THE CRYING CHILD

Sound sleeping

The toddler does need it,

In early speaking ability,

He only says, “Mother! Come.”

So that in tandem the baby

Wants to sway with love

The passing of the night,

Sleeping with mother’s caring.

Lovely goes his spirit

And hunts for sleeping,

He wants to be with mother,

In the making of myth of love,

That the child does like to be with

The big organized way of mother's sincerity,

The sentiment of life, in mother’s embrace

And everything of beats of life

The speaking of the baby is heading

With joy on the way of love’s train,

Sleeping with mother.

Under the marathon of busy hours

And service work, the mother

Manages for duty and for her rest,

And brings everything in little gust

Of burning sleeve of tiredness,

Since she moves with languished feeling,

The child’s sleeping scope

Gives mother haste

To finish her workload, and

She just tries to find time,

To come with the toddler,

And in the mean time, it is amazed,

The mechanism has been changed,

And the child starts crying.

CHILD’S CHOICE, IGNORED

She returns home with haste

Stops for her little son

And makes him prepare

For the journey,

She has no time to listen

To her child who has

Something good in his mindset,

The child has own choice

For shoes and sweater to wear

In winter, while

He is going out,

And he utters, “Other one”

He is yet to speak in full.

The child cries with bursts,

Holding his choices - shoes

And sweater to wear

In mother’s company,

She had no time to attend

Child’s untold feeling,

And she fakes his choice

Stuffs a mother’s choice,

Jumps into hasty move,

Avoiding crying of child,

And lifts the kid

Like a colored balloon,

In her lap, and the child

Crying profusely,

Still holding his shoes

In one hand and sweater

In other hand, and keeps

Them under his care

Not knowing the secret

Of his mother’s apathy,

And his mother says,

“We are in a hurry,

Time to catch bus is going out.”

The child don’t understand,

What mother is saying about,

Crying profusely, he throws

All he holds in his tiny hands,

Slumped on the hard concrete floor.

WHISPERS TO GOD

The child is feeble

His eyes go deep into face,

Yet he eats, dances, moves,

Cries, smiles, the red face

Looks pale when he baths,

Mother says his structure

Is so, and she messages cream

To remove his paleness,

I only pray to God, Lord,

Please keep the child moving,

You love him,

You care him,

I am an onlooker,

And if I put advice

I fear my eyes will

Be blinded forthwith,

And my mind cries

On my helplessness

As the world is for theirs,

My old age burns are

All fake to them,

Other relations are nothing,

And I do not put my finger

Into the fire,

That will kill my whole essence

And the child will remain

In their whims, and child lives in pains.

I whisper to the world

God may hear my words.

DEVI DURGA

 

Devi Durga comes with

Unexpected Cyclone Phailin

Riding on a boat

Amid stormy wind

Dulled with incessant rain,

During her divine visit

Upon this earth,

And something more swallowing,

Salty sea water rises above the shore

Plunging our knees dipped into flooded water,

Costal land going under whip of damping of lives,

Standing inside giant whirling winds,

We Praise Her, Worship Her,

And She has to return to

Her husband’s heavenly home,  

Riding upon an elephant.

 

She drives us in creating winning stake

Like the sun lighting the earth

 

 

 

Note: This poem comes out from a discussion with                                        

Ramon Lorenzo                

DIRECTOR ACADEMICO DE CEFIC en CEFIC(CENTRO EDUCATIVO FORMACION INTEGRAL CRISTIANO

in literary group  Literature and Culture Supporters and Promoters of LINKEDIN.COM

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MOTHER GODDESS, DEVI DURGA

Autumn morning,

So cool and bright,
It filled with soft sunrays,
The earth filled with dream
Of the blooming Kash
That will sweep sullen night,
With white effects,
Awakening with greeting songs
Of Mother Goddess, Devi Durga

 

Autumn Mahalaya,

All villagers gather to sing
Songs in widened

Sequel of trivia, Devi Durga,

Enthusiasm high in mind.

 

Autumn silence,

Devi Durga on the doorway,
With her children.
Her arrival to take away
All shady images from mind.

We live where

All spiritual minds lead life,
All want to go
Ad-free truths, holy dip in sea,
In searching of inspiring life.

In power and peace,

Devi Durga creates the way,
Festive season,
Reinventing fresh breathing
In shining of rearranging life.

