Snakes inside my head
In early morning dreams
And demand milk
By noon, slithering they come closer to my forehead
In between the eyebrows, languid
They copulate freely, locking
Eye with my eye
With sunset diabolically they knock
On my temples, choking both sides
Swishing vendetta
With the midnight gong meekness descends
When dupes, blackmailers, earthly beasts roam the earth
Snakes turn into jogis





Bitten with harrowed teeth
At the edges
It will fork into two, you shall see
Scowling ravenous undulating
And your mouth, filled with freshly minted blood
Shall spill
Pure bile





Bodies struggle
To rush down our cocks
To escape through the drain-pipe
They seek an orifice


Kneeling with the Living Wolf_Wolf Dog Statue


Kneeling with the Living Wolf

Drop the loop over her muzzle
Jerk it tight
And haul her on a rope
With three twists of the chord
Force her lower jaw with bare foot
Her tongue strand half-hitched
Eyes bowstringed
Wringing wet, dirt, debris
Kneeling with the living wolf
So the horse takes a stock of itself




Flesh is a Memento

No discrete journeys there
For there are no discrete men to make them
Hissing forsaking through weed-grown streets
The warrior cat makes its path
There is no man who is blessed
Because there is no man who is not

Rocks themselves are made of air
Their power to crush requires no witness


Prasanta Chakravarty

Prasanta Chakravarty

Prasanta Chakravarty has just published a book of poetry — Rules of the Game (Dhyanbindu, Kolkata, 2014). He teaches at the Department of English, University of Delhi. He is the co-founder of Marg-Humanities.