Arnab Neogi: The Poet

About the Poet:

Arnab Neogi, a computer engineer from B.I.T, Kolkata and a management graduate from Xavier Institute of Management, Bhubaneswar is a poet and an author in his free time.

His writing career spans more than a decade. He got critical recognition when one of his earliest poems “Remembering the Dead” appeared in the “Inkspot” column of The Pioneer Ltd. He was 12 at that time. Thereafter, his poems started appearing regularly in national dailies like The Times of India, The Hindustan Times Ltd etc.

He published his first volume of poetry titled “Inspiration“(2007, Offset printer and Publishers, Lucknow). His second volume titled “Beyond the Silver Lining” (2013, Sanbun Publishers, New Delhi) was met with success and rave reviews.

He is featured in more than a dozen national and international anthologies. His works have also been published in leading poetry journals like the Taj Mahal Review (Volume 12, No 2, Dec 2012 issue), Muse India (Issue 49, April-June).

He was interviewed by the German magazine “Spotlight” in an online interview to share his success story about his latest book “Beyond the Silver Lining”.

He is the co-founder and managing editor of an art promotion group called “Creative Collaborations”. He is also project coordinator for ‘Poets’ Corner’, a poetry promotion and publishing group which published an anthology “Inklinks”  that was released in the “Delhi Poetry Festival- Jan,2013”. The anthology includes works from eminent personalities like Dr. A P J Abdul Kalam, Gulzaar, Mr. Ruskin Bond, Hon’Ble Minister Mr. Kapil Sibal, Sandeep Nath, Irshad Kamil, Ibrahim Ashk, Sonnet Mondal etc.

His membership of literary organizations include the Indian Society of Authors (InSA, New Delhi), Poetry Society of India, The Indian Poetry Society, Asia-Pacific Writers and Translators Association and he has been granted the coveted membership of World Poets Society and the United Poets Laureate International.

Apart from poetry, he has a passion for guitar and loves playing the instrument.

 

Here are a few of his poems:

A THOUSAND WOUNDS          

The storm shan’t pass,

disaster on thy women with labour,

 

with pain fraught a thousand mornings,

rise each day and behold the roses

or your beloved by your side,

cuddling her to hypocrisy, to forgone passion,

 

the bed creaks, the panes shatter,

the house is on fire, the smoke billets cloud;

the couple, unfathomable deep, their passion

are unmoved, ’tis but natural for them;

 

a thousand tales told, listened and forgotten,

this one wasn’t told, a country bleeds,

the faces around harrowed, smells burnt human flesh,

and the blood is but water,

 

doth the past still haunt us, or ’tis but present?

I ruminate, as I sit with wine

on a lonely day, lonely place, heart….

Waiting for my girl, my disaster,

love or hate forebrings thine shadow,

in life or death, thy shadow moves and

inflicts a thousand wounds…

 

Colors of Imagination

As the heat builds, and the sweat drips,
Eyes fixated on that little smear of tinge,
Cursing and swearing behind his breath,
The painter shoved back and fell flat;

That little gentle stroke did more to the art
Than to the psyche of the hand that painted,
The hand in the sketch seemed to move sideways,
Or so it seemed to the eyes outside the frame;

And canvassed was the soul who painted, illusioned
To the very life he inserted into the hand he sketched,
And he questioned the reality, himself or the hand inside?
The painter thus shoved back and fell flat;

Art doth feed upon the artist brutally,
The artist dies and the art burns his pyre….

 

The Woman

 

A cyclical tale of two hearts,

Woven into a string
Manifested, the sparkle around the neck,
A pure shimmer in the eyes, blinked;

Love hath no destination
The journey be enjoyed,
A Woman, the woman’s big heart
Big eyes, big love shared across;

A completeness to each soul,
A song sung in every heart,
A tune whispered in the ears,
‘The woman’ blesseth the man;

How can I find a gauge
To measure the depth?
Or lets dive into the ocean
Asphyxiated, yet mutual air to breathe;

‘A woman’ is born
To absorb and fume our love,
And the man can’t reciprocate
Yes, incapacitated to reply love;

Such is the tale of ‘the woman’
With a single focus, change constant,
Only to love and be loved
Never to shed a tear…….

 

Through the mountains….

When the wind recalls a memory,

And puritans call it love,

Don’t I feel a familiar smell?

The roads appear winding and smiling;

 

The mind tries and breaks free,

And the body holds back,

Fake attraction and incurable death down,

Loves feeling the pain for love;

 

A little subtle gesture a lone solace,

Do everything for that one moment,

Turn side and behold the horizon,

Keep moving and see more;

 

The mountains are so still,

Changes color with time,

Just watches and never reacts,

Zenith in its lap, inertia at its feet;

 

I go, and would never come back,

Through the mountains I go and search…..

 

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