Saturday, December 31, 2016

Being there

I talk to the mountains,
I chat with the seas,
I sing with the breeze,
I dance with the trees.

I am called a loner,
By most all I know,
Some even find me a loser,
But wonder how I glow.

The cliffs call me all the time,
The seas never call me names,
With them, I never cease to rhyme,
We rock and roar in the game.

Monday, December 26, 2016

by design



hot, clear afternoon
spread in every corner
of the street
a hungry mom
buttering a slice of bread
for her child
the knife, the dollops, the slices
collected from places
the child’s stony eyes
looks at the sun
then stares at the actions
throws up
hunger has eaten his appetite
made him replete
takes the bread
throws up again
then chucks the piece in the sky
the slice falls
on the rooftop of an ngo
a crow
takes it in its paw
and flies
thanks to the butter, it slips
through the chimney
scrolls down in the cauldron
the surprised cook
preparing meal for poor children
tosses it from the window
it falls in the middle of two starving dogs
the stunning sun has stopped
the street looks like
a slice of buttered bread

twenty-four years ago
now
twenty-four years later
action stunned like the sun
poverty, starving, feeding
coexist, by design

Wednesday, December 21, 2016

The bond




A vagabond
            in exile
untraveled paths
no fear
                      of getting lost
déjà-vu crossroads…

christmas
crescent at night
rainbow in daylight
fresh trees
silvery hopes
au courant cheers
new linings, new ropes

the hobo has no yearning

for new years
in broad daylight
hiding from the sun
seclusion at night…

not in search of a name
in need of a land
nothing to claim

the limbs and the hands
agile
ears and eyes
moving
without ties
for a meeting
in a golden garden
by the silver pond

in the traveling
with the stars
relegated scars
only traveling
is the bond.

Friday, December 16, 2016

Sitting by a pond


I looked at the silver sun,
in a pond
I was busy feeding the fish
silver and golden;
the colours didn’t reflect
on the earth,
I was engrossed.

I thought of the moon,
of the night
as diurnal musings.

O what have we done
in this time!
Killed, butchered, slaughtered,
then blamed the night
as darkness?
We haven’t spared the daylight,
back-stabbed, betrayed, blew the whistle
but light, o light…
you are too bright for the stigma to sight.

I am still feeding the fish in contemplation
I echo without rue
the calm of this dew
the swimming souls without reflection.


ইতি হরিসাধন রায়

ব্যায়রাম

হরিসাধন রায়
একশো টাকা আয় হলে 
তার দুশোটাকা ব্যায়
বাজারে তাই ধার নিয়ে 
ভাই করে সে হায় হায়
মাঝে মাঝেই জেলে গিয়ে 
হরির গাজন গায়,
শাস্তি পেলে কেঁদে বলে
এ কি ঘোর অন্যায়!

আয়রাম

হরিসাধন রায়
দুশো টাকা আয় হলে 
তার একশো টাকা ব্যায়
দিনগুলো তার কাটে সুখে
টাকা জমায় স্টেট ব্যাঙ্কে 
চিন্তার লেশ নেই যে মুখে
নেই যে দেনার দায়
দানধ্যানও সে করে কিছু 
মুখটি যে তার সদাই উঁচু 
আনন্দেতে তার পরিবার
আছে যে বেজায়,
এই ভাবে সে 
তোমার আমার
প্রত্যেকদিন ভালো থাকার
দেখাচ্ছে উপায়!

আয়ের থেকেও জরুরি
তাই প্রতি মাসে নিয়মিত 
সামান্য সঞ্চয়।

Undying



My defeat is your victory,
I exist yet in your story.
My grief has covered your feet
With flowers, glorifying your seat.

My death is written in your play,
I live still, in your thought.
My tears are jewels in your way
Pearls you won, I lost.

Sunday, December 11, 2016

One act play



Her sari,
Hanging in the balcony…
Was heavy a while ago
Its movement was pretty slow
A drunken stupor
The golden mate
caressed,
Transformed its demeanor
Slightly embraced
Wow
It’s feathery now
Light, soft
Flirting with the breeze
O jeez
Can’t steal away
Tied with a spoilsport  
No way
It can transport.

