South African Poetry and Art of Amitabh Mitra

Huzrat Kothi, Old Delhi

2012-01-17T19:55:00.001+02:00

Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Janpath Days

2012-01-06T07:28:00.002+02:00

janpath market
checking shawls,
life effervescing then in a close knit pashmina
i thought of words written on bargain threads
not knowing breaths had sealed then
an oddly different sky
at a connaught place middle street we kissed
life flowed in each other quashed in the shawl
within lips
i asked of a river
it had always escaped
afternoon of repertoires
of smalltalk
in a faint punjabi accent
touching your tongue
i saw a sun went hiding
in our ancestral sharing
eyes closed in pursuit
we hurled in colours and stars
of another momentary season.

Poem / Pastel / Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Gwalior

2011-12-08T22:03:00.005+02:00

many aeons back
when rock changed faces
many a times and clan men
resisted irrefutably
time
the sky always gave way
to unhindered horizons
to newer lives
in dust torn
revelry
each time we passed the long
languorous tunnels of
waking
each time we found
ourselves on ledges
of looming betrayal
the fort grew taller and higher
overlapping many a skin
many a shadow
many a summers
and i thought
perhaps one day
you would tell me a secret
of holding the lizard
in my grip
of a moment
knee deep in a drying river
of your breath
navigating a stronghold
of refute
you told me
the ruddy earth would also change
the peacocks would be no more
fungus and fern would darken
such agreements
such love
insisted
and we would remain torn
answerable only to the wind.

why did we run away each time the
sun changed surfaces
why did we cross eye storms
ensnared long hidden stars
why did we eclipse in patterns
of lip talk on your neck
why did we turn one and only one
burnt one single night
why did we then never die
why did the fort
keep silent
why

beneath us
deep down
stayed the dargah
the mad man danced
looked at us
in sightless eyes
we had seen him before
much before
when the hot wind
blew away advancing
and departing reasons
a maratha willingness to melt away
at each nightend
we saw him still
shaking his head
his hands sang the song
of the next blitz
the dead around in cavernous
holes never slept
we knew
the rainriver
would storm down
in crypts and crevices
in sultry memory lanes
weather broken thickets
on to those
living and buried
we knew then
it was the moment
of a quiet dismissal
of unhastened departures.

families left for far shores
and houses sprung up on
rusty dreams
a dishevelled robe dragging
a far innocence
hands sought to hold a
belief
and eyes stored tears
unbelieving
on your lips i saw a murmur
loves disparity rootless in
undefined times
i told you the stillness of the fort
stillness of our drifting
stillness of the riversong
stillness of an everydaysky
yet
we lived
shattering long drawn thoughts
in strange dawns
in
old gwalior.

Poem and Ink Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

Mdantsane Protesting

2011-11-16T19:13:00.001+02:00

Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Mdantsane Protest

2011-11-01T07:59:00.001+02:00

Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Mdantsane Lanes

2011-10-24T20:42:00.000+02:00

Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Mdantsane Rainbow

2011-10-22T19:45:00.001+02:00

Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Mdantsane Shebeen

2011-10-18T21:16:00.004+02:00

in a strangerlight
frequenting the lament
blues and greens stare in an orb
glass, skin and breath
touch quite ruthlessly
seizing proximity
darkness is a sworn
revelation
myths enter an orbit
of unsung desires

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Mdantsane Again

2011-10-16T09:09:00.004+02:00

and in some coral nights
i see you through panes
in an unblinking sky
stare thoughts in a traveling
glow
outside a mad man lurches
demands to be seen
his thoughts are purple
his voice guttural enduring
the window glass disappears
madantsane
echoes again
in some afterthoughts
of such coral nights.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Goran Bregovic

2011-09-28T23:28:00.003+02:00

A howling wind is whistling in the night
My dog is growling in the dark
Something's pulling me outside
To ride around in circles
I know that you have got the time
'coz anything I want, you do
You'll take a ride through the strangers
Who don't understand how to feel
In the death car, we're alive
In the death car, we're alive

I'll let some air come in the window
Kind of wakes me up a little
I don't turn on the radio
'coz they play sh*t, like... you know
When your hand was down on my dick
It felt quite amazing
And now that, that is all over
All we've got is the silence
In the death car, we're alive
In the death car, we're alive
So come on mandolins, play

When I touched you
I felt that you still had your baby fat
And a little taste of baby's breath
Makes me forget about death
At your age you're still joking
It ain't time yet for the choking
So now we can see the movie, and know each other truly
In the death car, we're alive
In the death car, we're alive
I want to hear some mandolins

Listen to Goran Bregovic singing, In the death car, We are alive

Pen Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

Poetry of Chris Mann

2011-09-27T00:22:00.004+02:00

Where is the freedom for which we died?

Whenever I dream during these violent times
I meet up with the martyrs for freedom.

I see Steve Biko again,
And Achmad Timol,
And David Webster,
all, all of them murdered by deeds of hatred.

I also see Nelson Mandela again,
A man buried alive in prison
who stepped from the tomb still living
and is the Lazarus of our times.

These are the heroes I think of often,
who knock at the doors of our memory,
who travel around our country
talking together as they look about them
like ancestral spirits of the new South Africa.

Going into the home of a drunkard
they see him beating his wife and children.
“Look at that!” says one of the heroes,
“Is this the freedom for which we died?”

Entering the township
they find the skies full of flames
and people running confusedly round the streets
like termites whose home has been kicked over.
“And look at that!” says another of the heroes,
“Is this the freedom for which we died?”

Going into a school
they see pupils bickering with the teachers
and two boys stabbing each other.
“And look at that!” says another of the heroes,
“Is this the freedom for which we died?”

Walking the streets at night
they find the homes locked and barred
as if the people had built their own prisons
and lived inside them huddled in fear.
“I can’t believe it!” another of them says,
“Is this the freedom for which we died?”

These are the heroes I think of often,
these are the shades of the new South Africa,
and this is the question they ask of the living,
“Where is the freedom for which we died?”

Chris Mann's formal education includes a BA from Wits majoring in English and Philosophy, an MA from the School of Oriental and African Languages (London) in African Oral Literature and an MA from Oxford in English Language and Literature. Now based at the Institute for the Study of English in Africa at Rhodes University in Grahamstown, he is the founder and convenor of Wordfest, a national multilingual festival of South African languages and literatures with a developmental emphasis. We are grateful to him for assisting South African Poets in showcasing their work at the Grahamstown International Festival.

Pen Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

In Detention - Poetry of Chris Van Wyk

2011-09-13T22:16:00.003+02:00

He fell from the ninth floor
He hanged himself
He slipped on a piece of soap while washing
He hanged himself
He slipped on a piece of soap while washing
He fell from the ninth floor
He hanged himself while washing
He slipped from the ninth floor
He hung from the ninth floor
He slipped on the ninth floor while washing
He fell from a piece of soap while slipping
He hung from the ninth floor
He washed from the ninth floor while slipping
He hung from a piece of soap while washing.

