A COUNTER-POEM WHICH WAS A POEM BEFORE BEING WRITTEN

Before I was in love with her
I had the knowledge of ignorance
Now
After I had smelt the beautiful mole
At Psyche’s cunt
I have the ignorance of knowledge
Aaahh
What a jaundiced life
Is it
Yes
No
Maybe
May not be
I don’t know
Who knows
Heh
Who knows who knows
Good and evil are identical
Merely the two phases of the same life-cycle
Good is what evil was in past
Evil is what good will be in future
Cupid is cooking hell-broth
What an intelligent ass
Creativity sleeps between his legs
Priests are masturbating in temples
Behind the idols of deities
Thoughts and counter-thoughts
And counter-thoughts and counter-counter-thoughts
Nora Molly Bertha
The new manly women
Joyce Leopold Richard
The new womanly men
What can I do
In reality
Nothing
In fact even less than nothing
What do I sense about myself
Truly
Am I real
This truth is false indeed
I can be that only what I am being taught
What I am being made
In fact I am being prevented from being what really I am
And yet I am accepting it
I am being taught to accept it
Without even raising a single question
But why
Why why why I ask 

I need not cry
Need not lie
Need not even die
I am taught so
But what if I feel like crying
And lying and dying too
What a syphilitic society
Dreams are visible
Reality invisible
Where do I stand
Exactly
I don’t like me at all
And I can’t see at all why so many people like me
My outward ‘I’ often fails to do what my inner ‘I’ wishes
Very often
And my inner ‘I’ too
Who is my real ‘I’ then
Nilotpal
Or me
I prefer most to re-create my creativity
Continually
So I murder Nilotpal
Very often
At almost every probable opportunity
And so does he too
At least tries to do so
Sincerely
Honestly
Both of us
And then resurrect each other eventually
Again and again
And again and again and again and again and …
Thus creativity creates creator
In counter-action …
Creator creates creativity
In counter-action …
Creativity creates creator and so on and so forth
When shall I finish cooking the hell-broth
When shall she offer me her cunt again
When shall all these
Knowledge and ignorance
Good and evil
Thoughts and counter-thoughts
Dreams and reality
Visibility and invisibility
Creativity and creator
Begin to melt into utter insignificance
Yes it will
When one blue midnight
She will tell me foreplaying :
Look dear
Your pubic hairs have begun to turn white
Amen !

SANSNESS

           [The ageless Cumaean clairvoyant, Sibyl, presently lives as the house-lizard in my room. Earlier, she was the priestess presiding over the Apollonian Oracle at Cumae, a Greek colony located near Naples, Italy. It was she herself, who taught me that the word ‘sibyl’ comes via Latin from the ancient Greek word ‘sibylla’, meaning ‘prophetess’, and that there were eventually many Sibyls in the ancient world. When Nachiketa asked Yama about the meaning of ‘Death’, Yama taught him the ‘Kathopanishada’. Now, when I ask Sibyl about the meaning of ‘Eternity’, she teaches me the following.]

