LOVE FOR THE NEW YEAR 2017

She spends time in making herself softer

In every move and breathing by learning,

Transforming, perfecting, controlling self,

Through coverage of web idols, blushing

Her beautiful, in sweet lips, in soft voice,

To be more beautiful, more attractive,

Responding to silence, to fill up space

With desire, the nature has created it

Through its charms and warmth,

She thinks she is not wrong on her grace.

She finds a listener many years walking

On snow, across a binding stretch, and

He can record all in dreaming, desiring,

Yet fails to display everything matching to

Her wishes, portraying as distant person,

Although having lovely expression, as

Chatting on social webs-sites does not imprint

Walking along virtual space over real stream,

Making her determined to walk along

For more interactions in the New Year sunlight. 

DISPOSABLE MAN

My living standard is deteriorated gradually,

All favorite usable entities like electricity, internet, etc.

Are becoming costlier day by day and

I have to drop all of them from my usage

To go back to the land of marooned compostable,

I see that some people are enjoying them desperately.

Tricky measure comes forward to think about it,

So that I may engage whole time with this trick,

Edibles like fish, pork, mutton, chicken, vegetable,

As if, those are getting compostable, to me, in price tag,

As if I am not washable person, preserved to be disposable,

I see that some people are enjoying them desperately.

Am I one oversized man? Am I one odd man in intricacies?

Terrible situation over my head to look into

I have done nothing yet my path is complicated,

Neither a middleman, nor a grouping man,

Nor throng into violent species, yet I am treated

As disposable in this world of equal sharing resources.

My eyes get wide when I hear someone takes cake

With hot coffee, lunch with fish fingers, hot mutton curry,

I then open my window and see I have had once of

These edibles, my income was low with low price index,

Now I turn to bones, with low income, with high price index,

Only imagination, I live, someone exists lower to my income.

On otherness reality, I live; garbage plastic pickers are also living,

Without dole, without home, without mantra, only on struggling.

Beautiful earth, motherland, expectation, reluctance, swirling

Around every life, I am not so lucky to enjoy natural things,

Only walking through clouds, forget to observe inner beauty,

Deep breathing exults over burning smoke, satire to creativity.

LOVELY DECEMBER

This morning, flowers make room for merriment,

No glass filter tantalizes dream in this moment,

Everyone thinks of love, pleasing guideline prevails,

No need of wailing, we try to clean up blot-entails.

Paddy corn grows golden, ripened for harvesting,

Words for humane values, erasing differences within,

Taking lovely December to dismantle worrisome masks,

You know what humane canvas looks like, in Merry Christmas.

Pous Utsava, a dream festival of Bengal comes every year

In VISVA BHARATI, a central university campus,

Founded by Nobel Laureate Rabindranath Tagore,

A colorful rural carnival blazons with multicultural ambiance.

How the earth takes blisters around its surface,

Without falling apart from its rotational gravity,

It can walk with petroleum burns, disastrous spots

Those are once hurling so many volcanoes from origin,

Atmosphere being bottom of carbon dioxide in the sun,

Blue becomes abysmal of illogical land space of tantrum,

Every time we come near extinction, yet we attend

The source of energetic breathing, and accumulate life span.  

Time gathers no dust; dream does not hold self-destruction,

We learn weeping by birth; the sun makes us enigmatic, to

Know the truth, even if we are maligned by our own faults,

We learn walking from where center of gravity teaches us balancing.   

LOVING ATTITUDE

I cannot stand so high, after

Waking up in every morning,

In dream or in open eyes,

In gravity, in sunlight,

Like this coconut tree

As if it is coming from

Different planet in sense

That it always opens leaves

Like an umbrella, celestial rescuer,

Paying nothing to masters of locality.

Words, sand particles, mists -

All are like wavering systems

Around our dormitory, where

Buying and selling need voice

Of punctuality, errorless depiction,

For those who are not concern

With time, life, steadiness while walking.

I cannot touch your head,

Cannot meet your eyes,

Cannot adjust with your height,

It is like semblance of settling

With one integration having with us

In the nature of earth’s possession,

I have to learn how to brewing up

In silent loving attitude, standing alone.

