Sunday, June 28, 2015

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.

Sunday, June 21, 2015

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!

Saturday, June 20, 2015

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

Wednesday, June 17, 2015

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

Tuesday, June 16, 2015

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

Thursday, June 11, 2015

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

Sunday, June 7, 2015

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. 

Wednesday, June 3, 2015

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...

Monday, June 1, 2015

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