TRINAYANI DEBI DURGA (Three eyed Goddess Durga)

That day I was present in Kumartuli

And the perfection idol artisans do their best.

They make delight in every idol of Devi Durga

Her third eye lashes calm instead of whip,

It is her dream world that makes us to think

And rethink about narrowness to grow wide

To find delight amidst pieces of blurred insights,

Stubbornness cannot be final attraction.

At present, entire feeling is stretched to anxiety,

We want to hear echo at every edge of life,

That seems to be blinded, coerced to pain

And shame, as if we are at prey to demons’  

Whip and passage of life is not translucent,

And we are in search of delight in secrets

Of passage of source of realization of

Life’s present, past, future identity of marveling will.

No mimic we want to fabricate in our superior dream.

ODES OF LOVE

Flying in drizzles,

You generate continuum.

You are on the move.

You are on search

Of one habitat,

Other than this one,

You can return

Against storm,

And you can dwell here.

It will be sensible.

It will be sustainable.

Fishes are in the lake,

You can eat a smaller fish.

You can sleep here,

With your neighbors

Who are cordial,

And can assist you

To write odes of love. 

CLOUD ON THE ROAD

Now we are worry about everything, we are

Paving into an eventful world, shaken by videos

Taken from a roof-top, showing we are at

The verge of getting spared to cracked objects,

Getting lost into the air, before we know it,

Birds cannot prove out what it is that makes

Us tensed to ride upon phosphorus tandem,

And one sycophant just doubts praise, in that

Someone spreads cloud smoke over the road.

We have to bear a test how we swing in torture,

Looting and selling expand to make us vaporize.

Yet we have to move and move for eagerness,

More and more doors we need to open

And cloud just washes away dust from our way

So as to making us not cracked from back,

A mirror is placed for our coming into being.

RIVERBED

Riverbed, yes, sand and water,

Footsteps are not blistered over there,

Natural layer just makes it a viewable grace,

Over blocked smolder by water,

Sand layer makes self-grand resolution,

None walks in, from banks of the river, to

Experience things that sand can do,

Still none is there for lobbing for a tour,

For an advance to ease travelers’ boon,

For those who can afford price to arrive first,

And at a distance, a bridge is there as pivotal

Passage, from where people can move and

See the beauty of this sand island, a chance

For everyone, with grace of perfect equality. 

Short story slam week 54: Rainbow Fish

            Rainbow Fish by Marcus Pfister

One day a colored fish flushed its wings

And asked me if I could enjoy freedom

Beneath the blue sky and in open vast air,

Just I made accounts of scraps of death tolls

On this earth and dust could be glorying

Those carcasses and I said amid gloaming

Sun-rays, I want to live with a little boy,

Who always thin, caught in cough and cold,

But fickle parents lived in another sphere,

And my old age and ailments cannot change

This account for living for betterment

And this little boy just carried letters of

Colored dreams and of peaceful heights

Of that world, that he never had in

Earth’s yearning, unless time can change

The written and rubble episodes of whispers

Of blood-soaked crescents, and at this time

I am searching a savior for the boy.

Days are not resemblance of decaying. 

WATER AND FISH

When I began my life

At the age of eight, I found that

Fishes were caught in fishing net,

I still remember that day

When father came with some fishes

Those were alive

And were suffocating with grasp in open air,

I feel pain for them,

But as there was no food for us,

I had had to determine -

We had to eat them fried or cooked.

Now when I am retired person

I find there is one achievement living with

Some kind of dishonesty, and

That achievement provides us food in

Lieu of our work for achievements,

And we are at feet for mercy, as

Such quality designs for us to live with, as we are at no power

For struggling for life we deserve to have

Where honesty is for food and shelter,

It is rethinking and rethinking,

But we are plunked into that pond

That grows so many fishes,

We are not of that claim,

We are the cultivators,

We are the litigate claimant of the beneficiaries,

We are radically honest,

Yet we are deprived of,

And we are the origin of gaining of so many billionaires.

