Sunday, 20 November 2016

Short story slam week 57: MARKETING PLAZA

          Image Credit: Megan Sherwood


City Park, Hyland Park, South City Mall, Big Bazar,
Debit card, Credit card, scratch, payment cleared,

Even we can buy sand, bricks, in packet form,
Injection, pregnancy shot, cold storage, cold customers,

In the middle of hall elevator escalator lift, glass show cases,
Children are playing, mystery white packs, everyone buzzed,

Security no needs to think about, all provisions are secured,
Security officer fired, he proposes allotment of funds, rejected.

Black throat becomes red, viruses hitting internet,
Account quashed, no second choice, empty, top echelons

Sprint over stored provisions, easy to accumulate, walk on
Shoulders of own extra index, commons cannot think about,

Commons hold hands of children, press the button, in fear,
If mosquito bites little ones and they fall sick, treatment a far cry. 

Living is free, in fundamental and common feeling,
Happiness or sorrow does not know pretension,
Beloved ones or proclaimed leaders do not create
The sun-rise and the sun-set, ripple on water,
Flowing of wind, and we only watch and read
After effect of an event, surface and bottom distinct.
Sometimes we drop our will, and mingle into instinct,
And try to leave jungle of computer reading,
To form an era of comfortable and funny bending
With those which are lots of good policies and plight,
In the nature and thereby discover inner delight,
Within periphery of bound and unbound,
Inside and outside of all happenings, by removing
Splinters and secrets of war-habits, over shadow
Of formal trajectory of fighting feathers in the realm,  
And we try to think society is not mad man’s dream.

Wild joy within bricks, computers, malls, media,
And marketing is not tomorrow’s refreshment,
We grew in the wind that can bear us like almighty.
Yielding image is speech of life, sharing honor of living.





Monday, 7 November 2016

FEATHERS OF LIGHT

Home, yard, street, shadow,
Illusion, silent words of the earth
Glimmering soul.  

Roots, tree, fencing,
Corridor of love and hope,  
Reflections of life. 



 



The moment I sit there -
Light, night, nature do all things
Thematic shower,
Lines of light stimulates
Reflation, images, solidarity
With creation of dancing reality,
Celestial creativity,
Divine functionality,
Illuminating propriety,
Prevailing sanctity,
No passport to travel
In its natural blogging,
But tangential touch
Elegant boundary,
Submissive landing,
- All take me to a key land
Where money, honey, crony tide
Do not occur, and image of imagination
Has created a paramount standing
Of sovereignty, beauty, soothing
Merriment, we ignore it so long.

If we slow down light’s moving feathers,
If we cease to work and swallow jewels of colors,
We will lose trust of feather’s gleam and hope.



Thursday, 3 November 2016

Short story slam week 56: PASSPORT

Image Credit: Feng Zhao
Ajodhya Hills, Purulia and Gate of India, Mumbai I travelled by bus and train, two interesting places of the land that needs no passport. Unless an incident does occur in my computer, unless imagination can figure out a password for an entry, I cannot find out Silicon Valley, I cannot see debate on electoral campaign between Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump. Dust from battle ground does not stuck on my face, to look nicer; because I go to Egypt for learning how to bash my face, either in summer or to be wrinkle free in winter glaciers. With this password, I go to the places where none plucks bones for human usage, and I find a composer of music and patience.

Not more to acquire,
Not less to create,
Not spreadsheet to calculate, 
Present moves to infinity,
Everything on time.  

MYSTIC FLOWERS

Days before, these flowers were vivid in lens.
They were bright and enjoyable, mind were
Delighted with the gift of nature, and then
I can resolve a handful of asymmetric burdens.

And see they are now hesitant to give pictures,
As I cannot give any assurance for their demands,
And they are prominent for someone with lens,
That turns to be faithful pushing buttons for gains.


Wednesday, 2 November 2016

HALLOWEEN, BHUT CHATURDASI, DIWALI, KALIPUJO

AbovepPhoto from http://bluebellbooks.blogspot.in/2016/10/short-story-slam-week-55-writing-prompt.html


Children, Halloween, pumpkins decorated as if having teeth,
With candy and candles, happiness after giving treats, trick-o-treat,

14 clay oil lamps, Bhut Chaturdasi, Haunted house cleaned,
14 leafy green vegetables, complete neatness, great feast,

Clay lamps, candles, Diwali, a cleaned house in realm of lights
To make sure path for dispelling of darkness and ignorance,

New moon night, Kalipujo, worshiping of angry Goddess Kali,
She killed dacoits, demon Raktabeej, whose blood gives birth
To another demon when touched with ground, and he conquered
Three universes - the heaven, the world and the hell – and
She saves all the universes with her motherly loving secrets.

Kids’ celebration is kids’ world of refreshment. Adults’ celebrating world fumes in boredom in a house that is left alone with drops of blood.   

We do not need plastic body. Real grapes are not sour. I am lovely as you are lovely to me. Fake vignette cannot be picture of disarming someone. Grass level and atmosphere have many spectrum of heat waves intertwined, and common is water vapor that needs coolness for birth and rebirth of showering of well-being stratum.

Wednesday, 12 October 2016

TANKA



Autumn rain, splashed,
A lonely flower blooms
In bush and gets wet.
I am convinced let it be

Appealing to bees, flushing.  

SOLITUDE

SOLITUDE

Ambiance of fog, destination of torque,
who does live here, who does not,
revealed season of freedom, free sort
ironic fate, marching like profet, promt,
dancing water, cool, no wave it treads,

Solitude is one which performs peeling. 

Friday, 7 October 2016

BAUL SONG OF BENGAL



It is the Baul song that gets you in a momentum,
With vibration of life after answers to questions of watery path
With philosophical praise, taking these people in uniform
To live a life that is different from our living attitude,
Cool they are, simple they are, not sycophant,
Yet full of vigor, full voice of rhythms, time and progression
Are in movement of their life’s significance,
Dancing floor is not always stage, it most of time is ground,
They shows how they move in every occasion of regrets,
And raise and understand the downward and upward of storm,
With a tune of flexible and relatively stable footprint they want
To establish amid inclined blood soaking hunger, the words
Of their voices make invitation to upgrade essential motivation
While dancing in contrast senses of life with essence of alleviation
For the wind to create a life that bears no smoke but full of delights.  


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.


Wednesday, 5 October 2016

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. 

Tuesday, 4 October 2016

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. 

Sunday, 2 October 2016

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. 

Saturday, 1 October 2016

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.



Sunday, 25 September 2016

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 ।

Saturday, 24 September 2016

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. 

Thursday, 15 September 2016

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.