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

HAPPY SMILING OF GRANDSON

With sweet smile,

The baby stands in love of

Grandmother, happy invention.

She smiles

In her happiness

Behind grandson’s smiling.

Sparkling smiling

Of baby grandson

Drapes across her countenance.

Love of grandmother,

To get her grandson

In sweet smiles, everlasting.  

HEALING TOUCH OF THE GREEN

Moving through natural garden,

I am on board of an electric train,

With a ticket to go Guntur, AP,

Bringing my baggage on the board.

Green, passing by speedily,

With hill-tops moving in curved line,

Contour of binding line elates the scene,

Outside of our moving train.

The winter day passes on journey,

A well designer creates a new scene

That contemplates slops of green passage,

Trees are like scarf moving behind.

I am arising like tenant of life,

In the percept of green-birth,

As if looking glass is green resort,

The earth makes images, beauty of the nature.

I feel proud in the gentle mirth

Of the nature hurriedly passing my vision,

Amid concrete constructions, stations, towns,

Those are waking in the vast natural stream,

I am moving, surrounding glory fills mind,

And someone makes everything sharp,

Around the vision, and ripe food grains

Are to be collected and recollected, near river basins.

Enormous source for surviving plight,

Keeps us all in salt and in honey

Of the great creation over the earth,

Breathing, and imploring what is more in cycle.

Of our life, love makes our courage

With all the nature’s things, we are participating,

In best performance of our dream,

Mind gets healing touch with the earth’s green. 

I AM MISSING SOMETHING

I am missing something,

I imagine my work to be done

Not in smoke, but in colorful strokes,

In liberal way of existence

And I want to make it a space station,

Promising platform for aspiration,

But all my attempts are settled

Into compromise, in clogged force,

As if a heavy fog hovers over in my life,

Horizon is not seen,

The great blue line has lost its abundant race,

And I am moving into nothingness.

I am missing something,

My leg slips from intimation,

Fingers are not on my skin,

I cannot stare steadily over arousal,

Sounds of my love go beyond selection,

I am brought to the bottom of love.

I am missing something,

As a solo performer, I am dull,

As a touching man, I am cool,

I cannot put wit to my living pattern,

I put myself in neatly inside of solitude,

I am lost in the rigged sound of world.

My dream gets an axe-blow in echo of life,

And I do not understand the world. 

THE RISING SUN OVER WAVE OF ROOF-TOPS

The rising sun,

First light, cool and soft,

Comes over counting of roof-tops

Into first sight, serene,

Above town and over high-rise buildings,

Not surrounding with the scene,

Counting of sea waves,

Yet in the deep of heart of town,

Wave of roof-tops forms waves

Of astonishing scene of concrete work,

That will merge in our daily scene 

To see and to help interplay of

Counting our life-span,

Merging with stunning window and the sky,

In the context of housing boxes,

Alongside the nature’s gift to see the sun-rise,

Either from hill-tops or from sea-waves.

THE BLUE IN FOG

The blue in fog

Morning mist peers in loneliness

In quest of life. 

DREAM AND VISION TO LIVE IN PEACE, IN THE NEW YEAR, 2013

Just now the town is flourishing near the nature,

The hill-contour stands alone not solitude, as it is

All before the vast room for the town, even one

Can roll on one’s little room, in flower bed

As if the green outside, with river basin inside

Greets everyone with the creation of loving rhymes.

Everyone here will find value if one try to find

Something worth that is common to all, breathing,

A mystery of our existence, over the life,

Deep conversation around the nature, filled with water,

Fresh with resolution, covering life line of every relation

On our dream and vision to live in peace, in the New Year, 2013.

SLEEPING BEAUTY IN FOG

Sleeping beauty in fog,

The nature sleeps in winter dawn,

In green grass song. 

LOVING MEMORIES

Time passes in time,

Man or woman goes in time,

As I am travelling in speeding train,

Looking outside of the natural scene,

And I think of the time

That is relative,

With the stars moving

Or brightening the sky,

As if I see the love,

Kissing and cuddling

On the past day,

As if I am one of them

Who are listening sounds of life,

In heart and in rain,

When the green covers body reign,                             

And I live in seasons of the nature

Mature with recollection

Of our touching and caring

Our loved one.

Time will come

When I will sink in memories,

To think life is journey

With love and battle,

Like up and down contour

Of the hill and the terrain,

Masterful enclave

Of the nature with dream,

In presence of our deeds.  

WE WALK WITH POETRY AT INTERNATIONAL POETRY FEST, 2012, GUNTUR, INDIA

We walk with poetry,

We move in light of poetry

In life, like stars. 


Note: Ms. P. Nagasuseela and Mr. P. Gopichand are two intelligent masters of organizational capability, conducting this International Poetry Fest at JKC college, Guntur, AP, India, since 2008.

2. Prof. Pornpen Hantrakool of Thailand helped me to get this picture. 

THE POETIC BLISS – AN ANTHOLOGY, INTERNATIONAL POETRY FEST, 2012, GUNTUR, AP, INDIA

Poetry, beloved images,

Printed pages are beauty of words

Companion of life. 

POETS AT INTERNATIONAL POETRY FEST – 2012, GUNTUR, INDIA

Assembly of poets,

Colorful vision round the creation,

On the earth, life’s dewdrops.

HEART OF LOST HEART

The acquaintance goes outside

Of my web page ecstasy. It is a broken singing.

The scent and hue of our daily talks lost in web jungle,

The airy space is now a passing light.

Once we talked like rain of words falling,

Upon glass window, with resonance and passion,

My fingers run over keyboard to bring bubbles of love,

Until dark horizon came on the compliant mode.

Now I sit down on the web page alone, I often call her

Over phone, and recorded voice tells me

The telephone number is not in service,

One moment I have a deep sigh.

Behind the glass screen, I do not know what

She is doing, absence from me is a fence over the passion,

That was once our talks and understanding each other.

As if tons of love has the earth between me and her.

Space on the earth has done connections like burn,

Web sand piles are now over our heart, a greedy web surge,

It bends everyone and then makes vacuum

That braces over life and burn, heart of lost heart.

Color is gone, I still on the fencing braces of learning,

I have to go on break after break, as wave breaks and forms

Over oceanic character of love and gravitation,

I still love a break of loneliness, thinking she will come again.