abandon hope

all ye who enter here

welcome to inferno

HOW MAN BECOMES ETERNAL

here are the twin gates of sleep

this gate of horn allows an easy exit

for shadows which are true

and it is through this gate of ivory

that false dreams or visions which in fact are illusions

are sent to living creatures by the spirits

HOW MAN BECOMES ETERNAL

north east west south

acheron cocytus lethe phlegethon styx

northeast northwest southwest southeast

woe wail oblivion flaming oath

HOW MAN BECOMES ETERNAL

the dead and the living travel on the same boat

they are the two tails of the same coin

the head is missing

no

the boat is the head

they are not dead

and they were never alive

am i alive

are you alive

am i dead

are you dead

are we dead

are we alive

HOW MAN BECOMES ETERNAL

clapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclap

shameshameshameshameshameshameshameshameshameshameshame

cheercheercheercheercheercheercheercheercheercheercheer

HOW MAN BECOMES ETERNAL

row on your skiff charon

ahh

poor old ferryman

what a filthy beard

there lurks cerberus

to dispute the way

merciless

nevertheless

remember psyche

follow her honeyed cake

HOW MAN BECOMES ETERNAL

ohh

what unforeseen fecundity

richness of invention

prolificness

impregnatibility

and of course

too overnice

ehh

what darkness

empty shades are passing

how vacant and infinite the space

HOW MAN BECOMES ETERNAL

and pus and blood and semen and sweat and vomit and

the images are all dumb

yet they are conveying secret pains

unseen sufferings

cursed souls

uhh

what silence

what obscure faces

what mystery

HOW MAN BECOMES ETERNAL

mine our your his her its their everyones noones anyones someones

conscience conscience conscience conscience conscience conscience conscience

is is is is is is is is is is is

dying dying dying dying dying dying dying dying dying dying dying

HOW MAN BECOMES ETERNAL

no

not dead

rather they are trapped

between life and death

why nilotpal why

why such hankering after eternity

you are alone

we are all alone

and we can no more sense

our todays tomorrows and yesterdays

are we alive

are we dead

are you dead

am i dead

am i alive

are you alive

HOW MAN BECOMES ETERNAL

the truth is that we are doomed

destined to damnation

at nowhere

even worse than nowhere

HOW MAN BECOMES ETERNAL

each everyday is a quest

floating upon the waves of time

yhh

what timelessness

what ethereal enigma

what vast emptiness

who can fill it up

and who can wash all bloodstains

from the blades of our teeth

silence is seldom anonymous

HOW MAN BECOMES ETERNAL

i will let you know

if thats what you want

that we are all trapped

yes

and damn well trapped too

between the beginning and the end

and the end and the beginning

between entry and exit

and exit and entry

and above all

HOW MAN BECOMES ETERNAL

welcome to inferno

abandon hope

all ye who enter here

MY MAIDEN WHOREMISTRESS or A WRY SELF-CARICATURE

Good morning, have you used Pears’ soap? 1

No, she doesn’t tell me something like that.

She gives me her because, yes, bottom,

Not her woman.

The harlot’s cry from street to street

Shall weave old England’s winding sheet. 2

No, not England’s.

Here it must be Kolkata’s.

              And now I just take a very brief break and go to the kitchen to light a smoke from the gas-oven as I’m run out of match-sticks. I lose my way, all suddenly! I can’t find the door of my room! I feel myself inside a titanic hall; and in front of me, a colourful octopus --- more titanic than the hall itself. And of course, I feel, it is a feminine. She is smiling. She is approaching closer . . . to suck me up . . . bloodless . . . semenless . . . to devour me up. Now I feel, I’m all aroused! Yes . . . I’ve just died.

author and nilotpal

nithor and aulotpal

the brain the mind

the virgin the whore

the redeemer the sinner

the victor the vanquished

Which is the worst?

Sanctimoniousness or Adultery!

What hospitality she treats me with!

Love, lie and be handsome for tomorrow we die. 3

I’m horn-mad.

She has made my micky stand for her . . .

ummmnn youre sooo big

A  CUCKOLD

ohh gawd sooo tight

YES  A  CUCKOLD

cummon harder yea harder

IM  THE  CUCKOLD

oo yeahh just like that

YES  YES  IM  THE  FUCKING  CUCKOLD

oo yeahh yeahh yeahh yeahh

And the rest is NOT silence. 4

To live life is not as simple as to cross a field. 5

HURRY  UP  PLEASE  ITS  TIME

HURRY  UP  PLEASE  ITS  TIME

HURRY  UP  PLEASE  ITS  TIME

HURRY  UP  PLEASE  ITS  TIME 6

To live, to err, to fall, to triumph, to recreate life out of life! 7

Yes . . . I’m just born.

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COUNTERNOTES :-

1 : cf. James Joyce’s ‘Ulysses’ ( Lotus-Eaters )

2 : cf. ibid ( Nestor )

3 : cf. ibid ( Nausicaa )

4 : cf. William Shakespeare’s ‘Hamlet’ ( V, ii, 350 )

5 : cf. Boris Pasternak’s ‘Hamlet’ ( line 16 )

6 : cf. T. S. Eliot’s ‘The Waste Land’ ( line 141 )

7 : cf. James Joyce’s ‘A Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Man’