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The journey of a poet

Image credit: Google images I understand who I am through the records of my life I land in sound, silence some hear...

Wednesday, August 9, 2017

Song of the words


Song of the words

Words died a steady death.
Defeated, destroyed
like crying waves on the sea-shore
wings of the eaglets that failed to fly
skin of the snakes useless, dry
mask of the mime covering the core.

I took care to shed them.
Attractive, deadly
alive as ulcer, tumors
I was holding them
using, chanting
but they were blooming
only on the page
through my pen
sounding in the air
throwing up,
from my teeth and my tongue
accolades and praises,
their shine and glare
cemented the walls of my prison
with no feelings
hidden in the words
with concern and care,
I was blinded, without vision
the real song, still unsung.

Then I sensed the pull.
From my head
in several strokes
with a never-heard melody
I was sailing off
deep sea, to its bed
from myself
ounce by ounce
waters broke
with nothing to cling on
nothing to renounce.

I came back.
The words ran into me
like long lost friends
I could recognize them
their songs, their tunes
meaningful
with what I feel
for what I fell
that wasn’t love
for sure
just pronouncing hell
hell, hell and more of hell.

Now I have nothing.
But I have them all
the jewels out of the shells.

Chanson des mots

Les mots sont morts, une mort assurée
Défaits, détruits
Comme des vagues pleurant sur  le rivage
Les ailes des aiglons qui n'ont pas réussi à voler
Peau des serpents inutile, sèche
Masque du mime couvrant le cœur.

J' en ai pris soin afin de les perdre.
Attrayants, funestes
vivants comme ulcère, tumeurs
je les tenais
pour les utiliser, chanter
mais ils fleurissaient
seulement sur la page
à  travers mon stylo
sonnant dans l'air
en vomissant,
de mes dents et de ma langue
accolades et louanges
leur éclat et leur miroitement
cimentaient les murs de ma prison
sans sentiments
cachés dans les mots
avec inquiétude et soin,
j'étais aveuglé, sans vision
la vraie chanson, encore méconnue.

Ensuite, j'ai senti  la force.
Venant de  ma tête
en plusieurs traits
avec une mélodie jamais entendue
je naviguais
mer profonde, à son  lit
de moi-même
once par once
les eaux se brisèrent
avec rien pour s'accrocher
rien  à  quoi renoncer.

Je suis revenu.
Les mots me tombèrent sur moi
comme des amis perdus depuis longtemps
je pouvais les reconnaître
leurs chansons, leurs airs
révélateurs
avec ce que je ressens
pour lesquels je suis tombé
ce n'était pas l'amour
c’est sûr
c’est  seulement prononcer l'enfer
l'enfer, l'enfer et plus d'enfer.

Désormais, je n'ai rien.
mais je les ai tous
les bijoux  hors des coquilles

French translation by the author Supratik Sen; edited by Denis Emorine.
Abouthis blog, read here.


About Denis Emorine

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Tuesday, August 8, 2017

Song of the words

Words died a steady death.
Defeated, destroyed
like crying waves on the sea-shore
wings of the eaglets that failed to fly
skin of the snakes useless, dry
mask of the mime covering the core.

I took care to shed them.
Attractive, deadly
alive as ulcer, tumors
I was holding them
using, chanting
but they were blooming
only on the page
through my pen
sounding in the air
throwing up,
from my teeth and my tongue
accolades and praises,
their shine and glare
cemented the walls of my prison
with no feelings
hidden in the words
with concern and care,
I was blinded, without vision
the real song, still unsung.

Then I sensed the pull.
From my head
in several strokes
with a never-heard melody
I was sailing off
deep sea, to its bed
from myself
ounce by ounce
waters broke
with nothing to cling on
nothing to renounce.

I came back.
The words ran into me
like long lost friends
I could recognize them
their songs, their tunes
meaningful
with what I feel
for what I fell
that wasn’t love
for sure
just pronouncing hell
hell, hell and more of hell.

Now I have nothing.
But I have them all
the jewels out of the shells.

Thursday, July 27, 2017

Eyes



Eyes
my stars
blinking, staring
looking
through moments
in light and darkness
beauty, bounty
poverty, animosity
generosity
through difference and strife
rolling in circles
in the circus of life.

Eyes
I have a myriad of them
shining inside, like gems
as witness;
music played,
stories written,
images painted,
on the canvas stage
eyes at ease
pumping heartbeats
watching hatred,
guilt without wit
magnanimity and kindness.

Eyes
I have them
in my bones and flesh
they run through
the bloods
the veins
I have them adorned
in my ears
like shining jewels
listening
to the sound and silence
of cries of hunger
lies and betrayals
masked as friendly walls
standing in between
created and cremated selves
eyes break them all.

Eyes
everywhere
have fire water and air
running in me
stars oceans breeze
will never ever cease
to see
to see
to see.

Eyeing life
however hard you may try
the stars will befriend you
enrich you
fill you with happiness
from the holes
you have buried them inside
eyes
will help you rise.

Wednesday, July 19, 2017

Then you could come back to me

Clarity,
are you with me?

