Tuesday, 22 December 2015

YOUNGER SISTER (In commemoration of my younger sister)

The moment this embroidery Kantha stitch came before my eyes,
It comes to my mind it was once shown to me when my sister was alive.

So many years she passed away, my poor younger sister, I never
Forget her, and for so many divergent works, she performed,
Either in parent’s house, or in her husband’s house,
She became curators of all happenings around her, and we
are mare observers on her destiny, leaving behind one daughter
And one son, who are perhaps suffered harsh terms of living
With life, in their father’s home of loneliness. 

I get hurt at every event she suffers,
Introduced one lie, about her death,
I believe something; do not believe many things,
She is no more, but covers surroundings,
In my mind she is an idol of sorrow,
And for that I roam places of
Importance where she moved while alive,
Only seemingly feeling of missing links arrives,
I do not want to hear it, and leave the place,

This homemade Jessor Kantha embroidery makes me
Remember, catastrophically remember this world
Lonely and nostalgically evidence of my younger sister’s past
And present latitude of message of her pain stitched.

Tuesday, 8 December 2015


In autumn morning,
Village path, vibrant sunlight,
Dancing with mist,
Symphony everywhere,
Euphoria with time and rhyme

My mind goes with scene
Nature speaks with words and mists
Sunlight in delight,
Mind dances with freshness of

Rising sun and morning shine. 

Sunday, 6 December 2015


Vision unbound in harbor passage,  
Water responsive from dream spot,
Too vast for a voyage, we begin,  
Quest starts back from school days.

This December my attempt starts
From street, from rout chart enigmas
One way, crossing it by steamer
The river gets elongated fiesta in port.

A singing motion, envisioned catharsis,
Shrills of walking on mud, sediments,
Salty taste of water, are stages with
Thrills and penance, vision is charm.

On the journey, we reach nearer to
Deep whims and sacrifice of existence,
Our foot prints and home are presents,
All attempts in reality carry our dream.


Tuesday, 1 December 2015


Night, fog and lens,
River, greens, light, coolness,



White morning mist cuffs
Hands of nature’s cycle,
Harvesting time,
Red sun peeps on paddy field,

Emptiness filled with love.