the lady in red
She stands by her window pane
My thoughts for her remain unsaid.

The wind plays with her unkempt hair,
I stretch my hands to touch the air
A shiver makes my heart so cold
The silent agony, no more can I bear

my heart cries out, my love for her
my lips are sealed with an ache unseen
Rejection, I fear shall stab my soul
Against my tired bed, I lean

I look up again, to quench my thirst
Drives me on, my lust for life
Another night just danced away
and continues my inner strife

written by ananya chatterjee

2009-01-21T12:58:00.000-08:00

Fighting through crowds,
Running in vain
The tides of shame
Wash my scars

The hounds fed………
On my blood and my flesh,
My soul they stained
And yet I run

My dreams are drenched,
In the hues of fear
My eyes are shadowed,
By the glint of their smiles

But yet I run…
And then I pause to look at me,
No trace of blood, only memories
Of thousand intrusive hands

written by ananya chatterjee