Pen Drawing by Amitabh Mitra
This famous poem which brought international attention to apartheid era atrocities appeared again in the recently held matric trial question papers at Eastern Cape

Poetry of Keorapetse Kgositsile

2011-09-09T00:09:00.005+02:00

mirror of my pain and purpose
this blood we demand
is the flow of life
we must bleed yes
there is no birth without blood
if they call us insane let them
words will not kill us
if they say we are not poets let them
our poetry will be the simple act
the blood we bleed
moulded by pain and purpose
into a simple
do not fuck with me
your shit is going up in flames
here and now.

Kgositsile has worked in various African National Congress departments and structures both above and underground. This poem is from his collection, If I could Sing. Keorapetse Kgositsile remains one of the most prominent South African poets whose protest poetry has achieved national and international recognition.
Pastel Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

Poetry of Arvind Krishna Mehrotra

2011-09-02T21:58:00.001+02:00

i wish you had asked me earlier
the paintings have been bought
by a broken mirror
but i think i can lead you
to a crack in the wall
i have a skeleton too
its full of butterflies
who at dawn will carry away
the crown
i have also a wheelchair to show you
it belonged to my uncle
and one day the hook
that hangs from the sky
touched him. if you open the cupboard
you will see his memory
on the upper shelf and two books
now yours
ruskin's lectures on art
and a short history of english literature by legouis.

From Oxford's Ten Twentieth Century Indian Poets
Pen Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

Poetry of Keshav Malik

2011-08-27T22:55:00.004+02:00

Art Critic and Poet, Keshav Malik received Padma Shri for his contribution to Literature and Arts by the Government of India in 1991. I have known Keshav Malik from the seventies when his poems were published in international anthologies but primarily in anthologies edited by Pritish Nandy. I remember him from Anees Jung’s Youth Times. I also remember his poem published in Strangertime edited by Nandy during that same period –

To sense what is and what is not of importance
Is of some importance.
Your double in the mirror, for instance
Has little substance
Except a double double in a doting eye’s transparence
And there rediscover self anew in a taking tense(As distinct from the mere mimicking presence).
And be broken your long sleep or trance
In your body’s ambience,
A double gives offence.

Pen Drawing of Keshav Malik by Amitabh Mitra

Welcome to Royal Gwalior Wines

2011-07-25T12:59:00.003+02:00

Limited Edition Signed Royal Gwalior Wines with the slightest hint of Muscat, now available on order.

Poems from Makiwane

2011-07-21T22:49:00.002+02:00

two blind men
at makiwane
held each other and screamed at
a broken sky
asking for alms
they wanted to smell
light
they wanted to taste light
they asked for a reason
and the unforgiving long years
of silence
of fettered undergrowth
a sun remained quiet
a wall grew taller
we only heard them shuffling
two blind men
at makiwane
mdantsane.

Poem and Pastel Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

Poetry of Liu Xiaobo, Recited by Amitabh Mitra

2011-07-12T19:24:00.002+02:00

Watercolor interpretation of the Poetry of Liu Xiaobo

The Poetry of Liu Xiaobo 2

2011-05-13T23:44:00.002+02:00

Longing to Escape

for my wife

abandon the imagined martyrs
I long to lie at your feet, besides
being tied to death this is
my one duty
when the heart’s mirror-
clear, an enduring happiness

your toes will not break
a cat closes in behind
you, I want to shoo him away
as he turns his head, extends
a sharp claw toward me
deep within his blue eyes
there seems to be a prison
if I blindly step out
of with even the slightest
step I’d turn into a fish.

Published in Pen American Centre
Pen Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

the poetry of doctor/poet Agostinho Neto

2011-05-06T21:14:00.005+02:00

There on the horizon
the fire
and the dark silhouettes of the imbondeiro trees
with their arms raised 1 in the air the green smell of burnt palm trees

On the road
the line of Bailundo porters
groaning under their loads of crueira

In the room
the sweet sweet-eyed mulatress retouching her face with rouge and rice-powder the woman under her many clothes moving her hips on the bed the sleepless man thinking of buying knives and forks to eat with at a table

On the sky the reflections
of the fire
and the silhouettes of the blacks at the drums with their arms raised in the air the warm tune of marimbas

On the road the porters
in the room the mulatress
in the bed the sleepless man

The burning coals consuming consuming with fire the warm country of the horizons.

Agostinho Neto , Medical Doctor and a Poet, he was the first President of Angola.

Pastel Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

The Poetry of Liu Xiaobo 1

2011-05-04T22:12:00.001+02:00

A Small Rat in Prison

for Little Xia

a small rat passes through the iron bars
paces back and forth on the window ledge
the peeling walls are watching him
the blood-filled mosquitoes are watching him
he even draws the moon from the sky, silver
shadow casts down
beauty, as if in flight.

a very gentryman the rat tonight
doesn’t eat nor drink nor grind his teeth
as he stares with his sly bright eyes
strolling in the moonlight.

5. 26. 1999

Published by Pen American Centre
Watercolor Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

The Poetry of Liu Xiaobo

2011-04-30T22:41:00.002+02:00

One Letter Is Enough

for Xia

one letter is enough
for me to transcend and face
you to speak

as the wind blows past
the night
uses its own blood
to write a secret verse
that reminds me each
word is the last word

the ice in your body
melts into a myth of fire
in the eyes of the executioner
fury turns to stone

two sets of iron rails
unexpectedly overlap
moths flap toward lamp
light, an eternal sign
that traces your shadow.

Published in PEN America
Watercolor Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

Poetry and Art - Exhibiting at Medical School, Warwick, UK

2011-04-24T16:56:00.008+02:00

International Symposium on Poetry and Medicine, 7 May 2011
Warwick UK

Medicine, Art and Poetry has been together since the time of Hippocrates and the History of Medicine is abundantly endowed with examples of Art, Literature and Poetry.

Renowned medical journals like Lancet and the British Medical Journal (BMJ ) have published scholarly articles on Medicine and Poetry.The 2011 International Symposium on Medicine and Poetry to be held at the Medical School at Warwick, organized by the University of Warwick would be focusing on the role of Poetry in the field of Medicine with a special mention on HIV.

I have 6 published poetry books to my credit and have been involved in Art and Poetry since last 20 years.

My Art and Poetry dealing with my trauma work in the Cecilia Makiwane Hospital, Mdantsane has been accepted for viewing at this conference.

The same art on the township of Mdantsane has been published as a coffee table book titled Mdantsane Breathing and has been reviewed by Daily Dispatch.

This is the first time that Art and Poetry from a township hospital of South Africa would be exhibited at a Medical School in UK.

Mdantsane goes to Warwick, UK.

