AWAKE IN THE MORNING OF KALI PUJA

Birds chirp in the morning,

Awake to hear drum beats

To greet Kalipuja, surrounded

By pleasing sound with tune

Of courage of early morning,

Birds flock around upon a cord,

Their voice opens treasure of

Hope and wisdom to connect

Our heart with Mother Kali’s blessings,

Goddess of divinity, protecting us

With Jaba flower dancing in

The morning delight, whispering

For enthralls to call us all

To live in Heavenly earth with

Peaceful movement, moment of

Journey for prayer, comfortably. 

WATER WAVE

Bluebell Books Twitter Club!: short story slam week 76, 11/2/2017---11/19/2017, Humor, Poetry form, and Lots of Laughter

WATER WAVE

Water runs in river of flowing gravity. It forms little waves; those do not put us at risk, and a thin wish runs behind to form the age of creation. It is making journey since early morning upon the earth, and the sky to be happy, trees to be green, civilization to be happy with crops, and reeling under shadow of soft sunlight becomes one mode of making life graceful and whole of the world turns to be the messenger of peace, and breathing becomes easy to open mind to every man and woman to locate where the life is easy to look through window of solvency, to listen sound of breathing and love. All hope will rise to accommodate wild rabbit to roam around field to eat grass, and no pirate will pursue chase to share grass, but modesty will engrave the world with sculpture of deepest blue of the mind that carries of essence of life, and no sword will cut the butter for others’ happiness. And the world look up for another version of the earth to be created in the miracle of own creation and otherness of  livelihood. 

-

GODDESS KALI

GODDESS KALI

With slain sculls in hand, dry blood soaked,

She stands, and the grief seems end in glee,

She wonders if she knows enough in this land,

To be bold, at the edge of eliminating evils,

A wind of defeating all waring dacoits out of trolls,

It brings October night cool upon her shoulders.

Lord Shiva lies calm beneath her, a sail from sea

Resembling peace around the world, on the turf.

A patch of many evils fallen from mind’s inside

That flows beneath reality, arrogant in red eyes,

Her countering red eyes places a balanced wind,

To be the way on the track of normal stream,

To defeat anxiety, to establish forgiveness and

Peace, giving all the way to introduce seamless stride, 

Like the sage of healing spirit, inside dust-free mist. 

PAIN

As if rib-cage –

perceived pain-drops pouring in –

because enough pain makes a pool,

with rain-drops.

Inside remote of heart, the blue

steps in with its breathing, and

forgets to rebel, as if it is locked

inside green edge over cold wind.

Fruits do not get maturity,

in some weighing scale,

images quieted by mind’s mirror.

Clouds wandering far below.

PROGRAMS AND EVENTS

Grown from the perceptible loving flow,

Grown from the teary passage over the bridge,

Open with the loving children dream ground,

Everyone drives with hope and passion,

In our minds and eyes for earthly justice,

Through the fear and tears of catastrophe,

Sometimes we are scared, sometimes

We are benefited with style of silver sun.

Time creates events. She creates one event after reading her heart with her motherly feeling, because she lost her child in an accident. It is time of reviewing of loving bond. It is destiny of changing events. Some events cannot be frozen, because moving like birds always is everything as none wants to be ended. and there are programs when students gather to sing for a cause in searching of living branches of memories along the way of collective symmetry in the nature, like, the sun, the earth, the moon fall in the line of this rotation, in silence, to form eclipse of the moon, even in a rainy night with hovering clouds around the moon, to open one event with one mystery key, a message with the nature towards opening of one fine morning with sweet chirping of birds.  

LITTLE GRANDSON IS HER BREATHING

I do not tell of myself
I have so many questions,
“Are you married?”
“How old are you?”
“Have you children?”

