Wednesday, 22 July 2015

I DON’T DO ANYTHING




I don’t do review
Because
The flower blooms
Contrary to
My wishes.

I don’t react,
As it is time
For its blooming
Neither have I chosen
To walk on its way,
Nor have I bothered
Of its existence,

I don’t do anything
Because
My wishes can’t destroy
The law of nature
The song of life. 

EVERY NIGHT BECOMES NIGHTMARE TO ME.



Every attempt in life has been destroyed by faulty decision,
Plans denied by nearest and dearest ones, as if all my attempts
Are not fit to the whims of their mindwear, those need to
Pass through their mentor section that also vagabonds do
Things of semi-notorious means of waving hands of acting
In more cramping and wired way to life performance they
Do act as their best way of thinking and impacting like
Fireflies splintering short life dancing around that fire,
Burning alongside, even though they has passed through
University education, yet they are galvanized to thinking  
Imperfect monitoring, making cracks in my whole plan,
And lastly I have to abandon it on ground that I am the fool.  

Indefinite way of other meaning of spending time with
Failed attempts like enzyme of rotten mangoes, acting
With abandoned technique, once, more than once
They travel like dignified creatures upon the earth,
Those are wonders and winners of their act, without
Having training from renowned thinkers, and denying them
Instead, taking no measure to refresh their knowledge
They travel with elated attitude upholding all acts
They perform as their victory over old fools who are
Nothing but breathless setting of confusion and illusion,
They very easily drop out old values like spilled water
That was once their life line, and they forget it deliberately.

Every night is nightmare to me; I have to swim over this ridiculous pond,
With the hope that green is there, bird is there, home is there.




Saturday, 18 July 2015

FLYING IN THE SKY



Airplane has no dream; it can fly like a bird,
It has style, it has machine,
Man creates machine, and flies in it.
It is visible as man thinks it has that home,
Because man has dream to have picture
Of that flying in the sky, children express
Joy seeing it in the sky and photographers
Take snap of it, for advertisement and
For showing contest in their skill and beauty
How to have something to love and enjoy
Over the boardroom of our creative whims
Growing on learning for life and own form
To perform and manage how it becomes
The best vehicle to travel on the best way,
No nervousness does come, at least for
The time, in transit over colorful screen.



Saturday, 11 July 2015

LONESOME WILL FOR SURVIVAL

The man with age of 70 years, being incapable of walking
From his childhood, gets an occasion of speaking for himself
That is all he has to tell about, in flash of glittering of his eyes.
He is still energetic; mentally he behaves as an epic sheet
Of life, with thought to sweep over excursion of leading voice,
I become poignant to his appearance of determination.

His teeth are strong, utterance superior to anyone in the town,
And tones of voice brilliant to hear and sort of dominance,
“I have struggled much, mistakes are there, yet I survive.”
As if all words are an anthology of poetic prominence,
We have to hear him, nostalgic he is sometimes, yet sublime.

He bears no complexity; poetic is his mind, the only photo
That pegged on the wall of his room is of MichaelMadhusudan Dutta,
He has tones of cutting, burning, creating of iconic salvation
And talking with him is like talking with a learned emissary
From the moon, taking the listener as his admired visitor, and he says,

“I am useless either for the society or for the familial peer, yet I survive.”

Thursday, 9 July 2015

MORNING FLOWER

You have bloomed in simple raining
I watch you closely in the morning
Dripped in raindrops with smiling
Wind blowing slowly, and scare you for viewing.

You have charm that brings joy we share
You hold the beauty and sense of loving
With better living and brighter hope for smiling

That feeds me courage for next beginning. 

Tuesday, 14 April 2015

BENGALI NEW YEAR 1422


Bengali New Year comes with breathing
Red in the April.

In blooming towards greeting
Krishnachura declares its significance
We touch our life, too passionately.

Red Krishnachura describes the glance
Towards Bengali New Year 1422, as if

It says come, enjoy the elegance
I am well in deciding vigor and happiness
It is symbol of interior design

In the nature and in our life.  

Wednesday, 4 March 2015

SPRING RAIN

With the day break, clouds cover the sky,
Where no sunlight comes, and heart of water
Does hover over my head when I am walking
On the roof-top of my house, and drizzles
Are pouring in all-around, it is beginning of March,
Mango flowers just begin to bloom, and
Festival of colors (Happy Holi) begins countdown to come,
Things of beauty of spring begin with Palash flower.

I raise my mind to enjoy that beauty
In cloudy sky that starts to show the earth
That has seasons with vibrant show amid pleasing
Mind’s approach, as long as
Smoothing illusion grows around mind’s journey,                                                                          
Over hard situations and we try to induct us
Into good weather, and raindrops begin falling
With speed of stormy gush, not fenced with narrowness.          

I am on the roof-top and get wet in rain
Raindrops get trapped within cornice walls
And concrete surface fails to soak water
That gets no speedy passage to go down drain,
Waters on the surface turn into a pool or sea
Where raindrops make stir to carry wave of life,
That caries running with bounces, re-bounces,
All are secrets of own songs of nature, delight.  
                                                                                                                             


Tuesday, 3 March 2015

BEES



Sitting near bamboo fencing of a village house
I am looking where bees are moving around.

The fencing is covered with small creeper plants,  
With flowers blooming in this spring season.

From where do these bees come? I think,
I do not find bee hive nearby or in vicinity.

How long do these bees collect honey? I think,
All the time I see bees are hovering near flowers

And collect honey for a few moments, and fly away,                                                                            
Sometimes, they sit on flowers and immediately

They fly away and this tells that honey from
Those flowers, has already been collected, I think.

Are these bees are like those are living within us?
Are these bees symmetry of our thinking? And

Are these bees composing hives of collective dream?
We are on the forefront of our living panorama here.