Mxolisi Nyezwa

2011-04-21T22:50:00.002+02:00

For days I looked for my poems
for days I looked for my poems in the streets,
and since I could not find them,
light fell like a flower on the lonely square.
the light sounded the drum of a thud.
beauty came groveling forward
begging,
and children went for days
without food.

Mxolisi Nyezwa

Pastel Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

Jiwaji Club, Gwalior

2011-04-17T21:52:00.003+02:00

Jiwaji Club, Gwalior is situated close to the Palace and the Medical College. The area is called as Katora Tal I believe it should be one of the numerous mansions and palaces gifted to the community by the royal family of Gwalior. I was not a member of the club but I did happen to visit as a guest a number of times. This club reminds me of the Saturday Club in Kolkata and the Planters Club in Darjeeling, all having the same colonial architecture.

According to the club web site, it was named as the Elgin Club and was established by the former British Regent in 1898. The Late Jiwaji Rao Scindia gave the club to the people of Gwalior in 1936. Since then it has been known as Jiwaji Club.

Watercolor and Ink Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

Shinde Ki Chawni, Gwalior

2011-04-16T00:14:00.003+02:00

shinde ki chaawni
buffalos sleep opposite haridwar’s sweet shop
oblivious of people, traffic....
in a summer when tar looks different
and rivers of people slackened
dreams
staged
wet
to beating khus songs
somewhere there
in that river unheard of
we had looked up
to a sky often
where we lost our
once sudden breath
in a summer
on another night
when a skin wrapped the floor
eventually
we found resilience
in our tongues
waking to another
dawn
or did we ever
wake up.

Poem and Watercolor on a polished paper by Amitabh Mitra

Art and poem inspired from the music of Gustavo Santaolalla in the movie Dhobi Ghat

Suddenly Manjit Bawa

2011-03-27T22:44:00.002+02:00

And colors fell silent today
A sun struck with
Anecdotes and animals
Screamed somewhere
Narrow yellows merged in
Thick orb of orange
Streets were blown
In a dupatta of white
A smile tinged in ravishing
Blue suddenly looked back
I had seen them all at Garhi
In the seventies
The eye had then staged
Plays of a turntable
Time
Twice even thrice
In a single day
Violence was the afternoon
Manjit drew in rude
Delhi summers
Riding words of a chiasma
Violence is the afternoon
We saw him in flames
Of years and layers
Untold by a dark
Violence he left
Is you and me
And a coherence of
Irrefutable days
He chose to give
Away.

Manjit Bawa passed away today at his home in Delhi. He had been in a coma for three years. One of the first painters to break out of the dominant grays and browns of the western art and opt for more Indian colours like red and violet, the maestro was influenced by nature, Sufi mysticism and Indian mythology. Renowned Poet Pritish Nandy who had given shows of his poetry and art with him was one of his closest friends.
29 December 2008

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Vijay Singh Mohite's Palace, Gwalior

2011-03-14T21:06:00.002+02:00

Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

One day suddenly

2011-03-14T08:14:00.004+02:00

one day suddenly
we meet again
on another road
in an evening rain
pelting thoughts
there would be nothing
just like before
neither an umbrella
nor any people around
the shops too would be closed
the rain on our heads and feet
the smell of wet earth in our hearts
and i think of you again
our promises
our lost hurts
our marriage graffiti on another wall
a rain turns blue
and the sky ashen
one day
just on that day
nobody can see tears in this rain
the road still remains the same
only there are no more people
one day
in an evening rain
the smell of wet earth in our hearts...
did u marry somebody
did we ever grow older
did we turn to our strangerselves
again.

one day...

Inspired from a song of Anjan Dutta, Ekdin Brishti

Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Vijay Singh Mohite

2011-03-06T11:56:00.004+02:00

Vijay Singh Mohite Sahab was one of the finest artist India ever had. A product of JJ School of Art, Bombay, he was one royal who indulged in true creativity and the one that Gwalior remains proud of. His huge canvases adorn many a collection. He was also an ornithologist and a rose grower. He named a number of roses after his wife' name. Vijay Singh Sahab was a wild life photographer. He had presented me a number of photographs of birds of the Gwalior region.

This view is from the second floor of his palace overlooking the fort. I might not have done justice to the view in watercolors but that was the way it nearly looked.
This is a reminiscent of memories that remain, ever fresh, blooming, even though with the passage of time, the present is crumbling, decrepit and abandoned....

Buffalo Flats

2011-02-06T21:48:00.002+02:00

buffalo flats enters a salient draft
winds of a change
and the same old suffering respite
i have nearly forgotten caring
many years after the election
a sun remains indifferent here
an afterspirit of dancing
blues
jazz
colors of a twinkle
like all those shades of years
since i left
buffalo flats is a thought
in these mermaid nights
long after they fall in
adjacent grey patterns
long after the girl sang of unforeseen
summers
holding you
in lips
would also be
a thought
so far from you.

Buffalo Flats is a colored area of East London

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Old Delhi Cafe

2011-02-05T13:58:00.004+02:00

this happened again
on a strangecafenoon
river days flew where a distance
left a crooked wind
a lone fort gaunt
daring again to remember
memories stuck to mirrors
we had seen each other so
often then
cups, glasses and lips
all together
happened
again

and in the midst of a forest
sleep
our eyes
once again rode
many a writhing
storm
voices staged suddenly
where i had once touched you

again.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

King William's Town

2011-02-03T08:13:00.001+02:00

Ink Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

Mdantsane Rural, East London

2011-02-01T17:34:00.002+02:00

Ink Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

St. David Road, Selborne, East London

2011-01-29T21:59:00.002+02:00

St. David Road, Selborne, East London on a cloudy day

Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Reddits, Grahamstown

2011-01-24T19:58:00.002+02:00

Harry Owen, renowned poet from Grahamstown organises a poetry evening every Friday at a restaurant there called Reddits. Monks, students, artists and poets find themselves sipping sherry and listening to many such wordsmiths.
I had the pleasure of being there during the launch of Harry Owen's poetry collection, Non Dog.
This rough watercolor on a hand made paper of the venue is dedicated to Harry Owen and his merry friends at Grahamstown.

Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

In Exile - Stephen Watson

2011-01-23T16:25:00.005+02:00

Even now, years later when at night the longing comes
nothing matters anymore – nor his memory of the people
the vile, pretentious rich, corrupted poor, those politics
that beggar all description, that all but beggared him-
nothing matters now but his desire, but this mad longing
to know that there is still a place, that it still exists,
that you can come on that same road round Devil’s Peak
and there will be, as there was before, almost an evening,
that softness in the summer dark, the same warmth rising,
breathing from an earth long out of reach of its sunset.

All the rest is irrelevant......

