Realm of a poem

Realm of a poem 

A poem is born through poets, not from them;
Emotions nursed in propriety, in the worlds
Now lie in the hearse of words;
Totally cut without possession…ugh…c’est complètement parti mes amis!
C’est fini, alors c’est fini,
This mayhem!

Readers take over now,

Criticize; analyze, love, slaughter left and right,
The poet drops the pride and the vow,
Joins as a reader in the ugly pretty fight!

Wrong is heavy and loose

Let’s delve in the write so high and light,
Whatever be the choice we have nothing to lose,
Threw up everything on the page toute à l’heure in delight!
                                  
Let’s love the poets, who think otherwise,
For they, like us are also right,
We transgress as readers, wise, unwise,
Without prosecuting visitors;
For us – as part of them,
There aren’t any trespassers,
In the realm of a poem!

Messenger

Cliffs bring the sunrise

Light spreads into the valley

Morning teas wake up

Alarm

Hands jam hungry breads

Day queues up with many chores

Work honks at the door

Out of train

Train runs at high speed

Crowded stories talk non-stop

Eyes on windows look

Fillers

An airplane flies high
Sound reaches a silent hut
Mother feeds her child

Equation

Man money machine
Quadratic equation lies
Woman explores x

An invitation

An invitation 

Look into the palm.
On the near rooftop,
Hard as rock soft as arouse crop,
Wheels not needed for willing wings,
Climb aboard to fly and smile!
Readers so dear the paw marries,
No intent, no motive, no hidden malice,
Stable unfailing the hand to wed,
No fears or fights no dodge or trade!

Look into the palm.

Steady to the clear sky,
Nests inside seldom fake or lie,
With light and air and water abound,
Mount a little above the ground!
Readers to breed an open delight,
No caprice, no margins, no stunning fright,
Strong as rock and tender as erect crop,
It goes so smooth, it stays and sings!

In act one

In act one

Brush, brush, brush
A rush of colours on the paper sky,
Soft, violent; all in, upon them
Brushing words inside out;
O what a shame!
Brushing organs in broad daylight,
Tune of emotions foaming out,
Everyone oversees overlooks,
Threads of buttons going back
In act one
As cottons;
Candy flosses flying in front of the eyes,
It is all so loose, clear like an open chest,
Brushes now deep, indeed inside,
White paper grins and plaints!
Its colours lost without remorse,
Threads continue to rewind as cottons,
With order, disorder; on the paper sky,
Brush, brush, brush

Raymond Queneau’s poem on poem translated into English

Un poème
By Raymond Queneau 

Bien placés bien choisis

quelques mots font une poésie
les mots il suffit qu’on les aime
pour écrire un poème
on ne sait pas toujours ce qu’on dit
lorsque naît la poésie
faut ensuite rechercher le thème
pour intituler le poème
mais d’autres fois on pleure on rit
en écrivant la poésie
ça a toujours kékchose d’extrème
un poème

Poem 

English translation by Supratik Sen

Accurately placed perfectly chosen

some words conceive a poem
love for apt words is quintessential
to write a poem
when a poem is born
we may not always grasp what is said
we seek anon for the theme
to bequeath a name
we whimper and chuckle at other times
while writing a poem
a poem
always possesses something extreme

In the midst of

In the midst of

Unrest incomplete
In the midst of
Wealth, health aplenty
I threw it away and was empty
Searched for it with unspeakable pain
In the vault in the loft from brain to brain!

In the midst of

Dirt and dust
I found the jewel in its throne unhurt
Lying in the drain for quite some time
Didn’t get washed somehow as slime!

In the midst of profit and gain

I threw it of me, thought was gone
Found it again in the trench of my lawn
Shining at me smiling sans cesse
Picking it again and going through stress!

I looked at it close a little from above

I took it in me was complete with love!



The poem urges readers to pause and think of something they have thrown away in disbelief. And now, in the midst of broken values and sheer lovelessness, that something seems to be missing the most.
If the intelligent minds could think, many fools could be saved. The Earth is the biggest fool.