Sreyash Sarkar

Sreyash Sarkar is a poet, a qualified painter, a practising Hindustani Classical musician and  an aspiring Electrical Engineer.Educated in Kolkata and Bangalore, he has been a student correspondent at The Statesman, Kolkata from his school, South Point. In 2012, in an international poetry competition organized in memoir of Yeats, his poem was shortlisted among 40 other poets from all over the world. His interview was published in the 'The Arty Legume', where he was asked to speak on cubism, existentialism in art and intrusion in a painting. He has been extensively featured in "The Gooseberry Bushes", " Muses", " The Literary Jewels", "Tagore for us", " The Country Cake-Stall" , " The Orange Orchard"  etc. Besides, being a freelance writer for several magazines, he is the editor-in-chief of Kalomer Kalomishak, a bilingual magazine, which he founded in 2013. 

Three Poems (August, 2014. Issue 45.)

A Tibetan Epistle

(For my tibetan friend, Kalsang. To the miseries of his homeland)

After dreams were murdered in plenitude
And the vermilion trail appeared in distress
And the reverberations of the epic fragrance were heard
The ephemeral earth underneath
The Emperor's feet, shook
And Gods were born.

Come, my lord, let's play a game.
While in playful stance, when every ray of light
From every entailed word becomes drunk,
Let the Tibetan rivers enshroud you
In braids of emotion
Let the mountains become an entire race
And dance around you
Let the valley become the priest
For a while
Let the divine tea and porcelain vases
Break together as
A torrential waterfall
Because, like humans
Gods too, can escape..
And clutching onto bags of gold,
Can declare,
"This freedom is uncalled for.."

Just like Buddha's escapade
From the land of friendship
Of 'Mar' and of 'Refined Intelligence'
The bird had barged into the weaponry
Past the numerous
Blood-stained eyes
Metamorphosed into sunlight.

Onto the morning of your kingdom
My midsummer night's dream
Is knocking, my lord.
Open the door.
And breaking the bonds of my dreaminess
And while wide awake
I shall sing,
"Tune is the freedom of words".

Come, lets start.

The Escapist

"Our wills and fates do so contrary run, that our devices still are
our thoughts are ours, their ends none of their of our own....."

Stopping a mountainous waterfall heading towards the ocean,
An inquisitor's brave complaint was heard-
"... This death reeks of insouciance and shame.."
Distressed, the silence that followed was
Overwhelmed by the sound
Of the inevitable journey
And the water droplets, evangelical.

But, after a moment or so,
He was astonished to discover,
The shadow of the shalmoli tree
At the pride of the glaring afternoon sun,
Had gone behind,
An ashamed escapee!


The qualms of setting sail
The embraceable sea
And You.

Each and every distressed toy
Was predestined to be recherché
Each and every petal of a parijat
Was predestined to be gifted
To You.

While you hear the approaching fragrance
While you wash away burnt stars to enter
An enraptured world,
A part of you, stilled
A part of you, fountaining
A part of you, a holiday
Maybe, another bit of you,
Set afloat in the sky...

Their identity was diaphanous-
As the verse enfeebled itself,
And you entered
An Isosceles kashba
Time laughed,
And a few jealous cranes.

A part of you, destroyed
A part of you, quarrelled with the void
Maybe another bit of you
Listening to words, ticking ...

Because the waves lashed on the shores of profundity
The sea meditated,
And the river became a poet...