Stephen Watson teaches English at the University of Cape Town
This part of a poem is from his book, In This City published in 1986 one of those few rare books that I have

Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Balwant Bhaiyya ki Kothi, Gwalior

2011-01-21T10:35:00.003+02:00

This is a watercolour of Balwant Bhaiyya Ki Kothi at Gwalior. People living in Gwalior know about this mansion as it is perched at the top of a hill. The place is in ruins, shrubs, wild grass and creepers have taken over all around the property. Smell of bats pervades everywhere and empty cartridges are scattered here and there. We use to visit frequently with my friends, Suresh Khandekar and Rajshekhar Iyer during our Science College days. As per Wikimapia, this was a palace of Sardar Balwantrao Scindia. He was the brother of Maharaja Madhavrao Scindia. However, he was not considered royal being a son of a dancing girl. My friend Prithviraj Chouhan adds that Balwantrao was known for his deep religious belief and closeness to the common people of Gwalior. The people of Gwalior lovingly called him as Balwant Bhaiyya or Brother Balwant.

Bow Barracks, Calcutta

2011-01-12T18:37:00.004+02:00

This is a watercolour of one of the oldest buildings in Calcutta going back to an era of the World War 1. This building in Central Calcutta houses the last few members of the Anglo-Indian community. This community which was conveniently forgotten by our politicians gave India the best generals, teachers and musicians. Bow Barracks Forever is a film made by Pritish Nandy and directed by Anjan Dutta. It highlights the problems faced by these wonderful people, the building itself in disrepair is in the verge of collapse. The film moved me to an extent that I thought of making this watercolour. I dedicate this watercolour to Pritish Nandy, Anjan Dutta and obviously the Anglo-Indian community who live there.

Waiting for you in Calcutta
Waiting for you my love
Come dance, dance, dance at the Barracks...
Come dance, dance, dance to the end of love
Come dance with me at the Barracks....

Eucalyptus Dreams

2011-01-05T16:00:00.002+02:00

these are eucalyptus dreams
growing in suburban trains
sometimes in the hub
when connaught place turns a zero
and a sky stays behind
we always managed to move out
summer surprises
inhaling
an old delhi rickshawallah
remembers himself
in his last ganja smoke
shadows don’t adhere here
anymore
the edge is just
another place
we stayed
and faintly
you are still with me.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Connaught Place Blues

2010-12-28T08:11:00.003+02:00

We had once walked around
Connaught place for hours
Trying to solve a puzzle
Of a day in its stately columns
Holding aloft the far shores
Of an unfamiliar sky
Morning of jigsaw pieces in The Book Worm or
Keventers
Mind shopping at the pavement
For love poems
Rushing to embrace
Colors, lips
At a backthought corridor in
Dhoomimal Gallery
Our legs ached
Going round and round
Just trying to be somewhere
Until the one legged man in Dass Studios
Appeared from nowhere
As Susmit Bose’s voice from the gramophone
Bent down to pick us
Loving was an afternoon
In a season that finally fell in its
Rightful place.

Poem and Charcoal/Ink drawing by Amitabh Mitra

Remembering Tapan Sinha

2010-12-22T23:33:00.002+02:00

the stones remained hungry
as palaces and kothis overturned
a night crossed over from guarding
an extinct royalty
to streets of Kolkata
where the youth tore off
its resplendence
stabbed by a fury
of political landscape
yet the night survived
its heart throbbed
images grew from
white and black
fact and fiction
summer and winter
and crowded the birds
once despondent of
hope
Tapan Sinha merged
with this
night today
days of untoward resolute
in its finery
crystal eyed
he continues to show
us all.

FimmakerTapan Sinha born on 2 October 1924, left us today. He was arguably the most uncompromising filmmaker outside the orbit of parallel cinema. This poem is inspired by his two movies Khudito Pashan (Hungry Stones) based on a story by Rabindranath Tagore and Aapon Jon, a film about the Naxalite Movement in Kolkata.

January 15 2009

Charcoal Drawing and Poem by Amitabh Mitra

Chennai, after the rain

2010-12-19T20:08:00.006+02:00

it has been raining since morning
and carol king is blowing my mind since then...
Pritish Nandy

chennai
after the rains
takes on a new
vibrant
understanding
chennai to me has always
been the abode of gods and goddesses
pelting
words of substance
sometime in a steep incline
and from my rugged interiors of gwalior
i thought
of sandal pasted foreheads
and eyes sure
of non entities
bejewelled ladies talking of
circumstances
in uneasy words
and lifesmell
responding
only to nonbelievers
until the rains came
a carnage of green
shook the streets
spirituality
of sorts submerged
an umbrella
gave refuge
to whispers
of yet another love.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Dechen

2010-12-18T23:16:00.005+02:00

we met at a thimphu sunday flea market
there was mist all over
the crowd spoke in gregarious tones
like mountains hunting for lost ones
there was mist on her face
her lips balanced an era
of happening
mist on her kira
hiding
somebody whispered
that’s dashoam
our princess
and i remember speaking to her in shameless
colors
curves
woven forests
even in sleep
next to the log fire
i thought i spoke of the earth
beyond the mountains
and chortens
we would leave
having touched once
sundays we met
and parted
buying always laughter
exchanged flavours
when are you going to wear the boku
when would you make me a dasho
she laughed and laughed
a sky just opened up
a mist went thicker
amidst the staring gargoyles of tashikodzong
tired dragon roofs
grunting yaks
nobody saw us embracing
an unsheltered sun.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Daily Dispatch, South Africa’s premier news daily talks on Poems for Haiti

2010-12-18T16:37:00.003+02:00

Once again, The Daily Dispatch, South Africa’s premier news daily talks fervently on the anthology, Poems for Haiti. With a forward by Professor Peter Horn who received the SALA Lifetime Literary Achievement Award a few days back, this book is not only the first of its kind in global literature on Haiti but also has the major representative voices of contemporary South African poetry. Six books are up for grabs via the Daily Dispatch to poets and poetry lovers.

Chandni

2010-12-13T17:49:00.004+02:00

the empty city streets that don’t dream anymore
an old midnight choir don’t sound like before
the mirror street memories of homemade wine
an elegy of old sunshine
reminds me of you.

