HAIKU

Night, fog and lens,

River, greens, light, coolness,

Civilization.

THE SUBARNAREKHA

Water, it is sometimes reflective, sometimes it is destructive,

None of its nature does care for living, it moves with freedom,

While flowing in a river, or in water pipes, for human use, and

Life is still here, domiciled, or imagined staying of solvency.

In my last tour, you just carry sun-rays in your reflective swirls,

Boulder-road is built, silent wave thread, pedestrians moving

Alongside vehicles, river bed works as platform for road,

Water not making whirlpool, water makes whole decision for

Human being, it does not tilt basins, or break shore, peaceful,

In my today’s tour, you have built a chasing universe, stresses

Within water drive, along past-present asymmetry, and

It is always not to be seen, it is yours pattern, not in

Accordance with fanciful, radial pattern, and there is

A chiral revelation of water molecules, central growth,

It repeats in every rainy season, and it becomes more

Excited when water released from dams, to protect them,

Water, it is your transportation, I do not mix it with legend,

And the river does not leave from here; it does not make fossils,

Wave after wave, it transverses life, carrying certain

Capability to move us for living and doing something exciting

DREAM

At the time of busy hours

Every launch takes crowd

From random walks of life

Till busy corridor gets empty

Or thin crowd overboard.

The launch has that capacity

Simply for larger role that plays.

Distance is comparable to

Combining molecules those make

Cell-formation within phase to phase

Preferences, altogether we all behave,

As if drowned zeal to surface dream.

We all float from dream-bank

Where lies dream-station, waiting and

Recomposing our voyage to other bank

Across the river that portrays flowing of

Mystery of working silence on the horizon

Being it the great assimilation, moving is

Always greater than rehearsed appearance.

A PHOTO AND A POEM

Here is a photo and a poem

THE SUBARNAREKHA

THIS ROAD

This road across the river bed

Makes me remember

Time has passage

For livelihood

For home

With sequence of events

And this river

Turns into a stream,

Again in rainy season

It turns to a monster river.

I stand at one bank and other bank

Is visible as if it is

Parallel line far away

With pillars being constructed

For a long concrete bridge

Along breadth of the river

All objects and all shadows

Just make matter motto:

Cross the river, and reduced the distance

For journey we pertain everyday

For living in busy sprain

We are facing daily like

Nailing a wooden block                                       

For building a make- shift bridge

We are walking on time and again.

The Subarnarekha stays with life and time. 

THE RIVER, SUBARNAREKHA

In one winter morning this year,

I stand upon a make-shift wooden bridge

Upon the flowing of the river, Subarnarekha,

Sunlight sparkling on waters

Light-bubbles dancing,

Looping and pulling time and tide alongside.

Moving fast with bouncing waves,

Glittering episode of life just survives with joy

Sharing and glowing with great integration.

I come here sixty years later

Of my childhood, and that time I stood here,

Played with water and sand,

And childhood memories do not mess

With present happenings, all are going

With anchor and shore,

With distance and dream,

The river Subarnarekha flowing with gleam. 

Note: This poem is written in celebrating Thursday poets Rally, Five Year Anniversary ,  Week 79, January 14 - 27, 2015, i.e. January 14, 2010 -January 14, 2015.

HAIKU

Shadow of a bridge

River bed filled with sand

Thin water flowing

I HAVE TO CARRY SANDBAGS

I have to walk on a forlorn street,

My way passes by a sand filled riverside bungalow,

Where live some people with immunity,

Their field for walking is matted with green grass

And controls and measures altogether,

I cannot announce my anger in a voice,

As the wheel of interference is strong and punitive,

Victory is theirs; my anger is a lost boat in the ordeal,

Fortune comes with their dreams, I am the dry leave

To fall upon the river, they make whims and dance

With sound of whistles those are flash news,

I am the onlooker in a circus show, and they are creator

For wind in the firmament of enjoying, and I am flown,

And sandwiched through their business and green houses

With running cars I cannot even ride or hire one.

I am abandoned in a sand hill cleft,

I can only whisper, knowing I have to carry sandbags. 

BABY’S EYES DELIVERING SOMETHING

Leaning on a train-window the baby looks on river flowing,

Its water is always muddy in raining tease,

 

Small waves, muddy water flowing, sunlight is not in full color,

The baby losses curiosity to see reflective derives.

 

His eyes pick curiosity, looking for sunlight,

It is baby’s bad luck not to find magic,

 

Curiosity travels into his eyes to see the New River Bridge,

Balancing is a rose test of accuracy.

 

The baby looks forward how long river’s wide stream can

Hold silence, when flood situation fills the air.

 

As the river flows with its body towards seashore to mingle with

Great course of oceanic mystery,

 

The baby does not think it, yet he looks forward for the wave

That the river does create its speed inside.

 

The baby is in balancing mood not finding the spheres of life,

Neither he examines it nor does he understand it.

 

His gesture and attitude is innocent, spiritual, cradled realm,

It is his baby insights; it is his looking for throne inside.