Yet we are underway. 

Car is resounding, we are dancing.

CHILIKA LAKE REVISITED

A POEM ON YOU TUBE 

CHILIKA LAKE REVISITED 

CLOUD

A poem, in the link

CLOUD

কাশফুল

সকালবেলায় একসারি কাশফুল

আমার যাওয়ার পথে ভেসে এলো

রোদ্দুর গায়ে মেখে সেই পথপ্রান্তর,

সাদা মেঘদের কোলে ঘুরে বেড়াই

আজীবন, সূর্যের পরশ, সপ্নপ্রাঙ্গন ।                                    

নদীনালা, মন্দির, গাছগাছালি পেরিয়ে

যত ছুটে চলি, উঠে আসে ভ্রমণবৃত্তান্ত,

পৃথিবীর মাটি যেন দাতব্য আলয়,

সংগ্রহশালায় সবকিছু জীবনমুখী,

জীবন-গতি পরাজিত নয়, স্থির-বাক নয় ।

একটু স্পর্শ, একটু উষ্ণ ভাল লাগা,

একগুচ্ছ  কাশফুলের অহংকার,

ধুলো ঝেড়ে ফেলে পথ পরিক্রমা,

মনের পরিস্রাবণ, আকাশের গোলাপ-সান্নিধ্য

সবই আমাদের জীবনের কথোপকথন ।

LOVE AND LONG SILENCE

I am moved because I know it is white

Down from clouds to flowers

On the way of whole tour,

Somebody shows me love for beauty.

I never say to detract you,

Even at the time when I am crushed

And I am here to call all beauty -

Grass, flowers, clouds are neighbors.

I do still hold child’s feeling,

With blooming of Kans flower,

At every step of growing concept

Under the sky it is version of delight.

The cool breeze accommodating clouds,

Softly blowing over flowers

Bending upon touches of love,

Not injecting a simple hurt.

Still there are other movers

Buses, trucks, rails are current stimulus,

Pedestrians are threatened

To obey rule of scattered law

That you start out on modern wheels,

Otherwise end up with catastrophe

Happening with every walkers

Marginalized from rest of world,

Yet mind is omnipotent for more love,

It searches with bare feet for eternity,

It avoids thunders and patchy choice

Of sycophant motives, - long silence. 

Short story slam week 53: BOOKS

Books are playing values of words’ meaning,

“Learn more, love more, and move for totality”

Books are not meaningless bones to carry

Wreckage, nerveless audience for strained feeling,

Designs and texts are published in artful creation,  

Words are seen, read, felt, held image deep into heart.

Just think how much you are alone after student life?

Reading, writing, examining were then like prayer and hope

To live happily outside the gate of the institute,

You cannot describe it in freedom of winding livelihood.

ATM cards, internet, web page are just charred account

Of the life, this is nothing but monotone, languishing pain.

A printed book has smell of paper, shows up liberation

From conduit of hidden black web sites, across island

To mainland to world, and books adventurously enriched

With knowledge and courage, for life soon-to-be-glorified.  

LOVER’S LOST LOVE

LOVER’S LOST LOVE

Present scene: Bathing together in a pond.

No, she is not here. I am remembering the past.

She was the young, nearly of my same age.

Spreading of attraction, many times binding hands

Pull her into chest around the neck.

Picture: swimming

Village pond allows swimming mood,

It can give space for long bathing kingdom,

One can be drowned in its water, in rosy syndrome,

But this is not happened always.

It has no courage to give villagers this scope.

She was drowned many years ago,

Floating I am.

From village to city, one sound.

I do not want to repeat her name.

She is on her best life. I can’t follow.

LOVE IN RAIN

I remember the days, when

She was first with me in rain,

And we sat on the bank of this pond

For long, dancing in emotion,

To stretch hands to catch rain-drops,

Having our bodies wet in water

Of rain, with great excitement,

That we felt skin touch

To melt in exultation,

Now memory fills my mind.