Anjan Dutta from his song Bow Barracks Forever

that was another strange evening
the market at chandni was flooded
old landscapes
trying a takeover
old aromas remaining nascent
and an old view thought
sensed greenery
yes, it was really long back
longer than moments
turning eventually blunt
longer than lanes
i seem now to have forgotten

on such an evening
colors of sari revolted
the old lady embroidered an uneventful sky
in a din unravelled
do u remember i had suddenly
chosen to brush my lips
on your hair
my hand in your hand
we were swept deeper
belief then was never
unheard of.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Back home

2010-12-08T22:17:00.002+02:00

i never answered...
even when words cast
unequivocal borders
street lights
many years after
held sodium lamp halo
the overhead railway bridge
its shadows ever so busy
in such undulating nights
i had often thought of
you
a flicker smile persisted
resisting to
overgrown stars
it’s a sky
i remembered
unwashed
unheard
wrapped
i had taken home
communion
of an eyelash
dropped
in a rigid
second
of
our small talk.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Gwalior

2010-11-25T07:58:00.002+02:00

when did i last see you
in an alley of closed darkness
you once said reasoning remains
an unflowering tree
stalking the mind
stalking the heart
stalking sand
in parched throat
benumbed fusions
and a rough wind
i looked elsewhere
aggression had always
been a new
dawn.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Annual Exhibition, Fine Arts Society, East London

2010-11-18T22:29:00.003+02:00

Some of my Poetry Art

People viewing

Pastel Work of Leon du Preez

Oil on Canvas by Stuart Lavender

Tim Glasby undoubtedly remains the finest South African Artist during contemporary times. His portrayal of photographic images as oil on canvas brings one to a jolt. It's only after a close view that one has to admit that it is a painting on canvas. Such is the work of Tim Glasby.

Terry Flynn, Assistant Curator of Ann Bryant Art Gallery with artist Judy Fish and her sister

Southernwood Jacaranda

2010-11-10T21:47:00.001+02:00

jacaranda colors in november
violet is not the river nor a street
not even an insidious sky
it’s just another time creeping up trees
at night
past dreams
and lips
a train screams down in
collateral junctions
past known faces
and uncalled remembrances
am i there
have i left
violet is daylight
seeping nerves
patterns of unequal
destiny.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Royal Gwalior Sparkling Wine

2010-11-05T15:39:00.000+02:00

Royal Gwalior Sparkling Wine, Limited Edition is now available. The wine produced in Western Cape has a rose tinge and flavour. Wine labels has my poetry and art. Each bottle bears my signature.

Ceramic Clay Sculptures of Tamsanqa Mabo

2010-11-01T23:41:00.000+02:00

I first saw the ceramic clay sculptures of Tamsanqa Mabo today at the Ann Bryant Art Gallery in East London. Tamsanqa, a B. Tech student of the Walter Sisulu University in East London was still in the process of arranging his work. The exhibition opens to the public tomorrow on 2nd November 2010.

I as a water color artist found Tamsanqa’s work uniform in its dimension, the bland color of the brown clay which enveloped all his work felt almost against the colorful traditions of his community, yet a cold shudder created an abstraction, one that makes you look at his work again and again

Is there a visual narrative style which is common to Xhosa creative artists in their work or is there more than that in Tamsanqa's sculpture ? A political emblem in bold has been stamped to each sculpture which obviously has been a personal experience in the journey of Tamsanqa.

Tamsanqa’s long journey from the hinterlands of Transkei to clay modelling in W.S.U., a clay blown into an object with baggy shoes and baggy shirts, yet a cruel indisposition that shackles his thoughts remain vulnerable.

The long thin tubular neck of one of his sculpture reminds me of an illusion of a height of a black man and the insults that he had to swallow imprisoned in his thoughts, mind, body and soul. It also expresses a certain dilemma of South Africans of different backgrounds.

Tamsanqa’s work has raised a voice of revolt, the voice of the voiceless, somewhat mute yet so resonant

I won’t call, Tamsanqa’s work, innovative nor decorative, they wouldn’t adorn corporate lounges primarily because it disturbingly sends a message of an improvised hurt, it pulls you and makes you think beyond reasoning and a marginalization that still continue to flourish in this country.

Tamsanqa Mabo remains one of those rare creative artist who is driven by a thread encompassing years of understanding and existing in South Africa.

Amitabh Mitra

1860 - 2010 Indians in South Africa

2010-10-30T21:29:00.000+02:00

Celebrating 150 years of the arrival of Indians in South Africa with an exhibition of my art, poetry and films at Gonubie, East London, 30 October 2010.

Call for submission to a radical left poetry anthology

2010-10-22T21:36:00.000+02:00

and let this sun
shatter in our thoughts
shards, lets pick up again
roofless
skyless
in drought
come
lets strike
lets form
in shapeless rivers
lets ride
a multitude
star again.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Black Boy

2010-10-21T22:35:00.000+02:00

black boy
you are alone
south africa shimmers
in the darkness of streets
post world cup halo
finding way into veins
old trees tell tales
black is the sun
lingers long in riposte
in afterthoughts
in crippled nights
in hammering
black boy looks around
freedom birds
peck upon
an unforeseen
order
bullets still
love tattooing
a bluewhitesky.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Ma Ngobo's Place at Scenery Park

2010-10-16T19:57:00.000+02:00

ma ngobo lives in the far stretches
of scenery park
a tiny house amidst shacks and shanties
seems to challenge still
an unburnt sky
lush greenery in abundance
has taken over the tiredness
of old thoughts
flaming tyres around necks
and a flaming jungle
are as remote
as long lost anc promises
i often drink here to
the laughter of myths
a rebellion of conscience
seems so far.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Launch of Poems for Haiti, A South African Anthology

2010-10-10T15:38:00.000+02:00

Poems for Haiti, A South African Anthology is to be launched by firebrand ANC activist Prithraj Dullay at the Point Yacht Club on 13 October 2010 5.30 pm onwards. Prithraj Dullay is the author of Salt Water Runs In My Veins.
Ela Gandhi has kindly consented to grace the occasion.
Please do come.

Sunil Sharma, Associate Professor of English Literature at Mumbai says

On Wednesday evening, October 13, history is going to be made at the famous Point Yacht Club, Beachfront, Durban, SA. On this day and appointed hour, the assembly of the best poets will witness the launch of: Poems for Haiti, A South African Anthology by the Live Poets Society. “Poetry as Activism” is going to be on a wide-screen display from 5:30 pm onwards: For a change, the finest creative minds— instead of contemplating the world and its myriad recurring crises as is the general wont and pose of alienated souls—will be listening to and discussing the natural tragedy that affected a small but resilient island nation, and, what is more important, its recovery through solidarity and community efforts of little men and women, the marginalized of the local and global histories in every age. The poets featured in the collection talk of real problems of gigantic scales and address an entire nation in the aftermath of a severe quake that flattened the rich and poor houses alike, as nature is, mercifully, not hierarchical and pro-rich like human societies.

Professor Peter Horn in his forward -

A group of concerned poets rallied and expressed their shock and their support for the victims in their poems. While poems cannot rebuild destroyed houses, they can reaffirm the unity of humanity across the entire globe. The pain of our friends in Haiti was our pain as well.
While food, water, shelter, medical care are, of course, prime necessities in a disaster like this, it would be a misunderstanding, to believe that beyond the material needs there are no psychological, religious and cultural needs. People who survive man-made or natural disasters are in need of more than the bare necessities of survival. They need to come to terms with the destruction of their lives, the loss of their friends and relatives, the shaking of their most fundamental beliefs.

