Take it Easy

We repeat the same
quarrel every time,
every single time
a skirmish, a crime!

Have you noticed
a couple quarreling?
The content is the
same, an insult or
a shame game.

We're not that creative
with the intent, or the name.

A dispute with relatives,
colleagues, neighbours,
countries, friends, or
be it an internal conflict
the type doesn't change
nor the challenge.

It's the same thing
over and over again
in time and space.

We must be crazy
not to take it easy!

The Bird and The Burden

                    The Bird and the Burden

Time is a bird
its wings flow with
the winds
memories are
grounded they go against
them, don't leave,
they stay young,
aged for ages
eyes closed they let
time pass;
one doesn't live
the other doesn't die

 

L'oiseau et le Fardeau

Le temps est un oiseau
ses ailes glissent avec
les vents
les souvenirs, eux,
sont cloués au sol : ils vont
à rebours, ne s’en vont pas,
restent jeunes,
vieillis depuis des âges
les yeux clos, ils laissent
le temps passer ;
l’un ne demeure pas,
l’autre ne meurt jamais

Everyone’s everything

Everybody’s got a sin,
Knows just where to bin,
Still keeps it tucked within,
Oh, everybody’s sin…

Everybody hides a grief,
Holds on to the belief
That if they lock it deep,
It won’t disturb the peace…

But silence has a sound,
It echoes all around,
And what we try to lose
Still finds its way back out…

’Cause everybody’s heart
Has a broken little part,
And everybody walks
With a shadow in the dark.
We cover what we feel,
Pretend it isn’t real—
But everyone, everyone’s
Got a sin they try to heal
It’s everyone’s everything.

Everybody wears a smile,
Carries it awhile,
Though inside every mile
Is a hidden fragile file.

Everybody takes a fall,
Sometimes hits a wall,
But acts like standing tall
Is the only rule for all.

But the truth begins to rise
In the corners of our eyes,
No matter how we hide—
It trembles, then it cries…

’Cause everybody’s heart
Has a broken little part,
And everybody walks
With a shadow in the dark.
We cover what we feel,
Pretend it isn’t real—
But everyone, everyone’s
Got a sin they try to heal
It’s everyone’s everything.

So let your heart unfold,
Let your secrets be told,
You’re human — made of gold
Even with the cracks you hold…

We’re heavier inside
When we try to run and hide,
But lighter when we say
“I’m hurting, but I’ll stay…”

’Cause everybody’s heart
Has a broken little part,
And everybody walks
With a shadow in the dark.
We cover what we feel,
Pretend it isn’t real—
But everyone, everyone’s
Got a sin they try to heal
It’s everyone’s everything.

Everyone, everyone’s
Got a grief they try to seal…
Everybody’s sin
It’s everyone’s everything.

Compulsion

 

I have no reason to
come to you, none.

Still, like waves rush
to the shore, for plane fun
I find myself moving towards you—
a magic pull older than logic,
a tide with its own stubborn will.

I run unto you as if
a deadline were pursuing me,
as if time itself leaned forward
and whispered your name.

You consume me
with an insane craze,
a gravity I cannot negotiate,
a fever I cannot undo.

With you I don't want to rhyme—
yet you remain my virtue,
you remain my crime.

You are the quiet death
inside me,
and still, you are my life.

Assimilation

 

With a mirror
I have two faces
I take the mirror away
the face, uneffaced
if I turn to me

in a group of ten
I count nine
unless I look back
at the missing me
the tenth one, I
cannot see

the waves are born
from water, they die
on the shore
yet
the water remains
as the tenth face

if I cannot see the truth
in the table despite the
wood being present
through and through
it’s the knowledge of
wood I cannot behold

I cannot see the sun
covered by the clouds
what I discount is the
light of the sun that
shows me what I see

even when the mind stops
the one that spots
the sound sleep is the same
face that remains uncounted,
the same light that enables
the same wood that pervades.

 

Note: Influenced by the Vedanta philosophy. It's amazing how the easiest truth can be so elusive.

Dehypnotize

 

Hypnotized world,
a mirror within a mirror.
I clean the surface—
but the face beneath
stays opaque.

Hope is a paradox—
the purity of hopelessness.

Essence deserts perception
until awareness
undoes the spell
and we
dehypnotize.

