Illusion, truth

Illusion, truth

Sea, the sky

The sky, sea

Fish, birds; swim, fly

In places they should be.

Eyes, as ears

Ears, eyes

Sound, vision; for years

Little they realize.

Thoughts turn the nerves,

What is felt and seen,

A dip in sea, or sky pristine,

At ease the scene reserves.

Reflection

I have come to my place!

Calm, quiet, serene…

Full of bliss, all the time,

Fruits and flowers,

Animals and birds,

I call my playmates;

Water’s so clean,

In the ponds where I bathe!

Huts that I thatch,

Foods that I cook and eat,

Cows that I milk and feed,

I play when I work,

From dawn to dusk,

I am ready, always…

Prepared to take off!

Readers might have a different feeling if they decide to read from the last line to the first.

Sorry for asking you to read twice, but I guess it is necessary because, although there is not much of a difference between landing and taking off, the poem tries to catch the sense that is somewhere in between these two actions, and perhaps also because it is a modest step to create a sense of poem working against gravity… not disrespecting the law of gravity, but exploring what happens when the sense also rises above.

Life

Fruits and flowers hanging on every branch,

Playing on swings,

Talking, chatting, laughing; Ha!

Soft breeze, a little older, is giving the push

From outside, to all the parts…

Giggling ripples in instalments,

With their teeth open wide,

Immobility enchanted…

Outside with the inside,

All engrossed in the game,

Colorful flyers,of different shapes and sizes

Singing with them, to them

With and without sounds

In different tunes and pitches;

Some flowers and fruits have fallen from the branches,

Are caressing the earth;

All colours have merged voluntarily into

An affectionate black shadow…

Underneath

A traveller resting, ruminating;

In this place of luminous benevolence of Energy,

Life finds its space!

choice

This was to happen,

Sky showers nectar and poison at the same time;

Choice has no choice:

Conscious, unconscious,

Buds bloom and disperse

As stories are sung in the background, or on the stage

From the ground despite predicaments!

The shell doesn't have grievance when the egg pops out,

Rushes into an eager mouth;

A moving tree doesn't regret,

When its perfume sneaks into a stranger’s veins;

Desires oozing out of the barks dead or alive,

Back and forth, in moments flowing in and out:

Without shape and measurements!

shades of weather - some triplets

Wind on the meadow

Husband gifts a green saree

From the silk outlet

Please give me your hands
Gently as the waves ashore
For the rest I need

Image in the clouds
A child feeds a little child
Rains washed the headache

Leaders with white hats
A broken booth abandoned
Tensed voting weather

The first summer rain
The Sun and the Moon change looks
Busy ants unearth

some triplets

Mom waiting with a
Towel stretched… the wet child comes
Rushing into it

Evening time… father
Drinks tea, Mom cooking good food,
Children do homework

Wind on paddy field…
Green grasses dancing freely,
Farmers smiling wide

Frogs are croaking…
Sparrows bathing in the dust,
Rains not far away

Darkness has fallen,
Pitch dark, crickets call fire-flies,
Forest plays darkroom

destination

From here,
I take off...
Don't know
If the pillars carry the time 
And the count of the stories I wrote,
And scrapped,
In the same place...
Spent the ink
From the pens that linked
Me with you,
Pages again surface afresh
In journeys that rest anew...

with different names

with different names
Doors all around;

With different names…

From all corners, closed;

Efforts are on, for opening them one by one

Hurling abuses and curses!

Walls big and huge;

Safe, secure, with different names…

Of strange food and language;

Talks are on, for breaking them one by one

With all the dressing weaknesses!

Blind doors and walls with different names;

Frozen cold on the ground…

Unwilling to warm up;

To break open

Despite the deafening sound!

Walls and doors;

For so long crafted by souls…

With different names;

Cracked in silence

Seen sleeping tired on the surface!

Finally a feather touch, they melted

The shell, with different names!

This poem is dedicated to my elder brother, Sri Sourav Sen, an English teacher at Birla High, Kolkata on his birthday (22-April).

nature

world in me