Kabir Deb is a published writer and poet. Born in Haflong, he completed his Masters in Life Sciences from Assam University.
His work has been published from different national and international magazines like Different Truths, Countercurrents, Reviews, Café Dissensus, Spillwords Magazine, Sahitya Akademi and others.
Kabir’s poetry bases itself on self seeking, politics, and spirituality. He won a Social Journalism Award in 2017 and has recently been awarded the Reuel International Poetry Prize in 2019.
Kabir Deb has two books to his credit as of now. His recent book Buddha: In Poetry and Prose is available for sale on Amazon and other bookstores.
Love ain’t a victory march
it is a bad omen in the front row
where the others just keep on closing
the lid, yes love attracts the remaining dead
who’ve nothing to do with it, they just enjoy the scene!
Love is not a perfect card
it is distorted in unique shapes
some don’t really fall for this universe,
they just stay to keep the lovers like a team,
one will find closed doors, but a hand to always hold!
Love is raw and is spoilt
among the ones who are pure,
it will rinse the heart into a bulk matter
with sobbing tangled with smiles, it won’t
let you rest for the energy cannot be trapped in a soul!
Love is not static for you two
never do think you won’t be in love
with someone else today or tomorrow
for you’ll be, you’ll fall for every new attire,
what’s needed is to write a fantasy away from many!
Love is an unsafe pie
with its pieces meant to hurt,
but it also depends on our approach
towards the freaking sound of pure love,
it resides in priority, it resides in being unconditional!
Love ain’t about souls
or about how to give efforts,
no love dies when one tries to love,
one just loves instead of all the barriers,
even if a flower falls, it throws a blanket of olfaction!
Love is a dark matter
with a creation taking place,
it lies in fever, it lies in insomniac
nights, it makes a home in the clothes
that are worn in exchange to smell like each other!
Love is you and her
born as imperfectly perfect,
where the rain is shared over tea,
you smile to open her dawn, love’s sick
and you’re just two sick humans loving the disease!