I am seeking the roof
speaking from the ground
in my hat and my feet
I have your sounds around
gray clouds thunder used words
bounded beliefs
have covered the brown book
leaves need to be free;
but clarity
are you with me?

Warm gestures
spreading the heat,
dead with still, immobile strength?
Skeleton words re-opened from the vault
overwriting its own obituary
yet talking of liberty
seeking the sky
grounded, buried
in words;
overlooking the beggars
claiming to eradicate poverty
are you still there with me,
clarity?

With what amazing foolproof reasoning
you stayed mute
in front of the court
where the lady was disrobed,
because they were molested by her spark?
On the hidden field
a disciple’s thumb was butchered,
because he was sharper?
To the hilltop
a shepherd had to carry his wooden bed
because he was talking of love
in a language you did not understand?
All this happened
under your behest,
in full sanity.

Oftentimes, now
stories are burnt
deforested, tonsured.

How long, for how long
will you stay,
freeze the blood,
choke the breaths,
make humankind helpless
in the name of a pervert process
why don’t you make your way
and let things be?

See
without you
clouds will whistle and sail
rainbows will shine after the rain
the world will glow in delight
the sky will not fall.
You standing so far like an inert wall
would you ever be overwhelmed with shame
come out of your lies
would you,
despite stony ears and eyes
clearly hear and see
horizons stretching in harmony,
could you endure the sight
of the roof and the ground
secure and sound
without wrath, bloodbath
taking a different path
without you
for a different journey.

Then, with nothing,
you could come back to me
For then
I could be in your company.

Monday, July 10, 2017

Men at work

I was happy in my virtual world
editing, chatting, working
playing with engaging words.

When all of a sudden
I find the net disconnected.
Work stationed! Didn’t know what to do
waited blankly for an hour or two,
I saw something, can I ever forget?
By chance I met
those corporation men
out of nowhere
shredding a tree
and with it, they cut for free
my helpless wire
hanging lost, in indifferent air
red with anger I was on fire!
How did this happen you tell me hey
they just said sorry and went away.

Countless phone calls waited with pain
for the men to come and connect me again,
it happens only in India said my friends
when surprises trap you from end to end.

I'm happy to be here smiling with you
they came late, but connected me anew.
Now, I keep a close watch on those men at work

​​​​​​​so they don’t cut me off with a virtual jerk.

Tuesday, July 4, 2017

Averse to judging a verse

Averse to judging a verse

At the temple
is the gate to liberty;
judgement is the lock
gratitude the key.

Let me write poetry
let me spare the bard
under the greenwood tree, on the road
his angst let me store, be free
in the infinite peaceful abode
follow his advice, quit the dry books
with heavy looks
drink his words of worth
keep them all around, inside me.

Hold your tongue please,
let me love; read and write the lines
on the leaves, brown and green
wherever the heart lies
in vices, virtues, at every scene
let me take them in, at ease.

O what do they care
those budding fruits
blooming flowers
meadows and showers
rainbows, seas, thunders

O what do they care
those chirpy singers
let me read and write the lines
look at them without infliction and lies
embrace them just as they are
not scratch them with an incompetent scar.

If words express the chaos and cadence
with truthful pain and pleasure
not with designed pretence
then with gratitude I will
hug them and treasure.

In the journey of life as I
move along
my forehead locks
to judge the songs;
it unblocks, loving the lines,
their hues and cries
as gratefully witness
my ears and eyes.

Friday, June 30, 2017

ওহে বনলতা

Google images
  
















ওহে বনলতা
তোমাকে স্বাগত জানায় দেখ
তোমারি কলকাতা
ছোট্ট শিশুটি ফুটফুটে শ্বাস
নিয়েছিল যে মাটির বুকে
রূদ্ধ রা সংসারের গ্রাস
চাপা ছিল এতদিন অন্ধকারে, নিদারুণ দুঃখে
তোমার শহর থেকে কাল হরণ করেছিল তোমায়
তার ক্ষুদ্র হিংসুটে প্রয়োজনে
আজ তোমারি জন্যে
সেই মহকাল, হার মেনে
ফিরিয়ে
দিচ্ছে দেখ, তোমারি আদরের আলয়ে
সমুদ্রের ঢেউয়ের মত পূর্ণ সচেতনে
তোমার অতি পরিচিত মহানগরের আলোয়

প্রাণ খোলা আকাশে, বাতাসে বিশ্বাস নিয়ে
তাই উন্মুক্ত কর নতুন সবুজ পাতা
লেখ এবার তোমার নবজন্মের কবিতা
ওহে মহিয়সী, ওহে বিদূষী, ওহে মেয়ে
ওহে কালজয়ী নাটরের আহ্লাদি বনলতা
তোমাকে স্বাগত জানায় দেখ
তোমারি সতেজ, প্রাণবন্ত কলকাতা

অনেক বছর পর, একটি আদূরেআহ্লাদি মেয়ে তার বহু পূরাতন শহরে ফিরছে তার এই ফেরার আনন্দে কবিতাটি লেখা

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