The owl,
The owl sitting atop
The bird
Bizarre and grotesque
Looking strange.
The owl ogling.
Ogling with
The big-big eyes
And seeing
Under the nightly mist
And fog,
The owl bizarre and grotesque.
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Had a sister
The rakhiOn the wrist.When she will not be,You will come to feel itWhat the bonding isIn reality!
Even if one flips and fleets the pages of Bare Face
One will find the same bare face of the poet,The same unchanged Mahapatra.His imagery whatever be that finally takes toHis utter lapsing into the realms ofNothingness, existentialism and nihilismAnd the poet appears to be bewildered.Instead of giving aesthetic pleasure, the poet tasksThe brain,With his pictures of the dowry deaths, gender prejudice,Domestic violence and bruises and…
Two of my brothers
Now am I to,But why have I not,When shall I?Waiting for that…
The conservatives and the orthodox,
Purdahwallis,The oldie profs ofGender studies,Now the bobbies taking overFrom them.
My search is different,
Who has got what,What is in whom,How to searchit,Find it?Where is quality,Where talent,Genius, merit,Let me search it out,Bring it out from the cavity holeAnd I shall.And who has it not,How can you say,What you underrate it,Maybe it you do not know it,What you undermineIs not a thing to be undermined.A child’s uncommon drawings and sketchesWhich…
You called me a poet,
Say you,Local, provincial or nationalOr international?If local, the local peopleCall it notAs have a coterie of their own,If provincial,The state academy has its ownPoet officials,Office-bearers, members or recipients,If national, who is take me thereFrom the provincial level?So let it be,I a poet of my own right,Self-styled and self-published.
By the pond-side
Of the marshland,
The wetland.
The cat wilder in appearance
Saw I passing by,
The animal,
Creature passing
In search of preys.
An unusual cat,
Wild and bestial,
Came it as a surprise,
But running it away unawares,
Slipping so fast.
A cat wild and woody
Bearing the brunt of hunting
And habitation,
A cat wildly printed
And untamable.
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They often ask me, but what to say to them,
As have you,As have I.Love is love,You feeling within,I feeling within,Love or you, love for me.Love is no doubt pure and undefiled,Sacred and sacrosanct,But we let it not to be,As weaken we the strength of it.Love is a thing of the heartBut who loves the heart,As we like to love the body,Not the soul.See the…
Whose woodland
Whose the forest tractFull of mysteryTelling the mythOf creation and lifeOn earth?
Poetry of heart, poetry of soul,
Heartlessly, soullesslyIf not held in confidence?
Shakuntala and Dushyanta
Nautankibaaz,The husband cannot recognize wife.
Who reads poetry today
Poetry written with a good heart or a bad heart,The heart heavy with, under the load of or just about hollow things?Poets’ poetry the poets read it, big and smallAnd the critics sifting not, just glossing over leisurely.The good number of the critics too lesseningAs they looking up to the paparazzi in inspiration.
Wherever they are
Or the secluded placesTell ofA difficult timeGone by,The horror and terrorOf the T.B. patientsSuffering fromWith no hope for livingAnd the British doctors and nursesTaking care of,ServingWhere the people used toFear to go,Even the relativesOf the patientsPresuming a supposed to beContact withAnd the houses dilapidatedAnd fallingLying under the treesStill tell ofThe age gone by,The influx of…
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To see,
See the Kash blooms,
White Kash blooms
swaying,
Swaying in the wind
By the riverside
So many, so at a glance
Swaying,
Swaying and soothing,
Soothing to the soul
And charming
Under
The half-cloudy,
Half-sunny skies
The Kash,
Kash blooms
White beards like,
White hair like
Kash,
Kash blooms
Grassy and stalked.
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From which cave of sadhna
The light of sadhnaLighting?Where ShivaFrom whose matted hairThe Ganges flowing?Whose Third Eye PowerAwakening?It’s sadhna,All but sadhna,Shiva-sadhna,And the Nagamani,The Shiva gemstone,The lingam flashing,The cobra testing the sadhna,Kalbhairava supernatural passing throughTo take the ordeal,Nagamani is butA meditation about the lingam,Shiva and his snake,The lingam lighting,Shiva meditated throughThe darkness,The dark myth of the lingamAnd his snake, kaal-rupa,Dark and…
Mitti ka kya
Yaa videsh ki?What is that to earthThat be of IndiaOr of foreign?
Ballet
Which none but ballet-dancersKnow it,How hard is itIn steppingHigh and low,Right and left,Stretching,Lengthening,Lifting over.
To talk of Jayanta Mahapatra is to talk of the dark daughters,
At the end of RelationshipAnd this is in reality one of the mysteries of his poetry,The image of the dark daughter so mythical, mysterious, symbolical,Historical, artistic, aesthetic,Archival, archaeological and museumlogicalAnd here lies in the philosophy and sociologyOf his interdisciplinary poetryDrawing from history, art, culture, myth, mysticism,Society, science and paintingOr these may be the dancers dancingAnd…
If your son is a bad boy,
But a bad boy,A very bad boy,What to say,How to put it before?If your son is a bad boy,A bad boy,A very bad boy!God will punish him,He will get the punishment fromOr should it be not?
On the road,
Some, somebody meetAnd some, somebody we miss,Miss weOn the road,The road of life,Life, lifeTurning this way,Turning, turning that wayOn the road,The road of lifeSome, somebody meet we,Some, somebody miss we,Miss we.