Poetry by Gautam Sen
We are the home of a bounty of wonderfully talented writers – and poets. Gautam Sen is our only author from India and has penned the fantastical and fun family story – The Fantabulous Fens, a moving and moral story for all ages.
We’re proud to post two of Mr. Sen’s poems which recently appeared in an international Poetry Magazine. We’re proud to be the publisher of his book and to offer these beautiful poems to you.
AdventureThis, too, is adventurous — Not scaling Kanchenjunga Or Mount Everest, Not crossing the Atlantic Solo in a boat, Not country-hopping In a gas balloon, Not exploring The jungles of Africa, Not trekking across the sandy Sahara; But brushing my teeth, Yes brushing my teeth As if it were, When it’s time to brush my teeth, The most important task In the whole wide world, Brushing them alertly, With full attention, Applying myself to the strokes of the brush In front of my mouth And behind, A its hidden corners And up and down, Not missing out on the circular motions That dentists recommend, And scrupulously keeping at bay The sad or happy thoughts, The obsessions, The ecstasies, The awesome worries and perplexities, That threaten to wildly rush in And take possession — This giving the so-called minor acts their due, This true democracy of the spirit, This pushing out the intruder Seeking mental entry, Grappling with it, Absorbing its blows, This struggle no one notices Or appreciates, This quiet overcoming, This victory of order over chaos That nowhere makes headlines, That you cannot talk about with x or y or z And get yourself understood — This, too, is heroism of a kind, Heroism of a different brand; This is everyday romance, No less adventurous, No less glorious Than, more sensationally, Fighting bulls in Spain Or floating, televised, In outer space.
TraumaHow is it, but how is it That though the words are much the same In the Book of Life, Some meanings suddenly Have changed? All tears were water Till the other day. And ran in rivulets; Today my own are dry — They do not run, They splinter into broken sighs! And rocks … Yes rocks were solid Dependable things That wouldn’t budge an inch When it came to the crunch … I’ve seen them crumble into dust At the first touch Of an avalanche, And like a flock of perching birds Upset by gunshot, Disperse like panic In the wind. Though the words are much the same In the Book of Life, There are those That are differently disposed From how they were Before: Supposedly quiet words explode And others, considered loud, Retire into corners And absently doze.