-------

MOTHER GODDESS, DEVI DURGA 

             (tanka form)

 

 

Passing rain’s castor,

The sunrays turn cool and bright,

Auspicious dream,

That fills the earth, something

Protecting us from fear, longer.

 

Upright clear blue sky,

With the blooming of Kash

Comes greeting songs,

Of Mother Goddess, Devi Durga

White assumptions of life.

Autumn Mahalaya,
Awaking with greeting songs,
Sweeping sullen nights,
Stream from sequel of trivia
Worshiping Devi Dura,

Villagers gather

To sing prayers with vigor,
Enthusiasm high
With angel’s great patience,
To scare demons away.

Autumn silence,
Devi Durga on the doorway,
With her children.
She is gracious to take away
Demonic images from mind

We live where

Spiritual minds lead life,
We want to go
With treasures of truths,
In searching of inspiring life

In power and peace,

DeviDurga creates the way,
Festive season,
Reinventing fresh breathing
In shining of rearranging life  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONE DAY ON THE PATHWAY

Being alone one day

I was walking around

The streets of Kolkata

Then I found

A new building is coming up

In the place of old building

Demolished

And all old furniture

And wooden door and window

Materials are stacked

As if these are antiques

With a hanging notice board

Announcing the activity -

Inviting auction sale

Of all old materials to be checked

For further use

If one likes to repair and reuse

The old valuables, if one can find it feasible.

 

 

I am thinking of my life

I have everything

A house, wife, son, daughter-in-law,

A little grandson,

Yet I am moving alone,

They are theirs,

The baby is theirs,

Wife is in a mood

To farewell everything,

Their eyes cast shadows,

Over the scares and gathering

They want to get benefit,

And I cannot think I am elderly one

To say something valuable

As if I am lonely man walking down roadway,

Thinking of demolished building,

Wherein once lived old residents, with

High spirits and solvency held high

In the time of their sovereignty,

Their power to propagate supremacy,

Now their memorabilia are sold,

As dead great grandmother had not to worry about

What she had one to hold and what she had

Not to possess about on the passage of time.

And in my loneliness,

I am also sold to the art of buying antifreeze of a car

In the equation of theory and data retrieved:

If theory is true, data is true, depending

On hands those are already moved to selling content

That slips down old Sapphire glory

As if harvest morning dismisses cloudy sky.

BROKEN DOORS

Problems of living

Like broken doors
Move
With two words –

Two door-shutters

Finding no hinge
Stacked for auction sale
By the real estate owner,

No human touch

To open the door
To tell tale till
Living is beautiful.

The door's shape
Within bricked space
Refused to be primed,
To set up to the reality.
 

Two door-shutters

With no screw pans
With scratch of pains
Still begging love

For human holding

For repairs to activity
For future leap
For essence of loving.

 

LIVING BEYOND SHADOWS OF PROPAGANDA

O dear one, my strength is linking to dryness,

Only link, it is my mobile phone
That appears only to voice of a child,
And I feel comfort; as he is able to say, ‘Eei’
My walking with life is full of tufts
And shafts of yellow grass, higher
Above the height of nothingness, yet
I do live as if I am no one upon the land.

For the link, I have to turn hard,

No new garments I bought, wearing only old ones,
I am always pressing my mind for savings,
For paying cost for internet and mobile phone service,
Where I have to collect connections, and
Never varies my mind, even if silver dreams do come,
The only care I do intend for making me contacted
With the boy for hearing his voice on mobile phone,

and to see his pictures on internet social sites.  

As the child, beloved one,

Separated, by some persons of home and abroad,
Lives far away from me,

And as the child is yet to learn speaking to return from war zone,

My agony goes beyond submission and subjugation.
When I speak about need of a doctor for child's treatment,
They shout at me, young managers for the child,
As if I am trying to diverge thinking for well being
Of the child, as he appears to be well,
and he is fit to gain their confidence.

As an old man, my endeavor limited to seeing only window,

And I have to go hiding from their propaganda over shadow.

 

 

 

THE LONELY CHILD

The beautiful child

Wants to play with

Grandfather and grandmother,

The sooner parents

Take away the child

And keeps in a closed room.

It is time for his eating,

He started crying, and

When he finds he is away

From his loved ones,

Tears coming down

His tender cheeks, and

With his feeble body

He cannot resist and

Falls asleep,

Like a lonely person

Out of sibling ring.

