And what is poetry
Yet still I keep going
I listen
There is a crone
With long and grey hair
Who secretly keeps the key of writing.
She lives in a mysterious
And far way land
And her heart is bigger than her head
She never talks much about others
And tells her own story herself
She talks less and never gives
But shows the keys of her secrets
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Am a spoiled poet
Nor sells I hate or promote unsellableI do not sleep with the silvery light of the moon in a bedYet I gone spoiled on the very dayThe warmongers played my songs on the battlefield.Am an immoral poetNot for the reason that I write profanityOr break the promise given to my loveYet I become indecent in…
We are born
Sweetie, lovely and cuteHand to handLap to lapLaughing, playing and cryingIn joy, sorrow and in fearThat too passed with a sweepAnd without hurdle crossed into an age teenRunning, jumping and hoping a lotSometimes delightedSometimes in painHeart broken when scolded or harsh words are spokenDays after days are passedMerriment banter and funThose days fast and furious…
একটি দুঃখের উপর আর একটি দুঃখ
একটি মন খারাপের আর একটি মন খারাপনা চাইতেই পেলাম একটি বেদনার ইমারত,লিখিব কি আর ভালোবাসা বা প্রেমের কবিতা?কেননা কষ্টের কবিতা আমি লিখতে চাই নাযদিও সে গুলি ছিল আমার আগুন দিয়ে শেখাতবু বুজেছি জীবন মানে কিন্তু বিষণ্ণতা না,তারা করুক যারা করছে আজ অত্যাচার বর্বরতাকেননা তারা শক্তিতে বড়ই দুর্বল বা কমজোরপ্রতিশোধ তাদের কাছে একটি শব্দ, এক রঙা…
What is life? This gives me a big problem!
What is life? Bewildered and confused me a lot.What is life? How much you say it is short!What is life? Different people have different opinion,What is life? Among people nothing is common.What is life? No one satisfied with the conception and definition!What is life? Every one is leading a life of dissatisfaction!What is life? A…
I am not in a position to help you
And we can’t sit here together like a statueBetter, let’s talk about the weatherHow cold it is in the morning of summerIs this the effect of global warming?Perhaps not yet, but will effect very soonWhen the glassier will start meltingThe level of sea -water will riseAnd several counties will go under the seaTerrible! Yes, terrible…
A long but thin trunk
down fast from the wholeof the sky to take revengeon earth man rushes for cover
It
What,
What it is,
It is in your heart,
Heart
Just see you,
See you from far,
From far,
One known from far,
Far from,
Not moving close,
Closer to you!
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In my poery I want to capture
Rarely felt, valued and portrayed;The wild blossoms shaking in the breezeSmiling on the pathways.
I had a house
With my father, mother, brother and sister.Where have they gone away,I see them not?Can you tell me?
Buddhas
Buddhas of peaceBlessing upon in Bamiyan.
Just as a candle
In your memory.
I shall not remain here
And this is the world,Accept you it or not.
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Got the light from,
The glowworm fascinating
With its glow and glimmer
Giving the star twinkle
Of the starry night illusions
So bespectacled and illuminating?
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O, Bhagabati, Bhagabati is coming,
Coming,Bhagabati is comingWith the silent,Silent steps of Hers,Of Hers!Haven’t, haven’t you heard,Heard the footsteps,Footsteps of Hers,Hers, of the Divine SheComing,Coming with the ankletsSounding in the distant?
I visited the temple,
Where the non-Brahmin priestessOf the scheduled casteWorshipped HerWith love and devotionAnd the skull thereinSaw IAnd what I prayed for, sought forFelt it too later onAs prayers heard,Blessings bestowed upon.Do not think it that the BrahminsOnly worship Her,She is of allAnd can be found anywhereIf called humblyWith feeling and devotionAnd feeling for Her in heart.
The little-little men edit the literary journals
As subscribers-cum-contributors,Aspiring to be reviewer-poetsAnd many of them rhymers, poetasters, non-poets and commoners,Wanting to be the men of literature,The common-common menWriting commonlyThe editor an Indian guruAnd the subscribers his chelas in the ashramaAnd all taking ganja, smoking inThrough the chillumThe poet and the critic and the poet-criticAll thinking themselves, great poets,Great poets of India,Never to…
Even after India’s freedom,
Why are women, widows and childrenIn a neglected stateEven after the tryst with destinyLiberated from the shackles of slavery?
Chaitra,
Ruffling it all,The sun blazing hot,Fire fallingCarried by the winds,But the pastures cooling, soothingAnd refreshing,The orchards, tree shades,While on the one hand no respiteWhile on the other the water bodiesAnd the tree shades cooling and soothing to core.
My ganjeri son,
Smoking,Piping inGanjaWith Vyom-Om,Vyom-vyomGanja.Ganja overThe clay pipeBurningAnd the ganjaOver the embersYou smoking in,PipingWith Vuyom-vyom,Vyom-om,Bhole Shankar?
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Want to ban
Chinese goods,
Are they not good,
Are they not useful?
What have the goods
To do
with politics,
What have the companies
To do it here,
Think of it too.
Think of the company men,
The people associated with,
Workers and labourers,
The investment and machine tools
Applied in
And the plants set up.
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My silence was the silence, silence of rocks,
Rocks and stones,Rocks, stones and trees;Of the landscapesFull of ups and downs.I had not been silent,Silent,All silent,They made me, turned me toAnd went I silent,Silencing myself.My silence was the silenceForced to take on,My silence was the silenceOf elegies and obituariesAnd I had been busy writing with themAnd I confided in.After the all commotion,Ruffle and rustle,Saw…
Jayanta Mahapatra, as I have known him,
The professor of physics teaching physics in his classroomsAnd writing poems in English as for hobbyAnd he turning to it as for his avocation.A poet, he edited Chandrabhaga,Picked poems for the Sunday issues of the Telegraph coloured magazineFor sometime just like Khushwant Singh selecting short stories for it,A poet, an editor, a short story writer,…
The man
OnA buffaloMay beHeA ministerOf India.IndiaOf the unpadhs,The unreadAnd ganwars,RusticsIs the other sideOf the picture.