My answers are all vague
because I cannot sing for life,
and I am lost one in love and sense,
from teen age and to my matured age
because they all betray of my life,


“ No worry, just I want to love
someone who feels to be silent
but who wants to fill mind of woman
who deserves to be his own,
and she said
-”I respect your privacy,
I live in USA, OR USSR, OR TUNISIA,
and I have two children
who are my love and hope
this will be yours too,
and here is something you can share
and me also. because love is ageless
and review is negative prorogation all time.
and I love you.”

Her grandson is her life and breathing.

That day all conversations ended.

POWER OF WORDS

A poet is very happy

When someone smiles with happiness

Holding the poet’s book of poetry,

Getting denied to sharing a dais,

During summer release of poetry books

Of poets arrived from different places of country,

At a venue, where he was also present,

His poems are not like poems of their choice,

No miracle is done in words,

All his moves are like ghost travels,

Shadows of termination,

Registration fees, the license of performing

On the dais, real advantage for anyone,

That he could not bound to acquire field,

And he strolls around the dais,

As if he walks with backward twist.

He does not venture to go forward,

And he returns home with timid gestures.

Our money relations,

Our poetry revelations

Have little difference in evolution.

If power of word fails to get living performance,

There is none to support life,

Beneath the silent evaluation of living. 

SUMMER

SUMMER

Cool morning,

Summer sun,

Brown flower greets banana green,

Birth has roots down on the earth,

In the nature, none can obscure the sun,

Birth as a gift that travels like light,

With records of name, address, story,

No need to stop at doorsteps of ashes,

Because, scorching sunrays burn only

Pirate amoeba, infected, to immaculate a body,

Incidents flow like noun, across a sentence, 

With subject and predicate, spine in a body, 
So many bodies cannot travel on wings of light
And fall on the ground and are dispersed into two - 
Exorcism and hymns of spirits - different forms of
The first born, it brings bodies arranged in 

Hell and heaven, drifting away from origin,

Veiled attempt to hell, inward knowing

To heaven, and it makes morning sun scale gaze,

Language gets momentum, and it is noon when

All tests are done to burn stained attempts.

We owe longing,  and thereby whole essay so formed

Feeds contention, conclusion, far away

From ashes, as our eyes condemn burning

Of dreams, even if land becomes infertile,

That the nature suspects it cannot be. 

OLD AGE BURNS

“You are old; your arguments are not always justified,

A simple thing a child can do, you do not, please do not try.”

Different types of points, causes of criticism, honky sledge,

Hewing consequence, neglected dictum, old drapes, every day,

Lack of sunlight, dark threshold, living in angry spoofing,

Blowing wind through aged bones, no whispering, torn melody,

All good things snatched, a way formatted for relief from old turf,

Shouting, cleaver challenges, looking at airplanes is old-age dream.

TRIBUTE TO RENOWNED PAINTER DWIJEN GUPTA

I have last met with

Painter and artist Dwijen Gupta, when

He was suffering from Parkinson’s disease, and

Was honored and felicitated on 11.04.2017 by

Parkinson’s disease Patient’s Welfare Society, Kolkata.

Because art and poetry for aesthetic purpose

Are beauty in creative world, and

I was acquainted with him since 2005,

Because all my first three poetry books

Have cover layouts with art works of two

Renowned artists, Rabin Mondal and

Bijan Chowdhuri, and by the time I learnt

Designing from his methods of layout.   

Mr. Gupta passed away on 15.05.2017.

I first came to know it from artist 

Karunamoy Sur's post in Facebook.

My poetry brochure THE SIEGE (April, 2017)

Wherein three photos of his paintings was printed

Along with my poems, was virtually released

To honor the contemporary painter Dwijen Gupta

Who will remain as a smart creator and concentric to

Indian art work of his time and this era.

My humble honor to this legendary painter,

Dwijen  Gupta.

Amidst his own creations, he is still alive with an identity.

All eyes will be delighted first on his creations and paintings,

Marvel at tones of colors and imagination from heart of feelings. 
His works have foresight, sequences, thinking beyond at sight,
By bright rhetoric, leaving viewers fastened with everything
In the knowing world, within fair and silent story he told.
As if they listen to him, try to know his dream and aspiration,
The whole of flight he created, by hand with brush and colors. 

RIPPLE OF A SUMMER DAY IN KOLKATA EM BYPASS

After visiting my attending eye doctor for retinal ailments,

My journey begins through spectacular EM Bypass,

Some portion of the way under the construction,

Some portion of the way created to multiple circular flyovers,

Metro rail, high rise architectural elegance,

One step each towards vision and beauty,

Striding with gentle quoting from a love poem,

As if my voice raises to utter some lines

With sights of my eyes around the summer May,

As if my eyes are tucked into magic landscape,

Where water bodies do not leave, but designed carefully,

Glimpses, strangeness falls ahead of our great

Grand-mothers’ old days, when it was only jungle,

Land owners’ hands and feet are still seems to be expelled,

The sun reveals its melting effect.

The asphalt road turns hot.

Commuters are feeling hot and sweating,

Inside crowded bass, passers-by feeling

Warm on radiation of heated road,

As if the road says to all in question

“Why you do not have everything to feel cool.

When you are advancing for a new world,

When you sign everything for your newness,

Why do you feel annoyed, tired, irritated?”

The nature does not know who you are

But it does know you are one of its partners,

Distortion of any kind would tell a story of robbery,

The nature knows what it knows, we do not instead.

Prof. Stephen Hawking once said:

Humans must leave Earth in 100 years to survive.

Are you ready?

All melting asphalts, matchbox houses, artificial lakes,

Are falling gently with warring manifestos like

Burning trees waiting for termination. 

SUMMER

SUMMER 01

In the summer,

Commuters suspend journey

In nacked sun-rays,

Burning sensation

On the face,

Body feels irritation

Water dried out,

A lazy and drowsiness

Feeling foments,

While walking

Under heat wave.

A few passersby,  

Road looks deserted,

Black pitch heated

Burns shoe,

Feet feel burning sensation,

Whispers of the green

A rest for a little time

Under the cool shadow,

It nourishes body

For another walk

Just to reach home

Quickly. 

SUMMER 02

Summer in its roughness

With heat wave of sun-rays

Sets up

Stench of sweating

To commuters

And they move

To complete work

Destined to their way

In mid-noon song.

Greens point to flowers

For something,

Life is there

At the tips of every

Odds of life, beauty honored. 

CREATIVE SUMMER

The river is at its worst time,

No water, only sand and concrete bridge,

Summer is the damper, undelivered,

It never pays passengers so throttling

With water, villagers sitting under

Tree shadow, scorching sun-rays,

People of the earth beg water,

Centrifugal water resources drops,

Mother earth says, “No, No, No,

Water is my efficiency, wait a bit,

Wild things cannot go, water needs flowing,

Wasteful usage makes everything dry.”

No question of residual water flowing,

Mother earth cannot end up

In back-flowing, motivates raising and

Flowing of water from the source of

Load treatment we do not know about,

The sky is not clearly blue, clouds forming,

Alarm is raised, Kalbaisakhi arrives,

Surrounds everything with storm and rain,

Then pillars of bridge hide under water,

Summer delivers creative power, with greens,

Natural sensing creates survival notes

Like music that removes wild things out.

POETRY AND MONEY

Great realization on the day of 23rd April 2017 

     

      1.      Poetry = Poetry

      2.      Poetry + Poetry= Poetry

      3.      Money is a subset of society,
      And Poetry is three-dimensional space in society, 

            Money is not equal to Poetry

    

      4.      Money + Poetry = Poetry

      5.      If Money = Propagation of Poetry, then Money = Poetry 

My poems at Asian Signature Journal (ISSN NO: 2456-1584).

I feel honored and humbled to be featured as a 'Contemporary Asian Poet' in the 4th vol, No 1 (April 2017) of the prestigious Asian Signature Journal (ISSN NO: 2456-1584). 

                           Asim Kumar Paul | Asian Signature

THE SUN AND THE FLOWER AND LOVING CASTLES

These red flowers bloom with the sun’s burning rage,

They remain alive tucked within periphery of greens,

It brings me to think glimpses of events of last year,

Here is celebration of New Year in firmament of cheers,

Beneath are the warring and surviving zeal with landscape.

Spring with dry meadow, hot crust of the earth makes

Every green dry, yet life is not killed, two pigeons, together,

Move around meadow, and pick corn into hedge and grass,

Those hide corns strewn over dry land of cultivation,

With amorous stories those are still figuring out like

Magnets around crystalline wetness, waiting for rain in its

Season, two birds set off one sentiment of soft spring.

Para-metrical elongation creates labor that blooms

The eccentric pasture for living and connoisseur of loving,

When beautiful footsteps move to cross the land

For home that is not abettor of leaving, but waiting for

Answer from her, that she may try to bridge loving castles.

Shadow, grass blades and tree-trunk support walking through. 

Paintings and Poetry with painter Dwijen Gupta who is now a PARKINSON’S DISEASE PATIENT , and poems by Asim Kumar Paul

 When I have gone to Painter Dwijen Gupta’s office at CIT ROAD, Kolkata on 05.04.2017 to give him the 1st copy of the poetry brochure THE SIEGE (first delivered to me by the printing press as off-print copies) containing 3 paintings by Mr. Gupta and 3 poems by me on them, to honor him, I came to learn that Mr. Gupta is a PARKINSON’S DISEASE PATIENT , and I got hurt and returned, and afterwards I am invited to attend the exhibition, organized by PARKINSON’S DISEASE PATIENT’S WELFARE SOCIETY, KOLKATA totally on paintings of Mr Dwijen Gupta. 

WHISPERS OF LOVE

1

There is whisper of love in air,

An opening of real longing

From heart of a searching mind,

To find and receive resonance,

From another soul of intimate one,

Perhaps your name is there

To make reasons with you in love.

2

Rumors are belligerent aspects of life.

And moving into invitation to stride,

Over logical feeling and decoding an event,

To walk on a path of reality,

Through body and mind, brings easy mobility,

Like sweet breeze of musical brain,

To receive instructions for love and to be loved.

GREY HAIR

Everyone thinks 
I am burden of everyone
I am conduit of nothingness
My grey hair, pinched skin, not their choice,
I am morbid rostrum in their eyes, 
I cannot support their lineage,
I cannot hold their esteem,
As if I am an opulent moratorium,
I am like a feeble water melon,
It can be easily broken
And be thrown out of their wits,
And some rotten parts cannot be put
Into an aluminum foil to parcel
For their pleasure and consumption,
I am not their Rupees stores, 
I am shards, no dream within. 

In me they find frustrating evolution. 
Care for life has different meaning to them, 
I cannot put will in them,
They do not make much of my love
What I wish and what I desire,
I only put poor show for their vigor. 

Short story slam week 63: VALENTINE’S DAY

Picture Credit: Bluebell Books Twitter Club-Jay Friedenberg's haiku cover image  

# 1

Winter, a piano,

She plays it, like a little girl,

Brave smiling.

# 2

Her mind, a coin,

It drops tune on the keyboard,

Listening, talking.

# 3

She is in herself,

Music of flying together,

Glinted in loving tale.

PILGRIMS AT TARA MA TEMPLE

Went up to these stairs for acknowledging woman-power,  

Went for praying to walk for life, as it is not easy going,

Went for needs to acquire peace, yet not achieved by own deeds,

Went to know the future for which I have paid, yet darkness exists,

Went to see smiling in children’s eyes, near relations denouncing,

Went to forget that neighbors are pinching, armed guards preventing,

Walking with flowers and offerings in a basket is orange zeal, twittering.