mind

mind
a broken mirror
piercing painfully
into the mundane, 
with a glue of belief
it becomes spotless,
scratchless where, who
I am reflects

...

with practice of
yoga kriya,
like a sculptor,
a chisel and a hammer,
I create an idol from
a stone, when it is done
I become free to worship
myself as a devotee

...

in bhakti the rituals
are tools to experience
bliss, to found the father;
but those ingredients
are not with the intent
of getting his company, those
rites are for discarding
the habits that had
separated me from me

...

mind is the prison,
a poison of treason;
it is also a prism that
helps to show and see
the light beyond reason

It's not a prayer

I am Atman.
I don't have love
In me, I am love.
I don't have happiness
In me, I am happiness. 

I am established in wisdom.
My mistake was to
Come in contact with Prakriti.

My goal is to severe
The last link with nature.
Nature, that derived all the strength
From me, and is now making me
Subservient, what a pity. 

Eternal peace, freedom
From all false identities
Is the sole reason for my
Existence. 

Made for each other

The sky is freely
tied with the earth,
a bondage, or a
bonding;

wherever they are,
they're seen
as a whole,
forever together. 

Throughout their
journey,
they have a sense
inter-dependence,
and their own identity.

a couple of small verses

my sense organs,
a disoriented cattle,
grazing; a clumsy 
shepherd with a broken
flute, I watch helplessly

...

yoga means to connect
with who I am,
it also disconnects
me from nature

...

the sun - 
clouds cover,
slowly they go
away, I discover
the absence of
relationship between
the sun and the clouds,

the moon -
playing with the fish
in a dancing pond;
there is no link between
the moon, the pond,
the fish, and the breeze,

actions lie in the images,
day and night

no answer

why was the world created,
aimless, weak logic,
but it was created, like
a miserable magic

...

we know killing is bad,
revolvers, pistols, guns
in the hands of children
of all ages; wealth created
by manufacturing such
toys, playful instruments,
films that market killing,
deceit, treachery, violence
gain on visibility

...

good and bad,
my mom must have 
taught me to gang-rape 
a woman, the skill 

to kill, and steal, 

she must have taught me
to open fire here and there

...

flocks of sheep,
coward, flocking together,
gaining strength, creating
a ruckus in the world

...

the world, the only abode
we want to destroy through
thoughts, words, and actions

...

the rich becoming richer
the poor poorer,
explanations, written down,
remedies, written off

the ping-pong ball

the seed and the fruit
bad, or good
playing the ping-pong ball
game, perfect for all

the pen

pen,
an eye of the storm,
in the middle of chaos,

the smell of the ink,
the touch of the skin,
the look,

shades of identities
in the noisy crises
struggling to 
write a horrid,
a borrowed story,

a silent traveller
bewildered in the crowd
of unspoken words

the device finally triumphs
to crack the squall
with a sound of a crack

a journey

anger,
the salt of life,
lust,
the sugar of life,
weapons,
the spice of life,
i sacrifice to the sea,

i destroy the part and
parcel of food I love to eat,
I acquire a new taste,
destroy the beliefs
of the culinary art; 
those waves thrashing,
blurring, burning the pure meat
of the vegetables, 
swallowing the depth,
clouds gobbling the expanse,
killing the appetite of
a wise gourmet limiting the
discolored lid,

with the libation,
the palate has changed
the look, the smell, and 
the oomph of the course

a new threshold,
a new discourse

প্রার্থনা

তোমার পথে, তোমার সাথে

আছে আমি রসে, বশে

সবার মধ্যে মিলে মিশে, 

তর্ক থেকে থাকি অনেক দূর, 

সত্য কথা কটু হলে

বলি না যে কভু ভুলে

কথা, চিন্তা, কর্ম, সুমধুর

নতুন আমার এ অভ্যেসে

আছি নেচে, গেয়ে, হেসে,

দিবারাত্রি উচ্ছাসে তাই 

মনটা সদাই আনন্দে ভরপুর। 

এ পথ থেকে যেন আমি

সরে না যাই কভু

এ প্রার্থনাই তোমার কাছে

করছি মহাপ্রভু। 

[we] can't breathe

pandemic
a large mass of innocent
people need oxygen;
whose mess, whose sin,
whose punishment
echoes, 'I can't breathe'