NOVEMBER AND MY KOLKATA

A night with an essence of eeriness,
the grass merges with the dream of
outram ghats and winds down
along the lanes of victoria memorial
the lazy lips of the  colourful pebbles
kiss the dew drops,so passionately...
the alleys of the NEW MARKET
are stunned  spectators of the
invisible songs of our sweaty hands,
imperfect yet appear flawless in the mild chill....
the smell of the old and new books
wanders  from esplanade to college street
--fearlessly, without even a ticket...
the events of november revolutions reappear
from the pages of history as a red nostalgia...
the momos and smoky tea cups
crowd in front of nandan and academy.
hyping impatiently for the international film festival.....
the colourfull woolen empire scented with napthalene
 tastes freedom  again --after a long break....
the pride of a malls and the modesty of slums
warm themselves up with the FIRE of
NOVEMBER and MY KOLKATA...