In my editorial –

This anthology not only verifies the extreme torture a single nation, a single environment and a single feeling went through that day but also unveils dehumanization of victims, death couldn’t have erased such stretched pain, such agonizing screams till this day.
The poets included here are, some as young as seventeen and others who are recognized voices of the South African poetry movement but many others who came out to share their sorrows and be a part of this minor collection, Poems for Haiti.

The contributors to this anthology are

Phillippa Yaa de Villiers
Mahalingum Govender
Anne Bebington
Peter Horn
Ben Schermbrucker
Arja Salafranca
Barbara Johnson
Amy von Witt
Carol Leff
Gona Pragasen Kathan (Danny) Naicker
Roy Venketsamy
Kogi Singh
Vivagalatchmie Ananthavallie Naicker
Shameela Abraham
Sharm Govender
Thaveshree Morgan
Sandeepa Ramsugit
Jean Cornet
Shabbir Banoobhai
Irene Emanuel
Louise Buchler
Brett Beiles
Ndaba Sibanda
Rozanne Baker
Khumbudzo Daniel Masutha
Tlangelani Ngobeni
Douglas Ntando Gumbo
Sarita Mathur
Mandy Mitchell
Kambani Ramano
Grace Kim
Tendai R. Mwanaka
Tlangelani Ngobeni
Muthal Naidoo
Crystal Warren
Pratish Mistry
Abigail George
Mxolisi Nyezwa
Marelise van der Merwe
Kakoli Ghosh
Amitabh Mitra
Ravi Naicker
Liza Smith

Publisher – Poets Printery, South Africa
ISBN 13 -9780620464734
Price – Rand 100

Scenery Park, East London

2010-10-08T11:41:00.000+02:00

and next to the trees, shrubs and homes
women laughed, loved and drank
a spring evening at scenery park
when seasons excused themselves
joining the revelry
nothingness is here
and the trees revere to it
a sky jumps up in nude
a chant believes in streaking
a sudden heckling
stranger is oneself
stranger is a night
here
blooms
in untold eviction.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Designer Madiba Shirts and Gwalior Ties

2010-09-28T12:46:00.000+02:00

Designer Madiba Shirts, Mdantsane Breathing T Shirts and Gwalior Ties are now available. Shipping worldwide

sudden trees

2010-09-22T19:44:00.000+02:00

so sudden were the trees
they too searched the sky bend
in groups of solitary living
i who have nothing left
stood within them
and thought of the dried river
and its soil brittle amongst
stars at night
did i disappoint u
did i fail to answer
did the sparrows wait long
did i touch your hair
yes
and yes again
and that was just not loving
years after the trees
grew wild and so did
a blatant sky
sunset
a far window to
your once home
still remains closed.

Poem and Ink Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

Ann Bryant Gallery, East London, South Africa

2010-09-19T13:30:00.000+02:00

Ann Bryant Art Gallery, St. Marks Road, East London, South Africa
Built in 1905
Ann Bryant left her collection of art, building and the grounds to the City of East London when she died on 16 September 1946

Pen and Ink Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

mdantsane far off

2010-09-07T15:11:00.000+02:00

far off from mdantsane
the hills rose in unison
over another thought
the earth here is a mere straggler
memory is bestowed
as unseen remains the fog
and our meeting in distant
breaths

a train seems to have
left from somewhere
else.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

buried sea

2010-08-28T12:32:00.000+02:00

west bank
east london
the sea closes in
departure
sun froth swings in
long lost tales creep back
moist grass makes up
for the lost time
a sky shifts back
to old alleys
my face wet
i can almost hear
a call of
muzzein from
the dargah of
khwaja khanoon
at home

and
the old and buried
remains the
sea.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

forest

2010-08-26T18:08:00.000+02:00

words and feelings grew rampantly
in a forest of distant thunder
in sleep
in corrosion
only the eye flickered
catching a ray
sometimes
strange is this time
stranger is you
strange is unresolved
mindful
of
tomorrow

dawn
the fort banks off
at another
angle.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Gwalior ravines

2010-08-19T08:51:00.000+02:00

summers and ravines
a banditry of a sworn
sky
and beyond that....
your laughter took strange hues
this would always remain gwalior
a dusk pervades the seeming
closeness
and eyes droop
to your warm touch
cold is the marble sheen
cold are your tears
cold is the ravine earth
gwalior sleeps
an angry sky stalks
the night
a river
long lost to
tales.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

baba

2010-08-09T21:54:00.000+02:00

baba passed away in a strange land
stranger a scientist wept at his loneliness
ashamed he turned his head away
the final light clasp was unearthly
he passed on his dreams to a son
a contract of constellations
kolkata, benares, kanpur, gwalior
lives unlived for
baba
i whispered in a galaxy of darkness
death could have been lot kinder
who would now tell me to come back home
who would listen on the phone in deft attention
although he hardly could hear anything
his ashes were poured in the ocean at east london
the priest told me
it’s the same
the same ocean goes to the ganges
the earthen pot containing his ashes toppled on to the sea
but always came back with the waves
the priest pondered, baba wants to come back

and i live
wearing a second skin
living in churning motion
of broken suns
living encountering
many non life forms
living a zenith of
foretold ideas
and i live for ancient
words i can never share

only baba’s outline
sink in cohesion
his voice far shadowed
than before....

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

sleepless...

2010-08-08T10:24:00.000+02:00

there is no sleep
and these bloody sleeping tablets
brings back always the pain
addiction is pain
blackening the moon
blackening the dreams
black is where i live and i ask
you in wakefulness
why straying is combat
in an approaching desert storm
and lives just happen during that time
of birds, dogs and trees
restless
as another culprit night
demises in ardent failure

i deny another day
think of you
and throttle my car
towards a land
unheard off

again.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Hiranvan Kothi, Tales of Gwalior

2010-08-04T20:06:00.000+02:00

chotu angre was murdered
in a swarm of swallows
in a red rain
his laughter
shattered
myths of unsteady walls
hiranvan kothi
remains trapped in the present
a clutter of hens and houses
seem to be catching up with a
forest on concrete cacophony
a rusted royal insignia
was hanged without
judgement
decay remains fresh
embroiled
in
memories

loving you
seems to have
happened
only
yesterday.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

when everybody had left

2010-08-02T22:22:00.000+02:00

when everybody had left
you
me
and even the despot ruler
of
our fate
the fort one night came down
and touched us
it hid us
in its wrinkles
from an unruly horizon

nobody dies, it declared
the lust of this tree
our porcelain past
the breakaway season
conspiracy unhinged at nightfall
your names etched in the first drop
of a gwalior rain

nobody
really dies
here

nobody.....