 

 

Sometimes, the elderly persons,

 

Grandmother and Grandfather

 

Do not carry the child

 

And go to bed, differently and silently.

 

 

TANKA

Two sisters

Like two petals of a Palash

Sparkle like spring-reflections,

In cool air of the morning,

With dreams of tomorrow.

 

 ....

 

TANKA 2

 

With sparkling eyes,

Sister makes conversation,

Melody deep in

Stillness of sovereignty,

Elder one’s love within.

 

-©Asim Kumar Paul,

06.09.2013

.....

TANKA 3

No escaping

From this earth

From regions of love

Either familial entire

Or regions of human space

-©Asim Kumar Paul,

07.09.2013

Note: TANKA 2 and TANKA 3  are  posted in a poetry discussion at
The Poet's Haven in LinkedIn.com
Link: http://www.linkedin.com/groupAnswers?viewQuestionAndAnswers=&discussionID=269442047&gid=4464576&commentID=161653742&trk=view_disc&fromEmail=&ut=0QTMxvXJEKA5U1

 

 

MY GRANDSON

My grandson says nothing,

He is one and half years old,

He is feeble,

I am living far away from him,

He cannot not cry forcefully,

The baby cries and recries,

Month after month,

I fear the gathering of moss,

His vigor is lost,

Within himself,

I cry for him,

I cannot save him,

The curtain of life may fall upon him. 

RAIN

Rain, rain, rain

Midnight silence stirred

By sounds of falling rain drops,

Noisy rhythm fills the air

Breathing of heart feels the thunder.

 

Tin rooftop sounds fiercely,

As if raindrops are fearless

To pierce tin sheds with force

Of bullets, raindrops remain

Thoughtless, with death sentence.

 

We are waiting

With our destiny

Hearing bursting sounds,

We are praying

To have sequence of waves

 

That may cease air surge

That brings softened storms

And we may move to cool forms

Of our living invocation

To understand nature’s navigation.

 

LOVE POEM

Love to me it is feeling,

It is speaking to inner heart

It is like knowing the world, all in tune

Of resonance like wave in ocean

That creates, breaks within mind

Singing with hosts of thinking, and seeing

Into mind’s eye, what we discover

Upon the earth, where we go or travel,

Love poem speaks all about them.

THE CHILIKA LAKE

TheChilika Lake

Water weeds growing

Again and again,

Touch surface line

With land, filled with silence.

 

Electric wires,

Rail lines running

Alongside waters,

Passengers stare in the window,

Sound of train breaks loneliness.

 

That entire scene

Seems to know the serendipity,

And nature’s beauty,

We have the life, and

Its measures under the sun.

I HAVE TO CARRY SANDBAGS

I have to walk on a forlorn street,

My way passes by a sand filled riverside bungalow,

Where live some people with immunity,

Their field for walking is matted with green grass

And controls and measures altogether,

I cannot announce my anger in a voice,

As the wheel of interference is strong and punitive,

Victory is theirs; my anger is a lost boat in the ordeal,

Fortune comes with their dreams, I am the dry leave

To fall upon the river, they make whims and dance

With sound of whistles those are flash news,

I am the onlooker in a circus show, and they are creator

For wind in the firmament of enjoying, and I am flown,

And sandwiched through their business and green houses

With running cars I cannot even ride or hire one.

I am abandoned in a sand hill cleft,

I can only whisper, knowing I have to carry sandbags. 

YOU WILL DWELL IN A NEW WORLD

What is mystery in the sky?

The sunlight itself? Or a small bird?

Your eyes caught into aerial visits in surprise,

Rainy clouds do hide shining and shifting

Of spreading sunlight, as little it is seen,

As little you are in search and invent

Time of the earth’s flowering season.

You are child to know the speech

That God has created for your nascent eyes,

Life is breathing, yet your childhood thinking

Does hold curiosity, first to know, then to follow

And find all things with clarity, then as a man,

You will dwell in a new world, appearing splendid.  

LITTLE EYES AWAKENING

You are travelling inside a moving train,

And it stops at a place,

You will see it is a station that offers you

To step out of train compartment and go destination,

The valid trip of going your home or working place,

Travelling through passage sphere with patience,

Your infant mind and curious eyes are overall delighted

On finding new things,

That you are now in great thinking that is opened

On your journey, and you are perhaps preparing to understand

Life’s twining and singing.