অমৃতবাণী

 

জরাজীর্ণ পৃথিবীতে
আমি শুধুই ভালোবাসি
শুকনো কঠোর ভূমিতে
     আজ
মারামারি চলছে খালি
শূন্য জমির বুকে জমা
হিংসা ঘেন্না রাশিরাশি
তবুও আমি ভালোবাসি
জীবনযুদ্ধে কান্নাহাসি। 

আমার ভালোবাসার পাশে
কথামৃতের আদল আসে
ঠাকুরের ওই সর্বগ্রাসী
আলিঙ্গনের অনুরাগে
ডুবে থাকি অহর্নিশি।

নিঠুর ধরায় যদি তোমরা
শান্তি সুখের ঠিকানা চাও
একে  অন্যের সাথে পড় 
কথামৃত পড়িয়ে যাও । 

রামকৃষ্ণের প্রতি কথায়
এম'এর স্নেহের লেখার তরে 
দুঃখ হিংসা যাবে কোথায়
ধ্বংস হয়ে চিরতরে। 

আস্তিক বা নাস্তিক হলেও
কথামৃত পড়তে পারো
সন্ন্যাসী বা সংসারীরাও
একই সুরে গাইতে পারো 
সংসারের এই জ্বালা থেকে
মুক্তি পাবে এক্কেবারে 
হালকা হবে আকাশ বাতাস
আলোয় জীবন দিনেরাতে
খিলখিলিয়ে উঠবে ভরে।   

Ambition

There is ambition
in the hearts of humans,
a burning yearning to possess
this and that, a house, a car,
a job, a family
but the world is yet to see
any moral ambition, such
thoughts don’t even cross
the mind, not even in passing
to be a good human being.

The Lines

I pray to God so she gives me
those magic lines that can
stop all wars for good
lines that could eradicate
plastic poverty with the endless
flow of pure water, fresh food.

Then I think of the ego
of writing my lines? Why!
I cannot connect with her
if I beg for those praises,
I can connect with her
only when I am selfless.

Let me pray for a poet instead
from the coming generation
whose lines can break the barriers,
bridge all borders of the earth,
let their astute art make the brain
benevolent, heal the warring heart.

 

The Flute

The Flute

At twilight,
your tune returns
slipping through the dusk
like breath on glass.

I taste the juice
from your fruit,
sweet,
but never whole.

Still,
another day falls
without your shape beside me.

My eyes 
a river,
the Yamuna* flowing
as I remember
that you are,
but not mine.

I seek,
and still,
you vanish.

The melody reaches me 
but I crave the hands that play it.
I sip what remains,
but hunger for
what never arrives.

I hear the tune.
I want the flute.
I enjoy the juice —
but long for
the fruit.

Yamuna - The Yamuna River is deeply connected to Lord Krishna through numerous religious stories, primarily in the Vaishnavism tradition. According to scripture, the Yamuna river parted to allow baby Krishna to be carried across, and Krishna spent his youth playing and dancing on its banks in the region of Vrindavan. The river is revered as a divine goddess named Kalindi, who is considered the consort of Krishna and symbolizes their sacred bond. 

 

La Flûte

Au crépuscule,
ton air revient,
glissant dans le soir
comme un souffle sur le verre.

Je goûte le jus
de ton fruit,
sucré,
mais jamais entier.

Pourtant,
un autre jour s’éteint
sans ta forme à mes côtés.

Les yeux 
un fleuve,
la Yamuna* qui coule
tandis que je me souviens
que tu es,
mais non à moi.

Je cherche,
et toujours,
tu t’évanouis.

La mélodie m’atteint 
mais je désire les mains qui la jouent.
Je savoure ce qu’il reste,
mais j’ai faim de
ce qui ne vient jamais.

J’entends l’air.
Je veux la flûte.
Je goûte le jus —
mais je languis
du fruit.

Yamuna - La rivière Yamuna est profondément liée au Seigneur Krishna à travers de nombreuses histoires religieuses, principalement dans la tradition du Vaishnavisme. Selon les Écritures, la rivière Yamuna s'est séparée pour permettre au bébé Krishna d'être porté de l'autre côté, et Krishna a passé sa jeunesse à jouer et à danser sur ses rives dans la région de Vrindavan. La rivière est vénérée comme une déesse divine nommée Kalindi, qui est considérée comme l'épouse de Krishna et symbolise leur lien sacré.