Megalomania

Of course I have
The right to write and speak
But with it I also exercise
My limits;
When I fulfill my responsibility
I look at myself, with dignity.

I understand why Tom was shown the door
When he wrote an angry mail to his CEO,
Why Tonmoy was hurt
When he was 'bullied' in the mart.

I found a place where I thought
By exchanging opposite points of view
Scholars bloom and bond,
But maybe I was wrong;
For it polishes the pebbles, dims the diamonds.

Sadly, like any other place
It is diseased with megalomania, beyond grace.
Maybe it's far too unfair
To judge a site for a handful few
But I don't look at every rice
To see if it's cooked; I count on one or two.

My juvenile reaction to some even more kiddish responses! :) 

The most unconscious crime

If I do not forgive
The outcome is simple,
The inability won’t let me live, 
As one little drop of poison
Spoils the drink
One such little lack will prick,
I will remain in the prison
For good, fall in the abyss
Where, life would be bound
To drown and sink. 

If I'm able to forgive someone, 
Regardless of the magnitude
Of the harm done, 
I become my best friend forever;
As it is to me, I offer
The most charming gift
I do not anyone else a favour.

But how do I do that
It's so easy to say!
No, when you're working at
It, you'll find a way. 

Close your eyes, sit alone;
Whether you believe in
God, or you don’t,
It doesn’t matter
As long as you're determined
To get rid of the sin forever. 

Say to yourself, 'I have the power
To forgive and so I do', 
Imagine the person in front of you,
Keep repeating it from time to time
The words will do the trick
Like a miracle, or like magic
Your body will slowly liberate you
From the most unconscious crime.

Words are energies

No, I will not lie
I am here to lay bare
On what I can never rely.

You're most enthusiastic
In your reluctance,
For highlighting errors
You write pages,
You're most reluctant
With your compliments
You finish them off, as it were
In one sentence.

It's not your fault
It's your horrible upbringing, 
Your terrible education
That has taught you this
You are happy with your Ps and Qs
Yet you're restless in your abyss.

It is not anybody's fault;
Unconscious, we all fall
Prey to this monster
That hides behind
That handsome,
Innocuous word
To have our curious
Conscience murdered.

This breeds poison in the air
Makes the atmosphere
Vicious, we lose faith
In people with plastic facts,
Whose words only harm;
For words are energies
That in truth, infuse and charm.

In unison

'The most beautiful spot in your heart'
Is when you find oneness
In everything, everyone
It’s not free, it needs practice
It's an exercise, a rewarding art.

When you truly get there
There's lightness in the air
You overlook divisions, dissensions;
Lessons you learn
Is that everything's a game,
Everything's fun
Everyone's effortlessly won.

The interviewer, Soumik Datta, a disciple of late Pt Budhhadeb Dasgupta, is a Bengali-born British Indian musician and composer, who specialises in the sarod.

Credit

The world.
Begging for credit.
Stealing, robbing
Snatching it from others;
Friends, relatives, competitors.
Everyone is doomed
In the lose-lose gloom
Unable to choose.

Step back.
Giving becomes a given.
The world changes,
Flourishes, washes all sins,
Takes off the imprisoned page
With its win-win wings.

Credit is for giving.
It is not for getting.
Simple, no bombastic,
Antiquated words
Like those ignorant herds.

O workers, managers
Wise men, politicians
Scientists, artists, industrialists;
It just needs a shift to give credit.
Not expecting it in return
The world will be a marvellous place
For doing anything, for everyone.

Game is on

Every moment
An image surfaces,
Without a page,
A scratch, a paint;
It stays,
Gets destroyed, or recreated;
Game with Trinity
Is on, liberty
Is captured in the
Blue infinity.

Evergreen legacy

When you're happy
Plant a seed,
If you're down with sorrow
Water a weed,
Times when you’re green
With jealousy, or blue with worries
Indulge in composting
It’s an instant remedy.

When you're enjoying with family
Sit and sing under a tree,
When you're relaxing with friends
Nurse your garden
However small it might be,
A shrub, a herb
A creeper, a bush
Nourish them, nurture them
Wherever they shoot.

You don't have to do
Anything else for humanity,
Your children will benefit
From the flourishing garden;
Tonsured earth will heal,
Turn into heaven.

Share prices will be fine and fair
Inflation will cease, poverty will disappear
World will overcome all debacle
Simple, pure effort will plant the miracle.

With countless fruits and flowers 
Bounty will bloom and shower,
Such is the magical power
Of a wee little sprout,
Without an iota of doubt
For a prosperous posterity,
You'll leave behind
An evergreen legacy.

Crisis

Whenever there's crisis
There's Christ

...

Krishna, in any form
In any norm
With or without a name
Responds to distress

...

Allah is light
Waiting to alight
Unto anyone in need
At the drop of a hat

A soulful wish on World Soil Day

Let all human beings

Of the global village,

With their heart and soul,

Connect to protect

The soil of the earth,

Where every single moment,

The flora and the fauna

With their diversities

Happily take birth.

Thursday 5 December 2019

a fallen grace

My hands,
made of gold,
couldn't touch
the flower
that separated from the tree,
like a teardrop,
to grace the tired road;

to pick it up,
my poor hands,
engaged,
couldn't stoop so low.

the blossom was caressed
by the sun though

I wasn't able to
take my eyes off
this neglected piece;
a fallen grace,
a curious chef-d'oeuvre
built with utmost care
that Gustave would've taken
to build the Eiffel tower,
standing tall;
or Leonard could've
yearned for days,
to bring the smile
on la Joconde's face,
years ago.