 

SIMPLE LADY SIMPI BHATTACHARYA, A SIMPLE POEM

Simpy is a young lady

Awarded Honors degree  in English Literature,

She is wise and beautiful

She is preparing for building her career

Esteemed all over within her heart,

How she will see her future,

To get a Masters Degree,

And she has a good affinity in cooking food,

For making palatable Bengali Dishes,

It is her past time.

One rainy day, I was with her family,

As if I was in a tin shed home in a rainy season

Forty years back, standing alone on the corridor,

One young girl that time suddenly arrived and

Took me inside her home and give temporary shelter

To protect me not being wet in rain, and when rain stopped

 I returned home with a great memory on young age romance.

This day Simpy, a daughter of my friend, makes

Dishes of Hilsha fish curry with her cooking experience,

She blushed red when I praise her for taking cooking adventure,

She is curious to make everything  right in order,

She is always in curiosity to know the unknown,

From the great world, it is still full of new things,

And her mother is feeling proud to hear praise of her daughter,

She feels mirror image of her younger age of time

When she was like her daughter thirty five years back.

The world is retrieval of fanciful happening repeating every time.

A RAINY EVENING

This poem is for Miss Riya Bhattacharya                                                                                        

It is raining, my presence and my thinking

Move along evening singing, with rainfall sounds

That make echo and come in room through window,

A clear falling sound of rainwater from rooftop outlet,

Making ground resonate, filled with water clogged,

My friend, being nostalgic, turns to gossip of our old days.

Then his daughter, a research scholar in Economics

Comes forward to have hot tea and hot snacks,

And wearing a rain-coat, goes out like an angel to the market,

Her footsteps sound in rhythm of rain fall, with resonance,

As she is digging clogged water to place feet firmly on ground.

After a while she returns with some food stuff firmly closed,

She is covered  in rain bubbles, looking beautiful in face,

She buys some puffed rice, hot and crispy potato chops,

And she serves lovingly hot tea and hot snacks in this rainy evening,

This makes us stay in gossips and the young lady hears us patiently,

She makes this rainy evening beautiful and charming episode to remember.

BABY’S EYES DELIVERING SOMETHING

Leaning on a train-window the baby looks on river flowing,

Its water is always muddy in raining tease,

 

Small waves, muddy water flowing, sunlight is not in full color,

The baby losses curiosity to see reflective derives.

 

His eyes pick curiosity, looking for sunlight,

It is baby’s bad luck not to find magic,

 

Curiosity travels into his eyes to see the New River Bridge,

Balancing is a rose test of accuracy.

 

The baby looks forward how long river’s wide stream can

Hold silence, when flood situation fills the air.

 

As the river flows with its body towards seashore to mingle with

Great course of oceanic mystery,

 

The baby does not think it, yet he looks forward for the wave

That the river does create its speed inside.

 

The baby is in balancing mood not finding the spheres of life,

Neither he examines it nor does he understand it.

 

His gesture and attitude is innocent, spiritual, cradled realm,

It is his baby insights; it is his looking for throne inside.

 

INNOCENT EYES

Innocent eyes

Behind the sunglass, looking

Through a train-window,

As mirror reflecting life,

Childhood eyes of dream delight.

 

 

 

CHILD IN LOVE

You have a beautiful gesture,
like little Krisha,
The man-boy
wandering the world,
Where childhood,
beauty, mind,
keep us cheering up
Moving round
your growing eternal light,
You are beloved man-child,
Singing like song
of Kshina’s flute

 

UTTARAKHAND FLOODS

মৃত্য়ুর মিছিল দেবতীর্থে

মেঘ ভেজ্ঞে জলস্রোত, পাহাড়ে ধ্বস

খরস্রোতা নদীতে জলোচ্ছ্বাস

সহ্সা ধ্বংসলীলা, মৃত্য়ু,

সবকিছু হারানোর কান্না

চারিদিকে নিঃশ্বব্দ যন্ত্রণা|

 

Death comes in the land of pilgrims

Clouds break into floods, landslides,

Swirling waters of rivers overflow banks

Devastation and death are instantaneous,

Crying for loss of everything,

Silent sorrow whispers all around.