All the three mates
Writing stories
Trying their fate
With the sari,
Who’s writing hers

The owner who wears
Shh…doesn’t even know
The goings-on  
Of all the four.

And the seer
Trapped in time, a writer
Of hush-hush, is engrossed
At times lost
Now and then
With all of them.

Life like this
Alive in moments’ bliss

She comes and takes it away
Thank god doesn’t notice me
Caught in the act for free,
Trapped in the play.


Note:
Sari - a garment consisting of a length of cotton or silk elaborately draped around the body, traditionally worn by women from South Asia. [Source, Wikipedia]

Saturday, December 10, 2016

Crucial



fruits
colored, hanging
in the garden --
no sin to have them
but critical
you are caught in between
trees, birds
simple words written here and there.

Prophets of the yore
sad ---
saints present
bad ---
per your benefits.

You are busy
to know the reason,
to pinpoint the misfit
confused, because
you had been acting too
with the same stars
on the same roof;
the sky, the wind
the seas, oceans, mountains
never fell of their planes
and important!
You were reading aloud the same words.

You lost your way
in the clutter of letters
you looked for clarity
you found scarcity in bounty
you hollowness is connected
overlooking a lot of warm sounds
of those performers
who became important,
and whom you wanted to impersonate;
but the travelers
wanted perhaps to trigger your minds
communicating prosperity
but you triggered guns
in their names imaged poverty.

You have done the impossible
credible, you must be
glad.

Wednesday, December 7, 2016

You sound silly


I was trying to read your face,
It looked different
With its texture, color
I was taken aback to see
That you smile and weep
For the same reasons.

I was trying to read your text.
With same words and expressions
That you have learned in classrooms
Perhaps,
You construct an apple I’d call an orange
The fruit of your labor
Has some kind of strange
Sweetness,
But loses out on what I call clarity
I guess you’d find me hoity-toity
But willy nilly,
You sound silly.

Thursday, December 1, 2016

Leaping into life

Sky is overcast.
Clouds have gathered
for the concert,
seated as poets, writers
singers, dancers.

Black freshness,
breezes caress
the whole stage.

Millions of songs and stories
falling from above, onto the ground,
mountains, meadows, trees
oceans, brooks and seas
listening and receiving
sounds of the clouds,
feeling,
drenching in
the lightness of the rains.

Life, life and life freshens
words, it’s raining words
quenching the muddy world
succulent energy
in every pores and holes
there’s this sudden synergy
present in these promising paroles.

Writing, singing, dancing
are millions of poets
without any hat
free from this and that
composing their best.

Pouring
life
life
life
asking life on earth
to listen to the call
of the freely
falling
rains,
maybe tad in vain
gather courage to sing and bawl
in the downpour’s musicale,
leap into the moment’s re-birth.

In between light and sound


Crazy ears and eyes,
Busy to criticize.

Powerful machines and guns
Killing distressed organs
Blinding light and sound
Deafening all around
Stealing ambrosial sense
From the drums and the lens
The power to hear and see
In present clarity.

But there’s music in the air
Hanging everywhere,
Easy ears and eyes

In tune might apprise.

Precious


No, I cannot afford to wait.
My coffee’s getting cold. I’m late.
That I can re-heat
The drink, my steps forget
I have cold feet.

I come from my morning walk
Reach out for the cup.
The trained talk
Takes me away, anxieties go up
With every single sip.
My mind missed the chirping of the birds
It reminds me of the dewdrops
I had to skip.

I wasn’t with the sunrise, overlooked the trees
Didn’t feel the grass, wasn’t present with the breeze
Life is here with me walking as my mate
With worries onerous,
This life precious, 
I cannot afford to waste.

Journey


Waves! Waves! Waves!
I have these waves inside me,
Old salty icy thoughts
Like tired bricks and clocks
All clean and washed,
Clearing severe ways
Rushed back to the sea.

Rays! Rays! Rays!
They’re running into me,
From the moon and the sun
Unseen, strange, unsung
Falling in my space
In unheard ecstasy.

With the solid froths gone
Felt a little bit alone,
Wondered what will I do
This image seemed untrue.

Standing in the beam,
Now a revealing company
A constant flowing stream
The image cracked and changed
I’m fully charged, engaged
For my truest new journey.