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

old fort

2010-08-01T09:54:00.000+02:00

the blistered road to the old fort
goes on and on
like all tired summers here
scrappy greens try to hold on
to its last outpost
an uneven sun tries to breakthrough
the northern walls
invasion has always been the rule of
a mortal day at gwalior

only
you
remain
unknown

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Exiled

2010-07-29T21:29:00.000+02:00

east london on a bleak winter sea side
exiled
or did i run away
when nothingness
surmounted gwalior
a fortitude strung
of lingering summers
with your name no longer
tied up
when you were no longer there
an eye refused the absence
of your silence
when the sea shared thoughts
random talks of an unsure emblem held
in a night just before the dark
winter overbearing
many years since
why does then
your name
waft
so deftly on a seascape
horizon
still.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Eyestorms

2010-07-27T21:21:00.000+02:00

sardar shitole’s palace
was the last to be ransacked
by a sudden gusto of time
creepers ran taking over a ruinous
sky
i didn’t
know
even when you had left
its just a matter of moments
you said
stones only remember
the violence
of eye storms.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Knives

2010-07-24T00:14:00.001+02:00

knives i love in quiet submission
a sheer habit
a linear stabbed dermis
an ooze turning into a
splash hits the words
i incise into each night
breath streaks
a slash and then a murmur
of spent needs
sleep eludes unspoken lust
i cut my dreams often wide open
a night walker perhaps feels the wound
a dog yelps

in suggested desolation

Poem and Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

old gwalior

2010-07-21T22:25:00.000+02:00

many aeons back
when rock changed faces
many a times and clan men
resisted irrefutably
time
the sky always gave way
to unhindered horizons
to newer lives
in dust torn
revelry
each time we passed the long
languorous tunnels of
waking
each time we found
ourselves on ledges
of looming betrayal
the fort grew taller and higher
overlapping many a skin
many a shadow
many a summers
and i thought that
perhaps one day
you would tell me a secret
of holding the lizard
in my grip
of a moment
knee deep in a drying river
of your breath
navigating a stronghold
of refute
you told me
the ruddy earth would also change
the peacocks would be no more
fungus and fern would darken
such agreements
such love
insisted
and we would remain torn
answerable only to the wind
why did we run away each time the
sun changed surfaces
why did we cross eye storms
ensnared long hidden stars
why did we eclipse in patterns
of lip talk on your neck
why did we turn one and only one
burnt one single night
why did we then never die
why did the fort
kept silent
why

beneath us
deep down
stayed the dargah
the mad man danced
looked at us
in sightless eyes
we had seen him before
much before
when the hot wind
blew away advancing
and departing reasons
a maratha willingness to melt away
at each nightend
we saw him still
shaking his head
his hands sang the song
of the next blitz
the dead around in cavernous
holes never slept
we knew
the rainriver
would storm down
in crypts and crevices
in sultry memory lanes
weather broken thickets
on to those
living and buried
we knew then
it was the moment
of a quiet dismissal
of unhastened departures.

families left for far shores
and houses sprung up on
rusty dreams
a dishevelled robe dragging
a far innocence
hands sought to hold a
belief
and eyes stored tears
unbelieving
on your lips i saw a murmur
loves disparity rootless in
undefined times
i told you the stillness of the fort
stillness of our drifting
stillness of the riversong
stillness of an everydaysky
yet
we lived
shattering long drawn thoughts
in strange dawns
in
old gwalior.

Poem and Ink Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

July Afternoon

2010-07-14T22:51:00.000+02:00

july afternoon
an unbridled river rushed
down the fort
on to the chironji trees
a battle cry rose
eyes and steel
glinted in forsaken
shadows
a cloud burst galloped
in many a steed
on the dead and dying
the green turbaned man who lives
with bats in the cave
came out again
touched the rain
his eyes swirled
birds screamed
imprisoned
in stronger silence
we had held on to
stones
your hair closed me in
your hands held my thumb
palms caught the language
of rage
a maratha rain
a tale as old as this fort
you said
is a slaughter of rumination
you and me
would still grow
in this broken sun
in a fallacy
of such a gwalior noon.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

East London

2010-06-26T19:36:00.000+02:00

east london
an african sun suddenly stood
still
in the midst of rain
people
and thoughts
unseen
a song climbed
another tenor
splashing you
ferns of laughter grew wild
a patter of rainsteps
ran amok
shadows
tugged
whispered
of distant shores
long lost touch
wet with a shiver
of dawn.

Photograph by Kaustav Mitra

Rain

2010-06-24T19:01:00.000+02:00

Steady patter of summer that swung into your
windows
eyes that begged me to keep quiet
and wait for a promised
rain
again.

Silk Screen Print and Drawing by Amitabh Mitra
From my book, A Slow Train to Gwalior

Haiti 4

2010-06-20T23:46:00.000+02:00

yes, it seems just like yesterday
there were many tomorrows
after that
and many tomorrows
really never lived
a man who survived
asked
about the sea
and the stillness
of a zealot sky
voices had been crushed
long before that
an aging earth
in an unforgiving
corner
never breathed
that day.

Poem and Ink Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

Haiti 3

2010-06-15T19:35:00.000+02:00

the dead lived in caskets
their eyes shorn
suddenly
of a wisp
of unwept
agony
the dead saw
the living
in complete
congruity
as the living rushed
to be next to them
in death
life merely stammers
in death
eyes remember
the strangeness
of its first dawn.

Poem and Ink Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

Haiti 2

2010-06-14T22:41:00.000+02:00

helicopters crossed a torn
sky
while birds escaped
on to the other side
people stretched their hand long
people peered at the hole for long
people caressed the tear for long
there were no stars
there wasn’t any sun
the birds never came back.

Poem and Ink Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

Haiti 1

2010-06-09T12:12:00.000+02:00

haitians stood
some came from afar
there was this strange smell
not of death
nor of the dying
nobody had seen before
the laughter
of death
nobody
had spoken before
the common language
of death
nobody before
died
while watching death.

Poem and Ink Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

Haiti

2010-06-08T00:49:00.000+02:00

people queue for rations
a ravaged sunset hides behind a tall night
a child suddenly just forgot to cry
a mother couldn’t remember her only child
the queue then just touched a solitary sky.

Poem and Ink Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

The rainbows last evening

2010-05-29T18:18:00.000+02:00

two rainbows woke up
last evening at east london
eyes still heavy in slumber
in rebellion
in unequivocal shadows
clouds gaggled away in
a rush of quarrelsome gulls
about
who is who
more beautiful today
I remembered you at hauz khas
behind the ruins
when you had touched
me with your smile
on such an unlikely day.

Poem and Photograph by Amitabh Mitra

Mdantsane Black

2010-05-20T19:39:00.000+02:00

fireflies burn a blue sky
black
black are we
grown from unseen embers
black is mdantsane
black is the river soul
and a runaway season
black is the night
of hurts
and tangled
thoughts
of sudden you.