BELIEF OF LOVE

This shadowy pond, with water glass in mist of long years,

For me, image of two fishes reminds golden time of the past,

One dancing around other one, becoming of touching wave,

Sign of love, now sigh of poor mind that bears emptiness,

Over woes of reminiscence towards corner of my heart,

Blue hue picture with closed episode, endless search in bosom.

Last morning one bird came in there guided by UFO for surfing

On water, in the universe of loving zone, yet to know it,

I just make one thwarting mistake by pelting pebbles in wave,

Strong enough for waves not to hold that bird’s chirping of

Its loving bosom, it did not create pride to acquire its heart,

Paradise and justice are not stony pebbles in belief of love.   

FAKE LOVE

While the bird sits in hazards beside the pond water,

I forget to take it as a real bird, and it seems to me

it is a fake or toy bird. And I look at it if it can bring

my loved one amidst so many well conversed minds around

the hilarious sediments, hard to find real one.

I cannot be lucky one to have one such real loving

and colorful bird to appear in my defense to save me being falling

from lost love that I am pertaining so many years to live in,

yet to feel it in my body and mind. It is like ominous jolt in my life.

And I am living so many years in fruitless sincerity of my loved one

who is now a pilgrimage to become sediment of nothingness,

can easily discard me as abandoned one.

Even I cannot detect my faults in light of my long-term loved eyes.

                           

Still pond-water gathers weeds; its vicinity gathers garbage.

This unknown bird sitting coolly there surely has some visions

for next flying with love that may not suit me.

Oh lo and behold, exigencies sometimes required in dream. 

REMEMBERING THE PAST

Time comes when persons do not learn much about universe, and start speaking much about it in the public place. If this image makes me to speak about the garden, I say one miracle of life that began wedding corona thirty five years ago while standing in this grove which is like Markarian 335. The stem dreams, droops, from ground to the sky.

Time comes when persons do not know about life and hardship, and start preaching, sentencing and remodeling everything in tandem. And I remember the time when I began my first life in the act of gardening, an easy greenery dream, preparing for the sun, the moon and seasons to live in.  Maybe I dreamed that time the courage to turn everything in my favor with my partner. The garden then was once mirror of life and unknowable events.

Time comes when persons do not know about walking on air, and start walking like rose petals swinging into air and travelling into sky’s skirmishes. Yellow leaves just bent to the earth with eventuality to mingle with crust that is final with terminal name. Now it is time to leave strangeness of this garden, when new stem starts to shoot transcription into light of the sky, violently needed for another journey. You cannot hear the sound the spiraling of earth, the music and the emancipation.

Winter morning

Dazzling stem of tender leave,

Emblazoned sky.

Short story slam week 57: MARKETING PLAZA

          Image Credit: Megan Sherwood

City Park, Hyland Park, South City Mall, Big Bazar,

Debit card, Credit card, scratch, payment cleared,

Even we can buy sand, bricks, in packet form,

Injection, pregnancy shot, cold storage, cold customers,

In the middle of hall elevator escalator lift, glass show cases,

Children are playing, mystery white packs, everyone buzzed,

Security no needs to think about, all provisions are secured,

Security officer fired, he proposes allotment of funds, rejected.

Black throat becomes red, viruses hitting internet,

Account quashed, no second choice, empty, top echelons

Sprint over stored provisions, easy to accumulate, walk on

Shoulders of own extra index, commons cannot think about,

Commons hold hands of children, press the button, in fear,

If mosquito bites little ones and they fall sick, treatment a far cry. 

Living is free, in fundamental and common feeling,

Happiness or sorrow does not know pretension,

Beloved ones or proclaimed leaders do not create

The sun-rise and the sun-set, ripple on water,

Flowing of wind, and we only watch and read

After effect of an event, surface and bottom distinct.

