I am in love

Image credit: Google images

I was conscious of my skin

my flesh, my origin

Was proud of my blood

my bones and my tongue.

Breed, of every little kind

worried organs made noise in my mind.

With these possessions, I set out for love

eyes, tired with judgement

ears lost the balance

I could never forgive

The love, at times there, at times elusive.

Now, with sky as my skin,

brooks and the mud

my flesh and my blood

the sun and the moon

are in my bones, in the tongue,

through the leaves and those grasses

I see and I hear

My sense awakes, arouses

a rhythm in the organs, conscious and clear

unreal it might sound, but I am out of my cocoon

I am in love, will never be out of tune.

Image

Impaired self, a bonsai

Marred in the muddy humdrum

Arms controlled, roots ordered to fit the criteria

Growth innate shouts within for the flowering

Eager to widen beyond the prescribed range



Tried something crazy here!! 

1. The first and the last letters of every line make the word 'image'
2. You could also read from bottom to top to experience something different about cause and effect!

imagination

imagination is another world

infinite, inclusive, unbound with melody still undiscovered

magical, magnanimous, not for mundane muggles to comprehend

assuring, accepting, contained, content, all within

genuine, gregarious, without guilt, in symphony waiting to begin

innocent, instinctive in instants and moments

non-existent negation that melts into nothingness

alert, aware yet often insinuated, ostracised, alienated

tranquil, transient, teeming and transparent

intelligent, replete with stories untold, with ignorance ignored

omnipotent with possibilities manifold

nature's gift to humankind present in a humming tune heard, unheard

imagination is another world

impermanence

Clouds,

In my sky,

A bliss!

Travellers, nomads

Everywhere

In my eyes, hands and ears

In my feet

In my smiles dormant for years

I feel light

Full of possibilities, hopes

In this vagueness I want to remain 

Fresh, aware with matters contain
In what I can’t clearly see

I can clearly see

Clarity the only felony

Just a moment

Hold on please

I am so much me, so much at ease
Let me be with these transient beings

I see infinite shades of whites and blacks

With you there are only two!
You are so heavy, so much in blue

I see countless drops of efforts from my relentless sea

What you ignored overlooked as destiny

I hear a string of things

In the realm of nameless nothings

Clarity the only felony

Lower your pace

Hold on...

For a moment

Please?

Let me float in this height...

For some more time

In crowds of words so proud with fame
I know with them I will fall again

To flourish nurture and nourish your name

Chairship zone

 

No appetite.

Knock, knock

Hello, who is this

It’s me

(the door opens)

 

O you

Come, sit

I have no track of time

You could have come just a while ago

But moments seem years to me

Ah yes, I know you’ve done horrible things

To merit this seat,

This sailing seat, on fire, is yours!

How many times have I told you

Not to come when I am alone?

(smiles)

 

You seem to find me in my time!

Are you addicted to me?

Am I your grass?

Okay, since you’ve come

Let us see the home...

 

I know we’ve seen this many times

Still, many times is first time

Now, please hold the chair

You’ll fall otherwise

Hold it tight else you will fall into the mundane

Now see!

 

Can you smell her in the kitchen?

Her apron smells like the food

Orange with happiness,

She talks to the vegetables

When they float in heated oil

Do you see?

Yes! Go on...

When she was preparing the food

Your aroused hands snatched her

From the kitchen,

You went here and there with her

To those shelves, those walls

Made love...

You held her

Just after she’d picked the cauliflower

From her organic kitchen garden

You arrived at more or less the same time

A thousand fold times,

In thousand old ways

 

Happy?

Now, go, leave

I don’t want you anymore

For you’ll remind me of the library...

Whilst I could smell the books

You wretch!

You cheated on her

For the one who came mopping your floor?

You were talking to those pages

To those shelves, to those walls

You heard those frying sounds still

You smelt that engaged apron,

Preparing a romantic meal for you?

You remember?

Right in the middle of those authors

Who wrote about this, through time, many fold times

In many old ways

Those books have seen the act

Your art of concealing fact

You read them all, and yet you dared...

 

But hang on, we never had a help

I had that one pair of hands

She was my maid

And I never confabulate with inanimate objects

You know that

(smiles) 

You are a wretch, planting cauliflowers in me

You pervert reader

Go burn in the seat

 

O sanity, the only adultery

Why do you appear in my zone?

And to you, thanks for coming

You can leave 

Let the chair loose...

Now I am hungry.

(the door closes)

some of you might enjoy...others might not...life has many voices, but the one that's within matters because that's what genuinely is, that’s what you have and that’s what you can offer

The VIP

I am a VIP

I make everyone clear my poop and my pee

In my heart I have dirt, in my mind ulcer

I am proud to be a vulgar in power

Choice

Prosperity without peace

Midas golden touch, ill at ease

Education without awareness and bliss

Plastic flowers, a decoration piece

Growth without empowerment

Bonsai trees, slaves of predicament

Winning without compassion

Deforestation in action

Money machine markets

Still born triplets

Technologies without care

Butterfingers playing overture

Power without thoughts to cure

Continues to be more insecure

Knowledge without sense

Blocks enlightenment, affluence

These are micro-poems, two-liners or couplets, each holding a thought that readers can interpret in their own ways. The one objective of these poems is to make the readers think. The position of these poems is at the bottom, the poems are lying on the grasses and the readers are placed on a higher platform so they have a bird's eye view. There are eight poems here which can be read in isolation, however, it is also possible to find a link with each of these; as though they (the eight short poems) are sub-sets to the super-set, Choice. 

