Monday, 17 October 2016
Wednesday, 12 October 2016
Friday, 7 October 2016
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.
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.
Wednesday, 5 October 2016
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
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.
Tuesday, 4 October 2016
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, 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.
Sunday, 2 October 2016
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.
Saturday, 1 October 2016
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.