Mdantsane Photograph by Amitabh Mitra

Mdantsane Laughter

2010-05-15T22:00:00.000+02:00

mdantsane grows on its own
piece of sky
and land
its birds live there only
occasionally the grass grows
crossing the perimeters
a taxi swerves into another
white collared land
honking madly
passengers laugh
at caged zebras
rushing around in
a strange dress code
trying to shed
its timeless riverguilt
a girl laughs out aloud clutching a tree
back in rural mdantsane.

Poem and Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

Didnt I tell you

2010-04-19T22:46:00.000+02:00

didn’t I tell you
there would be a night
a sea
drifting to a far edge
of memory sand
and there would
still be darkness
in random corners
of our woven talk
we shall then merge
in numerous skins
on numerous streets
eyes hawking a breaking storm
when a colored moon suddenly
opens a sky to just another sea.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

When the sun broke in Mdantsane

2010-04-18T22:42:00.000+02:00

a sun broke into many pieces
over cecilia makiwane hospital
that day
we all went out collecting pieces
patients held out their palms
colors camouflaged hopes and infections
yonela too smiled
somebody laughed out
aloud
in
mdantsane
again.

Poem amd Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Gary lives in Mdantsane, Poems of Mdantsane

2010-04-14T22:51:00.000+02:00

gary laughed out aloud
there is a white man
in his cage
it must be raining down there in Newcastle UK
and the school teacher left his umbrella behind
ha! ha! ha! ho! ho! ho! ho!
rain trickled down his mind
in cold stillness
among his inflamed sulcis and gyris
till a river struck him
his eyes dilated at the strangeness of things
the knobbly tree of all things reaching for him...
today I wondered
even in his disjointed form
he happily gazes at consummation of mortal
beings.

Poem and Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

Nights at Cecilia Makiwane Hospital, Mdantsane

2010-04-13T23:10:00.000+02:00

and the child gasped
a caged wind screamed
noiseless of a last night whimper
trees swaying outside
in restless tribulation
refused
I asked a late night
for an answer
yet a black sky
revolted.

Graphite pencil and ink drawing by Amitabh Mitra

Another day

2010-04-10T01:21:00.000+02:00

an evening stained
with a hurtle of
unassuming talk
louder
louder
they diminish somewhere
close by
tomorrow would be
just another belief
of another
day.

Poem and Pastel Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

Noorganj

2010-04-08T22:51:00.000+02:00

noorganj stayed in shadows
as a river broke the walls of the fort
climbed up
a strange smell of sweltering summer
and elderly women
on a wrinkled soil
stayed still
'badruddin gujar gayey
kab key
aur ayesha
chup ho gayi hai'
chortled the river
I could only see her eyes behind
the burkha
hens rushed out
spraying colors to
a dead laughter.

Poem and Drawing by Amitabh Mitra
'Badaruddin had passed away long back and Ayesha doesnt talk any more'

Mdantsane to Transkei

2010-03-17T12:53:00.000+02:00

in transkei
we drove on roads beyond roads
the sun and the sky set themselves apart
and people there talked about new south africa.
i wanted to get braids done on the
roadside
and dance to hip-hop
with others
being played by a blind musician
his head moving
his eyes behind dark glasses
negating all
nothing has really changed
only the dog among hitchhikers
just wanted to cross the street.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Mdantsane Girls Dancing

2010-03-15T22:55:00.000+02:00

the summer wink has left
a stray color shine leaps on an everydaycloud
an everydaystreet
grass flowers bloom around shacks
she touches her eyes
and her hips again
in other patterns
mdantsane moves in unision
i jump out
on an ecstasy river
my long hair
my face rushes
a changing sky
in perfect congruency.

Poem and Watercolor on a handmade paper by Amitabh Mitra

Preview Mdantsane Breathing

2010-03-12T07:36:00.000+02:00

Mdantsane Breathing by Amitabh Mitra

Mdantsane Shirts

2010-03-03T14:37:00.000+02:00

Poets Printery, South Africa has launched an exclusive range of shirts with my art featuring the vibrant culture of beautiful Mdantsane. T shirts, Jackets, Ties and Scarves will have the insignia and colors of Mdantsane Art and its Poetry. T Shirts of all sizes are being sold at Rand 100 including postage.
amitabh@amitabhmitra.com

When you wrote

2010-02-27T12:49:00.000+02:00

when you wrote with your nose on my arrogance
in close knit whispers of a dark
you said this is just another end
of all those rendezvous on skinstreets
our lips a breath of untoward moments
a tongue curtailing the history of mankind
and you and me
unafraid of galaxies
persisting in us
but today
i won’t see you anymore
nor your eyes where I once travelled
in the beginning of another time
nor your smile
of the victor and vanquished in
insane memories
and your saree that draped them always
today
not far from us are the deserts of innocence
where camels ran the density of moon
and we had once grown there
collaterals of an even wilder sky
today
say again
i haven’t lived beyond an ardour
of that lost white flower in your hair
of summers that bled in silence
of the ruby river that woke us up each night
and your smell I have now learned to disbelieve
a death I had always lived
whenever a sparrow flew away
whenever another day arrived.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Road to Keiskammahoek

2010-02-22T09:24:00.000+02:00

a pink sky suddenly
asked the blue keiskammahoek
mountain
reasons for living
and lasting
so long
a whiff of fern
air exploded in stranger
vicinity
somebody laughed
children
chased a dipping sun

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Keiskammahoek

2010-02-05T10:56:00.000+02:00

geese scream
a keiskammahoek sky falls apart
mountains go adrift
sun enters a serenity
meditates the following
day.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Mdantsane Breathing - Celebrating Mdantsane

2010-01-30T13:21:00.000+02:00

Mdantsane Breathing is my latest book, a coffee table hard cover lavishly illustrated poetry book which is first of its kind describing in poetry and watercolors the vibrant culture of Mdantsane which is the second biggest township after Soweto.
The world knew about the Soweto Uprising, the Sowetan Poets and Winnie Mandela who still lives there.
The popular news paper The Sowetan remains a mark of courage during the apartheid times and after.
But nobody wrote about Mdantsane and its heroic participation against the apartheid government.
This book brings to you for the first time of a strange life that insists to be told and that persists within all of us who were witness of those struggle days.
A poem and water color of Siviwe is on the jacket flap of this book
Siviwe is a former soldier of Umkhonto We Sizwe, the armed wing of the African National Congress.
The book is dedicated to the brave people of Mdantsane.

Wikipedia -About Mdantsane

Mdantsane Breathing
Publisher - Poets Printery, South Africa
ISBN - 978-0-620-46040-8
Price - Rand 760 including postage

Women carrying water

2010-01-28T12:32:00.000+02:00

women carrying water
take the gravel road to home
fields and a sky
enter a conspiracy
to shun the sun
children play the coke tops
on a placid river afternoon
mdantsane sings to the occasional rushing
wind
and cars that never stop
there.

Poetry and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra