Saturday, 20 May 2017

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. 

Thursday, 18 May 2017

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.


Monday, 15 May 2017

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. 




Wednesday, 10 May 2017

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:
Are you ready?
All melting asphalts, matchbox houses, artificial lakes,
Are falling gently with warring manifestos like
Burning trees waiting for termination. 


Monday, 8 May 2017

SUMMER




SUMMER 01

In the summer,
Commuters suspend journey
In necked 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. 


Thursday, 4 May 2017

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.


Monday, 24 April 2017

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 

Saturday, 15 April 2017

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

Friday, 14 April 2017

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. 

Thursday, 13 April 2017

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. 




Wednesday, 12 April 2017

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.




Tuesday, 14 March 2017

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.
 

Thursday, 16 February 2017

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.

Monday, 6 February 2017

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.


Saturday, 21 January 2017

CHILDHOOD WITH SCRIPT


Charley Harper Amadillo Atuffed Animals, image credit by Nod Koala, Bluebell Books Short Story Slam Week 61

Original Script of the poem in this format:

The poem:

Hope you are a sequence,
It is playing with a toy animal,
Just a different kind of mind of subconsciousness,
And you enter there as you are a child. 
You are at your playing probable and
You just say, “I will be a train driver.
And drive animals for realization.”
We find a dream in your childhood,
Beginning of life you just begin,
Just a different idea in perceived playing,
You dream, as if you swim pointing to maturity,
As you are a child. 
People standing before you see purpose,
Just they hold smart cell phones,
Take pictures of you for sharing all
In social web sites, and in this era
Profession and procession just move
Across the land of new generations
And paving of new passages of
Embankment, we still behold our tenderness,
Imaging that on new parabolic path, you do stand.  

Tuesday, 17 January 2017

WORDS AND BEES

Everyone understands everything,
Words are on everyone’s tongue,
Someone utters
Someone listens
Contradictions are everywhere,
None sees the whole tree,
Everyone sees only flowers,
None does know darker side of green,
Everyone sees deep green leaves,
And bees hovering over colorful flowers.

Everyone speaks about truth,
Gathering crowd mixes in broils,
Morning song, midnight song,
Are all dropping words, with tunes,
Those are not like that of bees,
But like pursuits of bout,
Coming from a land of puzzled whispers,
Clandestinely uttered by blood sellers,
Who are nearest to everyone, but

Everyone is blind to detect ill voyeurs. 

Saturday, 14 January 2017

AN EFFIGY TO BE HELD ALOFT

I can say anything I like,
I can promise anything I retrieve,
I can declare anything I envisage,
You are at liberty to examine me,                                             
No matter to me if you believe me.
No matter to me if you distrust me,
                                             
I do not mind if you discard me,
Your verdict upon me is conducive,
On this platform I do hold authority,
You can retain universality,
It may differ to my concept,
Contradiction is way of life.

Imagine I am like an effigy,
To guard golden paddy field,
I stand against corn theft or
To be eaten away by tricky birds,
I love birds, they may come around
My temple that I built for masses.

You crack a water layer, and
I put one glass barrier, and compress you
So as to not to get you involved in flares
That can burn vessels, and can disrupt my fair ride,
Because you cannot judge a swallowing black hole,
On the foreground where I am all in dominance,
I judge blotted whims and show all your plums.

How many of you can think of an act
That when expressed can tarnish minds of people,
Yet you cannot speak of it in loud voice
But I can use that table as doormat,
It is my way to act according to my will,                                  
So that any joke I make is vocabulary to the extreme,

I can create an effigy of my own
You have to worship it even if you improvise it,
Many people just think to give this effigy
To their next generations those who, in turn, be delighted
To know that history has turns, heroes are created on trial,

On capturing images of this effigy to be held aloft.