LOVE IN THE MONTH OF APRIL

Picture Credit: Bluebell Books Twitter Club 

Long ago, there was once love, she was young,

Live with sensation, but his speeches held up,

Line of words, book of openness fell apart,

Loss of spirit, to talk with her became silent,

Lingering, courage demurred, fear got momentum,

Lest she would not speak to him, feeling ignored.

Like prayers, he stood alone like sorrowful morning,

Listening to her words uttered to someone else who

Little spoke, and he did not understand if it was

Large for one’s talks of service above their company,

Long, perhaps longer, he waited to talk with her,

Lying alone, on shore for holding everything in

Love, to take her as lady of his heart, no jealousy,

Lined up, he preferred to promise for journey,

Life’s partner for all time on utterance of priests,

Letting values of a husband to say wisdom honor.

Long time passed, and now she is sitting, before him,

Leaning in a sofa of the banquet hall with her daughter,

Looking at her, he thinks past is a brief moment,

Loving someone for all time is pleasing and forgiving.

DEPRIVED OF BODY’S FITNESS

Photo Credit: Hyde Park Poetry, Thursday Poets Rally week 86

I am waiting for her, a lady-beauty, to meet first,

When evening is emblazoned with flood lights,

The street is busy, cars, taxies, AC, non-AC buses,

Pedestrians make way through running vehicles,

And at the time of meeting in this road-crossing,

One young lady just appears before me, from crowd,

And says, “Madam will not meet you, Sir,

She is frightened; you have such a big tummy,

Odd looking against odd looking, so sorry she is.”

I return home, look at my body in the mirror,

Geometrical figure is not shaped, curved like the very

Alphabet ‘a’ with short legs, not attractive, disgusting,

I cannot control the pant, fitted with belt, not to slip out,

I go to doctor for working out how to shape, to build

A figure with manly curves, muscles, no pot belly,

It is to be a painting work on canvas by an artist.

Doctor just advices,

“You have to take small quantity of meals, two times,

A little tiffin, snacks, all to be nutritious, balanced food,

A cup of rice, veg curry, a lot of fish, salads, one apple,

One pomegranate, to be included in menu, and a little exercise.” 

Most food to be prepared at home, no restaurant food,

Not to eat from foot-path eateries, not to take much

Carbohydrates, only living protein to be eaten in home,

It is not easy to shape body like painting work of artist

Such body I do have immerges into breathing problem,

And it is like calling death before time that bears natural.

I am at a crucial point to break my body’s drowned fitness.

BRAVE CHILDREN

Picture Credit: Blue bell books.blogspot.short-story-slam-week-86

Kids are gentle in the morning light,

Being innocent, they enjoy every moment,

While playing, keeping mind pure as light,

In their endless searching and learning with

Elders who help them to train nascent minds

To know the truth to find plucking of apples

In the orchard is like gathering knowledge

About life and nature and bees, altogether,

Those hold history, story, poetry and

Thus they move into speeches of God’s men,

And know good persons, who say about truth,

About light, day and night thus created for

Distinguishing what it is good or evil

And they learn talking about good things.

They will sacrifice for others who love them.

THE PLAY

                                                Photo Credit: Blue Bell Books Twitter Club

There are two little children - one boy and one girl - both are of six years’ old, playing in a children’s park in a spring afternoon, some conversation is there between them from innocent talks, to know each other’s pretty minds:

“Where do you live?” says she, “Far away in that direction.  We go by auto-rickshaw.”

He points out little fingers towards east.

- “Who takes you here? My mother is there.” she points out to one beautiful lady sitting on a lawn- chair a little far away.

- “My grandpa comes with me.” says the little boy.

The little girl takes a glance at the old aged man with silvered hair, standing nearby.

- “Where is your mother?” She said,

- “My mother goes on a long duty, she cannot come. She will return home next day after four mornings.” He says.

By this time, mother of the girl calls her daughter and takes her away from the children’s park. The boy stands stoned with a glance on the way they have gone away from the park.

Every playing is sweet,

And everyone plays a part in it.

Parting away isn’t pardonable,

Flower shreds something

We have touched,

Perfume in deep sensation

Left behind by flower’s kindness,

A gift we receive with warmth of heart.

It reminds us a paradise

Where we feel warmth and kindness

And leave it with some

Sweet memory, the little boy perceives.

RESOLUTION OF LIFE

Poem - 12

The sun promises to appear, crimson red,

Cool, round, vivid, pleasant, vibrant, stoic,

Everyone on the beach picked phone-cameras

To click buttons to picturize the entire scene.

The young couple stood close face to face

A little space between for taking snap of her,

He took phone-camera to clear her full view,

Positional crave on the phone-monitor, for

High definition resolution output, turned on,

A short-lived posture, worth much, pieces of

Strong memory, to be picturized for love, and

Created by him for song of love, on beach.

By the event for loving hearts, she is quiet,

And leans to photogenic position, like wonder

Of water flowing and seeking way to stratum

To see more, to feel more, and to learn more,

About him who waves changes in her eyes,

Where she finds noble performance, and

He goes without a word with her terms of

Dedication and someone takes him for her. 

LOVE FOR BIRDS

I am listening to all sound tracks

Of the earth, reverberating 
Either in the air, or in black holes,

In search of voice of chirping birds,

That can comfort me, to bear resonance -

Life is not hard, everything is worth living,

And dream brings moral for life,

Sorrows brings changes in conciousness.

Fire is not languishing burns,
It burns amoral activities. 

Bodies are not machines,
But are geometrical form for living of soul. 

Human being is manifestation of living self 
and its consciousness, as I feel it,

Singing is an occasion of  rhythm of heart,

And when I wake up every morning

I love to see glimpse of  beautiful birds, 
Either in the garden or in the balcony, 

They sing to hug with the nature for getting purified.  

And it will create first line of my next poem,

All their appearance will fill emptiness with love,

To gleam with words, those hold respect to delight
That is the source and beginning of wonderful things
Upon the earth for living and for going through 

Existence of the universe. 

It is substance for life and for poetry.

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.