Sometimes we drop our will, and mingle into instinct,

And try to leave jungle of computer reading,

To form an era of comfortable and funny bending

With those which are lots of good policies and plight,

In the nature and thereby discover inner delight,

Within periphery of bound and unbound,

Inside and outside of all happenings, by removing

Splinters and secrets of war-habits, over shadow

Of formal trajectory of fighting feathers in the realm,  

And we try to think society is not mad man’s dream.

Wild joy within bricks, computers, malls, media,

And marketing is not tomorrow’s refreshment,

We grew in the wind that can bear us like almighty.

Yielding image is speech of life, sharing honor of living.

FEATHERS OF LIGHT

Home, yard, street, shadow,

Illusion, silent words of the earth

Glimmering soul.  

Roots, tree, fencing,

Corridor of love and hope,  

Reflections of life. 

 

The moment I sit there -

Light, night, nature do all things

Thematic shower,

Lines of light stimulates

Reflation, images, solidarity

With creation of dancing reality,

Celestial creativity,

Divine functionality,

Illuminating propriety,

Prevailing sanctity,

No passport to travel

In its natural blogging,

But tangential touch

Elegant boundary,

Submissive landing,

- All take me to a key land

Where money, honey, crony tide

Do not occur, and image of imagination

Has created a paramount standing

Of sovereignty, beauty, soothing

Merriment, we ignore it so long.

If we slow down light’s moving feathers,

If we cease to work and swallow jewels of colors,

We will lose trust of feather’s gleam and hope.

Short story slam week 56: PASSPORT

Image Credit: Feng Zhao

Ajodhya Hills, Purulia and Gate of India, Mumbai I travelled by bus and train, two interesting places of the land that needs no passport. Unless an incident does occur in my computer, unless imagination can figure out a password for an entry, I cannot find out Silicon Valley, I cannot see debate on electoral campaign between Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump. Dust from battle ground does not stuck on my face, to look nicer; because I go to Egypt for learning how to bash my face, either in summer or to be wrinkle free in winter glaciers. With this password, I go to the places where none plucks bones for human usage, and I find a composer of music and patience.

Not more to acquire,

Not less to create,

Not spreadsheet to calculate, 

Present moves to infinity,

Everything on time.  

MYSTIC FLOWERS

Days before, these flowers were vivid in lens.

They were bright and enjoyable, mind were

Delighted with the gift of nature, and then

I can resolve a handful of asymmetric burdens.

And see they are now hesitant to give pictures,

As I cannot give any assurance for their demands,

And they are prominent for someone with lens,

That turns to be faithful pushing buttons for gains.

HALLOWEEN, BHUT CHATURDASI, DIWALI, KALIPUJO

AbovepPhoto from http://bluebellbooks.blogspot.in/2016/10/short-story-slam-week-55-writing-prompt.html

Children, Halloween, pumpkins decorated as if having teeth,

With candy and candles, happiness after giving treats, trick-o-treat,

14 clay oil lamps, Bhut Chaturdasi, Haunted house cleaned,

14 leafy green vegetables, complete neatness, great feast,

Clay lamps, candles, Diwali, a cleaned house in realm of lights

To make sure path for dispelling of darkness and ignorance,

New moon night, Kalipujo, worshiping of angry Goddess Kali,

She killed dacoits, demon Raktabeej, whose blood gives birth

To another demon when touched with ground, and he conquered

Three universes - the heaven, the world and the hell – and

She saves all the universes with her motherly loving secrets.

Kids’ celebration is kids’ world of refreshment. Adults’ celebrating world fumes in boredom in a house that is left alone with drops of blood.   

We do not need plastic body. Real grapes are not sour. I am lovely as you are lovely to me. Fake vignette cannot be picture of disarming someone. Grass level and atmosphere have many spectrum of heat waves intertwined, and common is water vapor that needs coolness for birth and rebirth of showering of well-being stratum.

ABOUT ASIM KUMAR PAUL

ABOUT ASIM KUMAR PAUL: Bio-data of Asim Kumar Paul

TANKA

Autumn rain, splashed,

A lonely flower blooms

In bush and gets wet.

I am convinced let it be

Appealing to bees, flushing.  

