Lockdown Poems III

Here, no where

Always, you find ways
To stand beside, silently.
Almost unaware, 
Of your angelic presence,
I watch the cold silver rain

Together we could
Change the colours of the words
Change the sharp meanings
Of colours, colourlessness
For all art must melt in sound

Your calmness of mind
Reflects the raven like streets
Stories from our past
Heals the lapse of the seasons
Let’s store the present, each day

Let’s store this presence, 
Every passing day.


To approach the state
Of containing no meaning,
The end of sound must
Begin; abstaining the speech
First, then the sighs or the moans

Now the minds must stop,
All anatomies disem-
Bodied; entities
Resolved to isolate or
Fade into silence

The drone of an aged
Old fan, text alerts, alarms,
Cars, disappear; roads
Melt into rivers, disjoint
Monophonics in this age

When soliloquy
Becomes the only script, all
The codes and trials
Fail to connect us; no, don’t
Blame it on our ignorance.

Titles are overrated

When this world finally ends with a whimper
There will be no room for jealousy and pain
No insecurity, No hunger or satisfaction
No attraction- mental, sexual or metaphysical
No definitions of beauty and comparison
Productivity and networking will be the only indices
Arguments will dissolve; ideologies and holy scriptures
Will remain as pages of mere fiction, which
By the way, they have always been-
A manifestation of time and space

150 mg of benzodiazepine, 500 mg of opioid
50 mg of antipsychotic, overprized cheap alcohol
Cigarettes without a filter. We shall fight this war tonight.

And cyborgs will make love to the void
And some of us who exist will let ourselves to be tortured
Widening our arms for the heartless
And we must be welcomed by the gritty stones for our souls

Connections will be naturalised
Data and information must completely be compromised
Like an unsolved game theory problem
When the equilibrium cannot be reached
As everyone knows everyone else’s every move till the end

Steel intestine and stoned pancreas
Plastic kidneys, synthetic dreams
A stomach cut into black masks, sanitized.
Nostalgia, erased from the digital dictionary
Only binary reminiscences and a sound of distorted clicks
Every 2 seconds, end of noise and noise reduction.

Let us declare mobocracy then,
Let us inculcate anarchy tonight
Under these dark satellite less skies?

Halfway highway

Maybe, this is how it has always been
A space between silver skies and dusty evenings.



Without hope–it is probably not that difficult
Or is it? Everything comes with an expiry date.
And probably I am overliving.

A vision between the white space
And post-death memory.

Deconstructing jealousy

There is no need to retain anything anymore
As long as the self dissolves itself
Who is whose? Whose is who?

Wariness becomes an affiliation:
Disjoint dreams, the buzz of the mobile phone,
Expected outcomes, repeated conversations,
Regulations I did not want to follow
Recurring fear of loss
Inside a lonesome room under the pale yellow lights
Breathing alternative possibilities, an ageing chair,
And unclean remains of uncertain closures, life.

As long as the self is prepared to dissolves itself.
There may not be a need to retain.
One day at a time
Fading, fading, erasing…

Dissecting the self from the self.
And the mind from the mind.
The self doesn’t own the body.
The mind doesn’t get along
With our consciousness.

Only death retains everything.

Goirick Brahmachari’s debut collection of poems, For the Love of Pork (Les Editions du Zaporogue, Denmark) won the Muse India – Satish Verma Young Writer Award (Poetry) 2016. He is also the winner of the Srinivas Rayaprol Poetry Prize, 2016. Other collections of verses by Brahmachari include joining the dots, 2016, Wet Radio and Other Poems, 2017 and A Broken Exit, 2019. He is currently working on two collaborative volume of verses titled The Nightwalkers along with Debarshi Mitra and Non Tribal/ Tribal with Avner Pariat. His poems and essays have appeared in various journals, magazines, blogs and pamphlets.