Rain was her favorite language

To pronounce love to take me, to

Ripe focus of untold expression,

And she was obvious to perpetuate

Love in my presence, happy dreams,

And every rainy season she sat on

Cemented stairs, built going down to

Middle of the pond, and she made

Every move sure to gain love,

Even one day she pushed me in pond

When it was raining heavily,

Swiftly I came out of the pond swimming,

And embraced her, it was euphoric.

Today I sit alone, she left me many

Years ago with someone she found best,

The sky brings rain; cloud is full of tears,

I am alone to remember blank raining visuals.

  

FIRST KISS

This picture gives me memories of past

That I carry always across travelling to present living

You sent a message in in-box of Facebook,

You explained difference between you and me,

Hurting my heart, mind and body,

But love is not a presence of dogma, it is sense.

It is not only a word; also a migration in loving nutshell

Literally it is felt proudly

Into the mind of people, invites a cord of

Individual feelings, even if you stay thousands miles

Away, it makes everyone warrior after first kiss,

That makes us smaller to greater to feel proud.

You cannot break away from that great touching

Mood of holding neck to feel body warm,

Splitting from its feeling is like trilling sense of love.

May be I am at lapse of my understanding you,

You are woman, you are creator, you are Desdemona.

You are my heaven, I do never do abuse you.  

I always walk in chatting through a single line,

With performing quality of love,

I never want to see you as my rival.

Yet you make distance from me,

As if I am a stranger, as if you finished shopping

In a BIGBAZAR and finished your journey,

And I am searching you in that blue light zone of

Mall, and my hands are empty.

Being keener in my first love, I am still spent time

For you, dear. I am free for your love.

Please read these lines.

Words have power to live together here.

FORGOTTEN LOVE

Only thing I remember I have to leave,

I want to erase everything that I bear so long,

Her words resonate in mind,

“You do what you can do.”

Lingering with the thinking,

It will upset me, I cannot move

Or search for love all the time

And cannot make me locked in sad feelings,

She thinks life is funny and strange too,

The road I am passing in this night

Is full of vibrating lights, it means

I have to make choice of love

That is my own, and she thinks right,

Strangeness is the charm,

Even if the bridge I am passing is lonely,

Still it is determined to feel “I” is one endurance.  

  

LOST LOVE

Raindrops scare themselves,

Wet leaves make no noise, but

Hold tears of lost love. 

DREAM

All boxes are stacked.  

It takes so much time to get

All boxes with different colors

To carry voices across road to sky,

It has to take plan on the way,

To make the big blue glide in

Loving touches of inspiration

To walk forward, into lyrics of mind.

Motive ventures for activity.

Your room filled with trajectory

Of light, and you like to travel

With wings, prizes are seldom won.

I photographed a few boxes

Those are painted with exploring

Cascade of dream, on the track,

I move almost silently. 

HAIKU

I follow shadow,

Blossom is great, long is life,

I forget its tonnage.   

HAIKU

http://bluebellbooks.blogspot.in/2016/09/short-story-slam-week-52-family.html

Reader reads,

Knowledge to conquer mind

Resolves social life. 

Short story slam week 52: READING

I never go out with my son

When he was child, because

Finance did not permit that situation,

King is mind, saint is not my attitude.

Now I do not go out with my grandson,

It is not that finance is not felt enough

For that scope, it is still in scarcity.

Mind has a motive, I can afford it.

I discover that my grandson is waiting for

Something new, reading, writing and playing,

His young mind can marry prized motive

That can spread life like a small butterfly,

And make acquaintance with all basics

Those can bloom with creativity for new world,

But I cannot do that, his parents think

Reading, writing, playing can flourish in curriculum.

I fear trails and tails of that young mind

May travel in barbed fence, and the world

Will see a general view of that custody,

Which preserves obedience to the king.

LOVING SILVER SWAN: Short story slam week 49

Between two silver swans, a fairy lady stands, a simple beauty to guide light for those who are wild at whims of hazy understanding.

