August 1, 2015


Pijush Kanti Deb is a new Indian poet with more than 234 published or accepted poems and haiku in more than 75 national and international magazines and journals,[print and online] including Down in the dirt, Tajmahal Review, Pennine Ink, Hollow Publishing, Creativica Magazine, Muse India, Teeth Dream Magazine, Hermes Poetry Journal, Madusa’s Kitchen,Grey Borders, Dead Snakes, Dagda Publishing, Blognostic and many more.
His best achievement so far is the publication of his first poetry collection,’’Beneath The Shadow Of A White Pigeon’’ published by Hollow Publishing. It is available on AMAZON and BARNES AND NOBLE.

 A Rural Love Story

Sunrise in the tune of morning prayer
and a lazy flow of whispering breeze
carrying the scent of love
bloomed somewhere in a muddy meadow
and an enchanting melody
of her passionate calling
for her man of love,
just a good beginning of a rural love story
projecting a hilarious hustle
among the ensnared lover
and a pair of bullocks on the land
and in the sky
among the clouds
rich in sea and ocean
until the lover reaches his land of love
with sharp weapons and gifts
for his lying beloved
and the hustle is turned
into a disciplined, artful and satiable
touching and scratching
of  the lover on the soft body of his beloved
staying behind a pair of bullocks
and beneath a black raining umbrella.

        Biting On Ass
Attention is a must-
living or dead,
concrete or abstract
needs the inquisitive steering of eyes,
curious touch of fingers
and their careful turning over
its story-telling pages by turn
from the first to the last .
‘’Am I hidden in fog’’?
Neglected suspects a reason
to bite on ass of the careless
for snatching their unmindful eyes-
looking at tomorrow only
for a better day
leaving today simply
into  the black hole of past
unattended and unexplored.
Funny how it happens
right in front of eyes,
the glasses are lifted up today
but cheered up
in the name of tomorrow-
quite unknown, unseen and unpredictable
making the biting on ass
unabated and effective too
in blooming fragrant  blossoms
in the barren face of under-cared today

Sometimes I feel myself a kite
flying thousand miles up
above your mesmerizing hand
holding me with the veins of your heart
and I find myself too
standing in a meadow of twinkling stars
looking at the tiny sparkles of aurora
moving around my good luck
and shinning my dreamy eyes
as I can still touch your face
and check your dimples
as deep as the depth of my love
into which you fell down one good day
along with your paradise
making my solo – a whirling song
a dramatic duet
inspiring the cuckoos to play flutes
and the colorful flowers
with wings and no wings
to fly and dance with me
surrendering your juicy lips
to my thirsty lips
sketching a long pretty smile
to settle me and my love
from a hard desert
to an enchanting pampas of your soft heart.


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