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. 

WATER AND FISH

When I began my life

At the age of eight, I found that

Fishes were caught in fishing net,

I still remember that day

When father came with some fishes

Those were alive

And were suffocating with grasp in open air,

I feel pain for them,

But as there was no food for us,

I had had to determine -

We had to eat them fried or cooked.

Now when I am retired person

I find there is one achievement living with

Some kind of dishonesty, and

That achievement provides us food in

Lieu of our work for achievements,

And we are at feet for mercy, as

Such quality designs for us to live with, as we are at no power

For struggling for life we deserve to have

Where honesty is for food and shelter,

It is rethinking and rethinking,

But we are plunked into that pond

That grows so many fishes,

We are not of that claim,

We are the cultivators,

We are the litigate claimant of the beneficiaries,

We are radically honest,

Yet we are deprived of,

And we are the origin of gaining of so many billionaires.

Yet we are underway. 

Car is resounding, we are dancing.