Being

Lazy lake. Indolent ease.

Chirping birds. Busy breeze.

Serene sky. Grasses lie.

Soothing sound. Low or high.

Moving Moon. Stable Sun.

Begin and end. Work is done.

Beings all. Fall and rise.

Easy eyes. No surprise.

Normal

Ha…   Hanging hammer of a word,

That orders in its spree,

Neither forward, nor backward

Little awkward is the plea.

I choose to be my way,

Have skins by my side,

Huh! The word pumps away

The meaning it can’t hide.

Let the hearse fly or crawl,

Rehearsing many times,

But we’re off its wall

Not listen to its rhymes.

ha!

Our word in silence,

Has its own order too,

Has rules to sing of sense,
Is enorm to listen to!

Armed dream

I have an armed dream inside me 
To throw up as fruit, in the branch of a tree.  

There is a cloud, thick inside my heart 
Ready to rain when it knows the art.  

Drowned in the silence of bliss and rhyme
Choice afloats, sounds it is time.  

Silly things

"Oh dear God 
Help us to be good, 
In the games we play 
Or the work we do. 

Bless us everyone 
Singing here to Thee 
God whose name is love, 
Loving may we be." 



Used to sing this song in school 
With attention and devotion to their full. 
Now cannot sing it with grace. 
Every line seems so out of place. 
Doesn't matter what the poem sings 
Do not bother what the lines say, 
The tired world we see today, 
Has stopped to ponder on silly things.  

Color blind

Black sheep, black cat, painting you black, dark spot...
We violate you, more often than not,
Don’t cease to tease you black and blue without a clue
With images horrid that cloud and clot;
I wonder how the color which takes us in
Remained an outcast, yet peaceful and stable within.
At night when it’s dark when borders blend,
Mountains and rivers, rich and poor sleeping just the same;
You blind us so we cannot fight,
Wait until appears the light
To show our teeth and worth, without shame.

Gray areas, gray hair, we say it is so dull and dead
With the gray we have inside our head!
And the gray that flows through the hollow pipe,
Helps the living dead to come alive,
When they paint the clouds that reign delight
Gray is born out in the dawn,
Black unites with the perfect white.

The truth let’s get it a little straight,
Clearly we’re not so correct
Gray is life and unity
Black absolves, binds all – is peace, our destiny.

The beat of life

I was walking alone by the beach,

To go until where I didn’t know;

Took their steps my silent feet,

From the drowning, safe and stable sand;

The waves halted to a shouting screech.

On the barren land,

A goal in mind didn’t really grow,

The shell went on with a steady beat.

Going at ease with life like this,
It is it has to know the bliss.

গুপি বাঘা হতভাগা

গুপি বাঘা হতভাগা


গুপি বাঘা হতভাগা

বেসুরো, বেতালা তাই

গ্রামছাড়া হ’ল তারা

গাধা চ’ড়ে, টুপি প’ড়ে

অজানা, অদেখা দেশে

পাড়ি দিল গালি খেয়ে

গান বাজনার দোষে ৷

মিলে গেল তারা দুই

দুঃখের সাথি হ’য়ে

বোকা ব’লে সব্বাই

চুনকালি দিল মিছে

ঘুম চোখ নিয়ে তাই

খিদে পেটে শুতে গেল

খোলা আকাশের নীচে ৷

ভুত রাজা ব’লে গেল

‘তোরা বড় ভাল ছেলে’

তিন বর দিয়ে যাই ৷

বর তিন নিয়ে তোরা

বর্বর লোকেদের খুব ভালবাসবি

গান দিয়ে, তাল দিয়ে

সবাইকে নিয়ে তোরা

ভাল পথে চলবি ৷

এই বর পেয়ে তারা

কত মজা করল,

যুদ্ধের মাঠে তাই

গান, সুর, তাল নিয়ে

মারামারি থামল !

ওদের বরের গুণে

মন্ডা মিঠাই এনে

মিষ্টির বৃষ্টিতে

রাগিপেট ভরল ৷

বাঙালির মানি মন

মানিকের পর্দায়

এ হেন মেজিকে যেন

মন প্রাণ ভ’রে যায় ৷

ভাবি তাই এইবার

পর্দাটা তুলে যদি

গুপি বাঘা আসত,

যুদ্ধরা বোকা ব’নে

গানে, সুরে ভাসত ৷

চালাকির চালে আর

বিশ্ব ত চলেনা,

চল নারে বোকা হ’য়ে

এইটুকু বুঝে নেই

গুপি, বাঘা গেছে কই ?

নয় তারা ফেলনা

টুপি প’ড়ে গাধা চ’ড়ে

আমাদের সব্বার

বোকাছেলে দুটকেই

খুঁজে আনা দরকার ৷

মার সাথে ঘরে আয়

বেশীদিন নেই আর

প্রার্থনা করি মোরা

তালে, গানে, সুরে, তোরা

ভোরে ফেল দেশটা ৷

পূজোর ভোরেতে হবে

গুপি বাঘা হতভাগা

তোদেরই মনের মত

সরল, সুরেলা কাজ

শিখবার চেষ্টা ৷

Gupi and Bagha are two famous characters of the gupi-bagha series created by Satyajit Ray's grand-father Upendra Kishore in his novel Gupi Gayen Bagha Bayen. This was made into a series of film by Ray. According to the story, Gupi and Bagha are two good-for-nothings who were thrown out of their respective villages on a donkey. Punished because of their extreme bad performance in singing and in playing the drum. In the forest, they come in contact with each other. That night, they starved to sleep. In their dreams, they met the king of ghost with his troop, who gave them three boons. 1) They can sing (Gupi) and can play the drum (Bagha) without ever going out of tune, and the audience would go numb (stabdha) during their performance, 2) They can eat and wear anything, 3) They can go anywhere. All they needed to do was clap, but the condition was that one hand should be Gupi's and the other Bagha's (what interdependence!).
The king of ghost said he was giving them those boons because they were essentially good human beings. From then on, their life changed. They did many good things wherever they went. They were able to stop the war between two kings, who were twins but were separated from each other because they became victims of a ploy. Gupi and Bagha had stopped the war by raining sweets (monda mithai) right in the middle of the war. The soldiers, who were starving, ate to their hearts' content and became friends.
With this as the background, the poem imagines Gupi Bagha to appear as real characters, jump from the screen and come during this puja and transform the world. The poem asks for their forgiveness for having banished them because it feels that fools like them are now needed more than the so-called intelligent people. I am sorry I wasn't able to translate it. However, I am trying...the moment something sensible comes, will post.

Journey

I am in my prison, 
Cheated with reason, 
Bound by my thoughts, 
Clouded by thwarts. 
  
My body is amongst 
A myriad of seconds, 
Aping past moments, 
My soul is in angst. 
  
Off with the ism 
In me I see lights 
Raining delights 
Breaking free through the prism.

Question

Who has more power?

The one who takes or the one who gives has supports to shower

Who loves more?

The one who leaves or the one who lives the stage despite poor score

Who has more peace?

The one who talks of it or the one whose power to love

Has no condition to please?

Who is happier today?

The one who has more or the one who is at ease

Come what may.

In all the things we are looking in a person in this debate
Is perhaps the one who loves to love and hates to hate.

Outsider

We are so outside 
Looks, caste, gains on the whole 
While meaning escapes from the narrow hole 
What we have, how we feast 
Our own outsiders to say the least.