ঝরা ফুল [fallen flowers]

পারিনি আমি কিছুই সাজাতে, গুছাতে

এই সু্ন্দর ধরনীর বিছানাতে

একরাশ ফুল হাহাকার ক’রে

ঝ’রে গেল মলীন বিকেলের মাটিতে।

ব্যর্থ সকল কাজ, তিক্ত সকল ফল

ব্রিথা এ বাগান গড়া, বিফল বাঁচার জল

ক্লান্ত চেষ্টাগুলি হারিয়ে হারাতে চায়

বাকি কিছু রয়ে যাওয়া সজ্জিত বিছানায়।

এ মন যে তাই চায় অলস এ সন্ধ্যায়

সদ্যজাত আকাশ ভরা তারায় ও জোছোনায়

লুটপাটি দেওয়া নিরলস ঘাসের হাসিতে

পরে যাওয়া ফোটা ফুলশয্যায় ঘুমতে...

English translation

i could decorate nothing, arrange nothing

on this beautiful bed of earth

heaps of flowers heaved a sigh

as they fell on the pail evening's mud

all work turned meaningless, all results bitter

pointless was this garden, fruitless, this life-giving water 

tired efforts want to lose what they lost as dead

whatever's left in this decorated bed

this mind anon wants, in this lazy falling evening

just born with stars and moon light's shower

on this ripples of grasses with relentless giggles

sleep, on the bed of fallen flowers...


image credit: photogallery.com

moments to eternity

infant night

just born

a beam of light, like a gush

of water that broke from the sky

thousands of births

the twinkling onlookers gleam

is it the same world, one wonders

but who cares, as long as there's no tomorrow

the overwhelmed sky is relieved

takes the night on its lap

and smiles limitless moments

to eternity

image credit: printgallery.com

...I continue to confuse, but refuse to mimic...let the eyes emerge which tear me down into comprehension...i will giggle like the grasses...

The river

I have a river of a mind

It wanders and dances through time,

Banks it does have though

Thanks to which it gets its flow!

I learned from her things she never taught

To nourish the soil tad tired and wrought,

Even if the sky had dried it low

It’d send the clouds to brighten its glow!

The mountains if they blocked its winsome way

Through them it’d swerve and topple away,

The ocean of kindness my mind will meet
The flowing journey will never retreat

The other beauty

What’s in the cage,

your youth, your good golden days

tell me who has ever felt old

your mirror is a liar

What's in the cage,

your precious moments that stopped

tell me who hasn’t it experienced

your time is a liar

What's in the cage,

your precious sorrows, your possessive hurts

tell me who has ever wanted to part with them

your mind is a liar

In all these piles and bunch of attractive lies

The three are beautiful, condemned and forever tied

The cage by chance if it becomes ajar

The other beauty will re-appear

Boats

I’d make boats of paper

and sail them on the waterlogged streets

in it I’d write a message of peace

for the minds to be free of power and greed

I’d write so the plague would forever end

those people unaware, unarmed, killed by siblings and friends

like rats they'd die and continue to die

the flattened boats under the butchered sky.

You taught me mom

to think of souls who lost in the game

in their names they’d float without guilt or shame,

now I am old and you a star

in the sky like another scar,

you are watching my child make those barren boats

in the middle of hatred that choke our throats,

the couplet in Hindi you’d sing and write

'come I will take you under such a sky

where there's no grief, no tears,

but happiness endless is on the high!'

Tell me mom, when will this stop
that sky for our mother will it ever pop
can't even count I'm tired to see,
let boats of hope drown the angry sea

The foundation

beauty, it's birth, often not a mirth

beauty the comprehensible

seeps through the insane source...

robust, understanding, secure

unassuming, callous, stable, sure

rose is more fragile than the thorns

from where she is born

lotus spreads its wings to appeal

muck is the source from where she comes and goes

beauty enchants attracts the senses

from the surface

its source often a nuisance

beauty is born for us to see and feel

the origin, a neglect, unattended shoulder

on which beauty is held

The dying self

In moments, meant to be alive

The Self dies, a thousand deaths

cactus words kill

thorny actions bleed

born out of untrained thoughts

These moments that refuse to die, stage wars around.

Orchestrated with arms, weapons

what could have been a symphony

slaughter and breed frightful foes and feuds

that, which could have seen us all, as friends!

Through time, thoughts of the inseparable beings

in the minds they're made to sing

Build blocks and barriers

no thoughts spared, all spent

in the destruction of the real Self

a living cell dies a thousand deaths.

The writer

Through the streets

Busy, lonely, bustling, deserted

The silent pen in my mind

Talks with strangers, onlookers;

Writes all its actions, inactions

It sees the world as a page.

Days and nights are born

A treasure limitless

With reasons, meaningless

They come and go

Dancing like the waters, it witnesses.

Death, a birth

Beginning, an end

It writes

Captures moments

Relieves for the next

The stage returns and returns.

It goes on and on

Writes the writer without a pause