UTTARAKHAND FLOODS

মৃত্য়ুর মিছিল দেবতীর্থে

মেঘ ভেজ্ঞে জলস্রোত, পাহাড়ে ধ্বস

খরস্রোতা নদীতে জলোচ্ছ্বাস

সহ্সা ধ্বংসলীলা, মৃত্য়ু,

সবকিছু হারানোর কান্না

চারিদিকে নিঃশ্বব্দ যন্ত্রণা|

 

Death comes in the land of pilgrims

Clouds break into floods, landslides,

Swirling waters of rivers overflow banks

Devastation and death are instantaneous,

Crying for loss of everything,

Silent sorrow whispers all around.

 

SENIOR CITIZEN 2

It is a life where seniority comes on the way,

Senior citizens are like headlines of the journey,

And before its course begins, one knocks one’s rights,

And when age grows, passage of long way gives

Stony thrust, black hair turns like white grass

Then comes burns like the sun of the day that turns white,

 

Then comes sense of alertness, the kids are far away

From this age of tranquility and solvency, those are

Cool winds in summer, measured in experience,

And this is once narrated by one of friends, who has

Only option to live at a place where none is there

To put blockade on mind’s journey, and he wants

 

To live alone if a free minded person is not found.

He wants to walk with walks of his wife and kids,

He wants to smell wet-smelling of soil, in rain,

Still he is searching a place where this crazy-steaming ends.

SENIOR CITIZEN 1

Like a senior citizen, I am living in true sense of the phrase,

It is just to remind me of my living world,

My stories, my pains, my inescapable inwards.

 

It must be needed to submit life certificate,

In each November, the world may know I am surviving,

Just knowing inside, I am living screaming inside.

 

I cannot live in cheers, with my wishes,

As I have to think month after month to buy a laptop,

As my old desktop computer goes out beyond repairs.

 

I have got my identity card, income-proof and some money,

I then go to a computer showroom, to buy new one, on loan,

And I stepped out blank; loan cannot be given to an old man.

 

I have a dream to give my grandson a good health and future,

And perhaps I lost the balance, as parents of the toddler say,

The kid is theirs; they know better ways to make the kid worthy

 

For living with high esteem, I cannot be an educator,

They say, I may be a mute observer, I cannot welcome new age

And the new living pattern, and for my balance, they will give me

 

One sandalwood stick for my morning walking,

My dream is my burn, I have to draw curtains upon my life,

The harder image of life pushes me beyond light.

 

 

 

UNDAVALLI CAVE, THE MARVELOUS ANCIENT ROCK-CUT TEMPLE