SOLITUDE

SOLITUDE

Ambiance of fog, destination of torque,

who does live here, who does not,

revealed season of freedom, free sort

ironic fate, marching like profet, promt,

dancing water, cool, no wave it treads,

Solitude is one which performs peeling. 

BAUL SONG OF BENGAL

It is the Baul song that gets you in a momentum,

With vibration of life after answers to questions of watery path

With philosophical praise, taking these people in uniform

To live a life that is different from our living attitude,

Cool they are, simple they are, not sycophant,

Yet full of vigor, full voice of rhythms, time and progression

Are in movement of their life’s significance,

Dancing floor is not always stage, it most of time is ground,

They shows how they move in every occasion of regrets,

And raise and understand the downward and upward of storm,

With a tune of flexible and relatively stable footprint they want

To establish amid inclined blood soaking hunger, the words

Of their voices make invitation to upgrade essential motivation

While dancing in contrast senses of life with essence of alleviation

For the wind to create a life that bears no smoke but full of delights.  

TRINAYANI DEBI DURGA (Three eyed Goddess Durga)

That day I was present in Kumartuli

And the perfection idol artisans do their best.

They make delight in every idol of Devi Durga

Her third eye lashes calm instead of whip,

It is her dream world that makes us to think

And rethink about narrowness to grow wide

To find delight amidst pieces of blurred insights,

Stubbornness cannot be final attraction.

At present, entire feeling is stretched to anxiety,

We want to hear echo at every edge of life,

That seems to be blinded, coerced to pain

And shame, as if we are at prey to demons’  

Whip and passage of life is not translucent,

And we are in search of delight in secrets

Of passage of source of realization of

Life’s present, past, future identity of marveling will.

No mimic we want to fabricate in our superior dream.

ODES OF LOVE

Flying in drizzles,

You generate continuum.

You are on the move.

You are on search

Of one habitat,

Other than this one,

You can return

Against storm,

And you can dwell here.

It will be sensible.

It will be sustainable.

Fishes are in the lake,

You can eat a smaller fish.

You can sleep here,

With your neighbors

Who are cordial,

And can assist you

To write odes of love. 

CLOUD ON THE ROAD

Now we are worry about everything, we are

Paving into an eventful world, shaken by videos

Taken from a roof-top, showing we are at

The verge of getting spared to cracked objects,

Getting lost into the air, before we know it,

Birds cannot prove out what it is that makes

Us tensed to ride upon phosphorus tandem,

And one sycophant just doubts praise, in that

Someone spreads cloud smoke over the road.

We have to bear a test how we swing in torture,

Looting and selling expand to make us vaporize.

Yet we have to move and move for eagerness,

More and more doors we need to open

And cloud just washes away dust from our way

So as to making us not cracked from back,

A mirror is placed for our coming into being.

RIVERBED

Riverbed, yes, sand and water,

Footsteps are not blistered over there,

Natural layer just makes it a viewable grace,

Over blocked smolder by water,

Sand layer makes self-grand resolution,

None walks in, from banks of the river, to

Experience things that sand can do,

Still none is there for lobbing for a tour,

For an advance to ease travelers’ boon,

For those who can afford price to arrive first,

And at a distance, a bridge is there as pivotal

Passage, from where people can move and

See the beauty of this sand island, a chance

For everyone, with grace of perfect equality. 

Short story slam week 54: Rainbow Fish

            Rainbow Fish by Marcus Pfister

One day a colored fish flushed its wings

And asked me if I could enjoy freedom

Beneath the blue sky and in open vast air,

Just I made accounts of scraps of death tolls

On this earth and dust could be glorying

Those carcasses and I said amid gloaming

Sun-rays, I want to live with a little boy,

Who always thin, caught in cough and cold,

But fickle parents lived in another sphere,

And my old age and ailments cannot change

This account for living for betterment

And this little boy just carried letters of

Colored dreams and of peaceful heights

Of that world, that he never had in

Earth’s yearning, unless time can change

The written and rubble episodes of whispers

Of blood-soaked crescents, and at this time

I am searching a savior for the boy.

Days are not resemblance of decaying.