Chandalika
The Boddha Bhikku,Waiting forHis arrivalOne blazing Baisakh.
Lallu and Kallu, two villagerly rustics
Going to BombayTo be film stars,Not the film starsBut to actAs villainsIn the Indian cinema.Lallu is red-faced,I mean looking brownand Kallu, mr.Blackie,Black-black,Everything but blackFrom his heart and soulAnd Lallu, Mr.Reddie tooNot less than.Lallu and Kallu two BiharisIn the gogglesGoing to bombayBy trainTo be villains.
Ek Ladaki Dekh Kar
Aapka ghar kahan hai,Aap kahan rahatin hai,Aapka naam kya hai,Aapka kya parichay hai,Mai nahi jaanta hun.Magar job hi hoAap dekhanei mei to bahut hi khubshurat!On Seeing A GirlWho are you,Where is your home,Where do you live at,What is your name,What is your identity,I know them not.Whatever else be thatYou are very beautiful to look at!
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Modn, modnistic or post-modn?
My grandfather and grandmother had not been,
My father and mother
Turned they into daddy and mummy
And now is she mum, mom,
I dad and pa.
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Who is he,
Who is he,The WordsworthOr KeatsOr YeatsOr LawrenceOf Odisha,Who, who is he?WordsworthAs for serenity, quietude,Silence prevailing in,Keats as for sensuousnessAnd relationship,Yeats for symbolism,Myth-makingAnd Lawrence forIntricacies of human relationships,Love, sex and sexuality?
The houses decorated with
Illuminating and lighting them all,Children doing fireworksWhile they readying for a worshipOf Kali, Dark or Blue Kali.
“My love, how are you, how are you?
Are you happy, my love? ”,Said she slowly in a voice of her own.“Who, who are you speaking,Who, who are you,Speaking at a distance,Standing in the shadows? ”,Asked the lover.“My love, my love, have you,Have you forgotten,Forgotten me so early,I am, I am your dead beloved,Whom eliminated youFrom your life? ”,Came it the voice.“Who, who…
Drinker, daru mat piyo,
Nasha kaa huya jo shikarUjada uska ghar samsar!Drinker, drink you not wine,To take wine is bad,One who turned into a victim of addictionDestroyed his family!Daru mat piyo, bhaiyya,Do not drink, brother,Daru pina buri baat hain,To take wine is bad!People take wineAnd get ruined,Spoiled,Destroyed takingDaru, Indian daru,Liquor, foreign liquor,Wine, English wine,Alcohol, whatever call youMy friend,Big boss,Brother,Wine…
Is she a girl or a fairy
I just see her and think about.So sparkling and so twinkling,The glitter taking on!
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Oh no, ’tis not
that there would be
a pressing need
to share,
with you
or anyone
as there is not.
I write these words
to re-assess,
perhaps,
but mostly
to live through
the wondrous time
with you,
again.
I know you will
forgive me
if you find
a smudge,
or even two
as I remember
yours,
they were so small,
barely equipped
to hitch
a ride
on gravity. I kissed
those tears,
surprised
at me,
as I would
other times
and loves
avert my eyes.
Men do not cry,
so it is said
and it is true.
For you
there will be times
where
tears of shame,
or anger,
sadness
overflow
to signal that
all is not well.
My tears
come from the
deepest well
down,
near the bottom
of my soul.
They speak in whispers
as they blink
and see through bleary eyes
the picture that is you.
I love you
as you know
and may I tell you
that I love
those little tears,
just knowing
that they are
from YOU.
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He woke, a bit too early
And could no longer fightthe smoke-filled fact ofwhat others had already seenso long ago. The talent.There was no question now,but how does one who floatson cushions of reluctancy,meaning respect, on loanuntil it’s graduation time.How does this expert,on paper anyway,change coursehalfway to liberation?It will be tantallisingand voulez-vous?But I can waituntil the man,if he does have it,comes…
I feel rivers of shivers
down to velvet that quiverscome, Toulouse-Lautrec!Are there words like God blessintertwined in the nightI hear the echo, oh yesIn my heart is your light.
I threw a dart which had
Three days in all, andnot an hour more.But when the sun had seta revelation dawned,the crucial answer was,dear friend in need,just blowing in the wind.
Wer eine Mutter hat die lacht
die morgens aufsteht und erst gaehntund dann so nebenbei erwaehntdass unsre Welt ‘ne schoene ist.Und dass die ziemlich kurze Fristdie uns gegeben, reichen musssonst waer’ es eine harte Nuss.Natuerlich muessen Zeichen kommen,von Kindern, anderen und Frommen,die Positives in sich tragen.Man will nur immer wieder fragenwarum sie soviel klagt und schimpft,es ist als waere man geimpft,als…
A life fulfilled at last,
she left behind a pasta Fatherland’s own chains.And made a life, renewedwell filled with strength and lovea mother, kind and shrewd,with guidance from above.A man can hope to beto all a friend indeed,a mother makes you teato ease your time of need.And mothers have a giftto hold the coldest handand call you, when adriftwhile making…
I walked another endless mile
Had heard from knowledgeable matesand Publicans in hot debatesthat one must nowadays acquirean extra belt, just like a tyre.To ward off bullets and mean wordsand deadly rays as well as turdsso what I needed was a beastof thirteen metres, at the leastI’d jump upon its beady eyesand soon you’d hear those desperate cries,I have a…