She stays in such a way that one can think of lovely appearance of peace, sticky dark may disappear from this fairy land, into the sky, and no fear stays, one can live with honor, its process bears no anxiety, and this comes effortlessly by the way of singing of swans, in a garden of charming trees, settled down at this exotic place without vanity.

This serenade of mystery of beauty, in fairy morning, creates future of life, with songs of birds, over conscience of love, along the life’s intention, with hope of dwelling peacefully.

Dreaming for a while

We stop at a place where

Fairy queen equals

Inequalities and binds

Images with dreams.

Short story slam week 49: NEGATION OF LIFE

Short story slam week 49: NEGATION OF LIFE

Today I have learnt I have no place in this world, and so long I have traveled places to places, without any gratification from all people whom I am supposed to be my intimate, and find that these self-destined people hate me, and they think that I am only culprit to deny their demands, as the world is theirs, and I am their boss to fulfill their unforeseen whims those are so violent that I cannot follow their motive to locate the world from where they will gain everything they want, and I am their mistakenly chosen person of granting dream land. They think I have no dream, I have no whim, I have no demand, I have no fairy land, I cannot have beautiful nights, I have no passage for seeing the world in my way of living intertwine, I need no counselling, I cannot enjoy beauty of life.  I cannot act in the way of act of rejuvenation with love, sympathy and promise.

In a moonlit night

I come across a fairy land,

Tales of life with dream,

Beneath the starry sky,

I cannot stand in this life.  .

SILVER SWAN

Picture Credit: 

Short story slam week 49, July 21---August 7, 2016, Silver Swan poetic stories of romance and mystery

I want to be happy,

After a long simmering wave in the day,

A stress put into body and mind,

I want to be proud and

Happy, clearing stench air,

Leaving surges of invisible necessities,

Paving into a dreaming silver lake, with

Eyes dipped into loving galaxy,  

Like fairy lady looking at morning lights,

In blue joy, with white swans.

O fairy lady, come with coolness,

And take me to the world, where

Riddle of worldly affair disappears,

Far away from this warring zone,

I want to live, with caring aroma, at

A fantastic land where cool lake and

Fairy garden form rhythm in swimming,

Not forming a suffocating nebula,

But to move like a brave swan around a

Dreaming lady playing with loving blossoms,

And I can be free with a vision for a long time

More than what I am enjoying

When I was in an earthly dream,

This journey will raise a name of love.

Short story slam week 48, Indians are good folks! - I AM NOT ANOTHER PERSON

A fairy lady beauty spread out a falcon in one hand and stood on the path of dreaming.

I came upon her way and she asked me, “Wait!”  It was awesome, and her eyes are marvelously fixed deep into a location imagined to be a city. Her adoring attitude and beauty supposed to touch love and beauty to steal my heart. And she said, “You all live at places those carry broken modules, blinded with overspreading loneliness. I come here to convince you, life is hopeful, Love is not bubbled out.” It seemed to me, I was just standing before the city gate. And she offered me a falcon that can rule the awkward birds those forgot to establish love in the kingdom, where mirror is money. Trees are there, but flowers are popcorn.

I looked at the bottom, dropped my views, signaled for nothingness. I am not equal to that task.

I woke up and looked for her all around, and it seemed nothing had happened. It is a dreaming balm. I am not another person.

The moon embraces

The night sky. Expectation

Does not turn eyes

Into madness as it is yours,

Not theirs. Learn gladness for all.        

Short story slam week 46: escape, June 9--June 26, 2016: ESCAPE

I love a good fortune

A sweet memo of much acclaimed route

For next alleviation,

I make dominant prayers

And I make some impressions, 

Dogs come in the way of reflections.

And dogs unfairly takes up assets,

Regularly they send gifts loaded with whims,

Their hairy skins choose demanding stakes at random,

I do not want this predominant assault,

Escape is then a prediction,

I want right’s reality or termination instead.