RAIN

Rain, rain, rain

Midnight silence stirred

By sounds of falling rain drops,

Noisy rhythm fills the air

Breathing of heart feels the thunder.

 

Tin rooftop sounds fiercely,

As if raindrops are fearless

To pierce tin sheds with force

Of bullets, raindrops remain

Thoughtless, with death sentence.

 

We are waiting

With our destiny

Hearing bursting sounds,

We are praying

To have sequence of waves

 

That may cease air surge

That brings softened storms

And we may move to cool forms

Of our living invocation

To understand nature’s navigation.

 

LOVE POEM

Love to me it is feeling,

It is speaking to inner heart

It is like knowing the world, all in tune

Of resonance like wave in ocean

That creates, breaks within mind

Singing with hosts of thinking, and seeing

Into mind’s eye, what we discover

Upon the earth, where we go or travel,

Love poem speaks all about them.

THE CHILIKA LAKE

TheChilika Lake

Water weeds growing

Again and again,

Touch surface line

With land, filled with silence.

 

Electric wires,

Rail lines running

Alongside waters,

Passengers stare in the window,

Sound of train breaks loneliness.

 

That entire scene

Seems to know the serendipity,

And nature’s beauty,

We have the life, and

Its measures under the sun.

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. 

YOU WILL DWELL IN A NEW WORLD

What is mystery in the sky?

The sunlight itself? Or a small bird?

Your eyes caught into aerial visits in surprise,

Rainy clouds do hide shining and shifting

Of spreading sunlight, as little it is seen,

As little you are in search and invent

Time of the earth’s flowering season.

You are child to know the speech

That God has created for your nascent eyes,

Life is breathing, yet your childhood thinking

Does hold curiosity, first to know, then to follow

And find all things with clarity, then as a man,

You will dwell in a new world, appearing splendid.  

LITTLE EYES AWAKENING

You are travelling inside a moving train,

And it stops at a place,

You will see it is a station that offers you

To step out of train compartment and go destination,

The valid trip of going your home or working place,

Travelling through passage sphere with patience,

Your infant mind and curious eyes are overall delighted

On finding new things,

That you are now in great thinking that is opened

On your journey, and you are perhaps preparing to understand

Life’s twining and singing.

 

SIMPLE LADY SIMPI BHATTACHARYA, A SIMPLE POEM

Simpy is a young lady

Awarded Honors degree  in English Literature,

She is wise and beautiful

She is preparing for building her career

Esteemed all over within her heart,

How she will see her future,

To get a Masters Degree,

And she has a good affinity in cooking food,

For making palatable Bengali Dishes,

It is her past time.

One rainy day, I was with her family,

As if I was in a tin shed home in a rainy season

Forty years back, standing alone on the corridor,

One young girl that time suddenly arrived and

Took me inside her home and give temporary shelter

To protect me not being wet in rain, and when rain stopped

 I returned home with a great memory on young age romance.

This day Simpy, a daughter of my friend, makes

Dishes of Hilsha fish curry with her cooking experience,

She blushed red when I praise her for taking cooking adventure,

She is curious to make everything  right in order,

She is always in curiosity to know the unknown,

From the great world, it is still full of new things,

And her mother is feeling proud to hear praise of her daughter,

She feels mirror image of her younger age of time

When she was like her daughter thirty five years back.

The world is retrieval of fanciful happening repeating every time.

A RAINY EVENING

This poem is for Miss Riya Bhattacharya                                                                                        

It is raining, my presence and my thinking

Move along evening singing, with rainfall sounds

That make echo and come in room through window,

A clear falling sound of rainwater from rooftop outlet,

Making ground resonate, filled with water clogged,

My friend, being nostalgic, turns to gossip of our old days.

Then his daughter, a research scholar in Economics

Comes forward to have hot tea and hot snacks,

And wearing a rain-coat, goes out like an angel to the market,

Her footsteps sound in rhythm of rain fall, with resonance,

As she is digging clogged water to place feet firmly on ground.

After a while she returns with some food stuff firmly closed,

She is covered  in rain bubbles, looking beautiful in face,

She buys some puffed rice, hot and crispy potato chops,

And she serves lovingly hot tea and hot snacks in this rainy evening,

This makes us stay in gossips and the young lady hears us patiently,

She makes this rainy evening beautiful and charming episode to remember.

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.

 

INNOCENT EYES

Innocent eyes

Behind the sunglass, looking

Through a train-window,

As mirror reflecting life,

Childhood eyes of dream delight.

 

 

 

CHILD IN LOVE

You have a beautiful gesture,
like little Krisha,
The man-boy
wandering the world,
Where childhood,
beauty, mind,
keep us cheering up
Moving round
your growing eternal light,
You are beloved man-child,
Singing like song
of Kshina’s flute

 

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

THE LADY SMILES

The lady smiles, before she knows her smile,

She looks on the mirror, more reflections on her eyes. 

LOVE AND WISDOM

Her lips are bitten,

Feeling is moving

On fingertips,

Sites are wholly gestures

Of sweet response,

Over soft skin,

Blood gets approval,

Over satisfaction,

Leaning inside tight grips,

Life is full of desires,

She stares at him,

Following what he says

Into her ears,

Whispering sounds

Of love and something

About imagining

Of the life between

Love and wisdom.

LOVE OF A GRANDMOTHER

When mother is away on duty,

When baby son is left at home,

When the world needs caring for the infant,

The grandmother becomes beloved one,

She comes and gives bath to her grandson,

Who then soundly sleeps after bottled milk-feeding.

The caring grandmother stays for several hours,

As if she is like a lesson for loving her grandson,

She loves all - her husband, her son, her daughter-in-law,

She does it all the time, today and tomorrow,

Since she came in the family, and remains as guardian,

Emotionally and profoundly she does her duty.

She does not work for money,

She wants peace in the family,

She likes to love and be loved by all,

Yet she is alone as confusion runs inside,

As if she is the blue sky with gentle trust,

That all members do not understand.

She is like a crown upon family-mirror,

Its image does hold no reflections,

She is like a running figure, none can think about,

Sea wave cannot be measured, she is like that,

She is an ordinary woman, a simple housewife,

She likes to embrace pathos for her loved one.

THE GREAT CURIOSITY

The reward and curious is the world

In tender eyes of the child, among

Strange and new things to be known

On road, in corn field, on the horizon,

While sitting at feet of grandfather,

Making the child acquainted with tales

And visions of the earth, dusk to dusk. 

FIRST CRITICISM OF POETRY BOOK, Three Poems

First criticism of my first poetry book, THREE POEMS, by Abul Mazan, published in a small literary Bengali journal, AMRITALOK-104, (ISSN 0971-4308), in its June 2005 isssue, edited by Samiran Majumdar, Paschim Medinipur, WB, INDIA