APOLOGY

 

APOLOGY

“Everything is lie.” was the soft voice in response.

 

Loss of birth or loss of funeral is not decoded.

 

What to work and what to eat are pre-loaded

By the congregation where God like representatives spread

Sermons with allocation of food and drink,

Either it may be curse rice, alcohol or pure water.

 

Every time no one knows the brand name behind,

Every time no one knows what origin it is losing.

 

Something there is hidden, outside preview of camera.

And as an accident occurs, representatives in congregation

Announces in publicity, “God forgive them.”

 

Everyone gets weird. Either collapse of construction,

Frost bite or snake bite is placed like volatile syndrome in air

With least resistance to be offered, filled with whispers,

“Everything is lie. Mistake is also a lie. Stress is for us.

We are to be sober at every loss. Obeying is our words.”

 

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WRATH

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Winter dawn, fog and mystery,

Somewhere it is busy time and

Somewhere it is sleeping time,

I am standing awake,

On the side of a bypass road.

Nearby to a village, where

Dwellers are in deep slumber,

Delicately balanced and unperturbed.

They need no necessity to apologize

To God or to the state, because

Beautiful night is silent on sound sleep,

Uninterrupted flood lights and heavily loaded

Trucks are on the road, always running

To carry essential commodities, usually moving

Wheels and engine make echo inside.

I, mesmerized, taking me as myth, and it is me.

I was involved in loving one youngster, and

I tried to help him as care taker for the time being,

So as to looking into matters, in absence of parents,

Of supervising his playing capability,

And I have to stay in the village, and

At dawn, I woke up and stood alone there.

Some learning would come, and I have evaluated

The moment of my performance,

As I have submitted a paper of assessment

On the performance of the little one,

To his parents who would approve or disapprove

Quality of my supervising retrospect.

And I have learnt everything of parents’ judgement,

It was that I did not know the technique,

As I loved my own benefit for money, and

I spoilt their ambition, leaping into hypothesis,

That did not work in practice and

I spent time to live with their hope

For attaining of superiority,

I have made only torque of my desires,

Not benefitting to their little one,

As they did not take me as a party of favorite,

Irony of fate,

And I have to leave this place and to walk away

For another destination for good,

Losing my honor for investing time with them,

Morning is coming and I have to forget

The moment of smiling of that little one

Who once broke silence with his bursting laughter.

VALENTINE’S DAY WITH THIS LITTLE ONE

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The boy usually begins the day with bow and arrow,

He wants to play with these in joyful clarity,

His plying in not in the way what we think about it.

He smiles with playing laugh with swinging of arrow,

Heading towards any directions of its own,

As the boy wants to know the way the arrow travels,

Any aberration is his enjoyment with love and quest,

If the arrow is not in direction of target and it is spoilt,

He enjoys it and to him it does not cut a pinch of salt,

Discovering with love, even at failure, is his curiosity,

And by hitting a target, he smiles and enjoys creativity,

And runs to pick the arrow from where it strikes the sea,

The little one does not seek manager’s assistance,

If help comes on his way, he takes is as playful role,

And he things it to come from his loved one,

Giving him candy hearts and he feels secured in love,

That gives this Valentine’s Day to me to celebrate with him.

COMMUNITY LUNCH (PANKTI BHOJAN)

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COMMUNITY LUNCH (PANKTI BHOJAN)

Tarapith cremation grounds

 

They sit on the floor for gracious lunch,

Like dreaming birds to acquire saintly gifts,

In the place where pilgrims gather to

Offer praying for blessing of Tara MaTara Ma.

 

With coolness, with perseverance,

They wait for turns, and devotees-in-charge serve

Hot Gobindabhog rice, lentils soup, veg. curry,

All are fostered with fresh waking up.

 

They dearly take part in the Bhakti songs,

An episode of faith, patience, empowerment,

A merger with divine love-word puzzles,

A growing inspired voyage of fulfilment.

 

Never has it grown to feel empty-handed,

Until they can cool themselves from burns,

They just focus to the superiority of answer,

And move out of this place, in realm of wisdom.

GENESIS

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GENESIS

 

The religious place turns to be a cultural orchard,

People gather there, having played year after year,

Every one accepts it as one country over songs and feelings.

Photograph taken of a section of people visiting this threadbare.

 

Men, women, children come here to fill the heart with openness

Abundance of luminous self, in volition of wonderful songs,

And each one exchanging sacred meditation with soul, enjoying

Inner deeds and feelings, not craving other one’s wealth.

 

And after returning from that moment, old women do merge

With future of her action, binding with no claim of fortune,

Come the time to tell surrounding people about life and feeling,

Youngsters to retrieve from those feelings said by grandmothers.

 

Self-illuminated old hearts just abandon kingdom, throne,

The reign of anxiety cannot voice in the hours of desperateness,

Old men then come to open a window to next generations,

Who, in turn, just learn to earn money, food, to hold salvation.

 

A city comes for people’s living,

Old man holds living by honoring home,

Old woman holds evaluating existence of home,

Breathing of children holds meaning of loving smiles.