The skies are always gray it seems
Winter-bleak and dark
No sun to see for miles around
The skyline ever stark
Hopelessness has a cobwebby cling
A sticky sort of shroud
That wraps and traps and weighs me down
A dank and heavy cloud
Wound up like a spider’s prey
Feeling ever small
Shoulders hunched, spine curled in
How can one stand up tall?

every first day of the month is yours.

you’re in the cobwebby corners of my mind.
the hollow parts,
the forgotten parts.
or at least the parts i try to forget.

it feels impossible when so much is a reminder-
of innocence lost.
paranoia gained.
fear festering.
time  u n w i n d i n g.

i hate clocks now.
mirrors too.
i hardly recognize my own reflection anymore.
which me is staring back?
from which time?

you lose yourself when you stop keeping count.

*, 2, 3, 4...

there’s a bittersweet taste left in my mouth.
i’ve tried to wash it out, smoke it out;
flush out the ghosts inside,
but the haunted echoes of distorted voices still remain.

how can i move on when i can’t ever forget ?
how did You?

I rose up
and greeted the sun
with pieces of a smile

My brain fogged over
filled with slithering dreams
made of sap

Dust motes
filled my windows,
golden wraiths
twisting to my heartbeat

Slow-motion thoughts
could not get across
so I sped away
through the air

We met halfway
With stories
And warmth

Busily, I swept away
The lingering
Of cobwebby sleep

My mind rose,
A lazy creature
Warmed by the sun
Into wakefulness

You do a simultaneous favour
To spiderwebs and fire
As they dance in your depth
And I skim across your surface
Skitterishly
Watching the blue flow up into blue
And the blue sink down into blue
Reaching fingers reluctantly down, and up,
Broken only
By the water-colour green in between-
I want to be the surface
That only I can break,
That holds the horizontal
Between you & your sky; I
I want to be within
And outside of your
Deep, light body
At once
(Till I can no longer feel the hot burn
On soles and blazen palms)
And then stay so until spiders
Build their home on my shoulders.
•
I'll stay still for them,
And you.
So you can make patterns across my arms-
Cobwebby patterns of (strobe) light-
And I will fly inside you,
Because you are my sky.
This is why I now only swim
Upside-down;
Because I feel like I am flying

Many years I have spent,
Trapped in the painful numb.
An abyss embracing my tortured mind,
No destiny, no forwards, nothing to come.

My dwelling silent, so silent,
I don’t even hear my breath.
Broken-down, an old ghost town,
Branded with sadness and death.

I gulp, I step, my frail legs so old,
I step
I step again
My body going cold.

I feel my voice is taken,
I hear the non-existent screams,
I see my haunted sister,
I see the light in her eyes lose its gleam.

I’m shaking with sobs,
I’m struck with grief,
I’m frozen on the stairs
Of house no.3.

I look up,
I hear the sound, the tinkling of the piano,
My former-self sitting spellbound,
At her soprano,

Sister, o sister,
How well you used to play,
I rush, suddenly, with a surge of love,
Up the stairs I have dreaded every day.

The landing is cold,
In the lonely gloom,
The piano sits, deprived of being played,
In a cobwebby tomb.

I approach it, fearful,
But content,
This is the object,
That caused this event.

I know what to do,
With shaking bones,
I place my hands on the keys,
All of them, clones.

The chord, I play,
The very last one,
The last one she played,
Before she was gone.

It brought me back,
To the terrifying time,
The moment of her peril,
That corrupted my mind.

I push down the keys,
The sound rings out,
I suddenly scream,
I sing, I shout.

I am freed from my pain,
Freed from this cage,
My mission complete,
I’ve finished my last page.

The whistle of the chimney
Sweeps in, nothing to say,
The wind curls around me,
And blows me away.

Exhaustion brings forth emotional happiness,
Ephemeral drug-induced exhaustion gives time enough to recall what is lost
during the noisy turmoil of cobwebby mind.
Silent is the room, a round robust room,
safely peregrinated around by Ferdinand Magellan.
I imagine how impaccably resilient is the barrier – a bony barrier of body contains an intermittent ruction,
the turbulence of nothingness.
Then comes a thin cutaneous membrane all over the body, potent to conceal an absolute abyss.
Envy does not provide with comfort.
A spiffing news spreads faster than rumour. Here I sit, sleepy and carefree, to imbue my vein with your pleasure. The pleasure of the universe attacks and multiplies like a contagious disease; An opaque streak of burnt hope appears, disappears,
disappears and appears in the guise of pleasure, whom we craved.
It's nothing more than a deceptive premonition of healing.
Let him convalesce who is meek and naive. These be my final words before another fit of unknown trepidation begins.


– Sarban Bhattacharya

Up before the birds,
before the sheep
and the barking farm dogs have had a chance to rise,
before the sun in a waking sky has washed her face
there is me, and the rabbits of course,
there are always nibbling rabbits
they pay me no heed as I ignore them,
cobwebby air that smells of wet stone walls and hazelenuts
a damp little mourning for summer
still with us, but only just
she is fading, her breath grown stale
what was once a fine full featured woman of elegant proportions
is not the girl she was and somewhat over-ripe,
shriveled hag or blousy old ****, who knows,
september will see to that
he could be kind and let her keep her looks for a bit,
a single singing sheep, baas contralto through the fence
followed by her sisters, one of whom is definitely flat,
which stirs the dogs,
then birds, and a raven’s mocking call from the trees
coughing tractors vape their owners into life
and the radio clicks,
because apparently the old ***** won’t start!
a jostling theatre crowd of noise and neighbours
Mrs O’Malley from the farm up the road
is out for her power walk with Dan,
she waves at the gate
Dan wags his tail and eyes my biscuit,
tough luck Dan, she is watching,
I have not come to the world
the world has come to me
all along the valley they are waking now
a glorious cacophany
the Cavershiveen volcano rumbles into being
except for him indoors, he’s still snoring like a bull
in a minute I will take him tea and biscuits
wake him gently from his beige accountant dreams
whatever they are?
and we can start the day together
except of course mine started long ago
with only the silent sky and the hills for company
he will never know that I embraced the dawn
and sipped my coffee with the old gods
Lugh and Dagda and Brigid
I have been their respectful guest
ancient Irish faces he will never know
unless I choose to tell him so