(Remarks of Suzy Davis on my poems SLEEP MY BELOVED LADY, SWAPNA, SLEEP attract me some questions while writing love series with my wife, SWAPNA, and I write this poem in a fresh way and publish it.)

Swapna awakes.
Her eyebrows pick up light
as if a sleeping after a sleeping
a little shivering, a little rub on eyes
a little sprinkling of stares
she looks nice
as if she is capable of hearing sound of the earth
as if she is thrilled with night dream.

-“Hi.”, I say

-“Hi!” Won’t you sleep tonight?” she replies,

-“I sleep with very much intensive sleeping
vein by vein, eyes on eyes, in right spirit.” I say,

-“What is that? Do you wait expectantly?” she says,

-“Yes. Why do you not wear bra?”

-“I feel today bra is too tight to feel light.”

-“Even you do not wear a blouse as usual, why?”

-“I cannot say why. I only wear a long silk nightgown.”

-“Yes that I can see, and today you are beautiful.”

-“Are you a saint?”

-“I cannot touch even your eyes with my lips.”


-“I want to take you as blooming flower
I do not want to pluck it
let it swing with breeze,
I do not want to see you as melting ice.”

-“Am I not your wife?”

-“Today I have got a strange feeling in my sense
I want to welcome you as a pure grant of creation.
So I feel no lust, no test of spice or smell of mutton juice.
I do not want to see you lying upon my hands,
I want to imagine you staying in your virgin bonds.”

-“Are you a priest?
Not my husband?
Not my beloved one?
Not my SHOHAR?
Not my partner?
Not my SINDUR?
Not my conch-bungle?
Not my dear one?
Not my conquering soul?
Not my winning Night?
Not my team leader?
Not my philosopher?
Not my guardian?
Not my protector?
Not my winning velour?
Not my passion?
Not my symphony?
Then what you are today, my darling?”

-“Today I am your great love-pigeon
sift, your wit, your pious canvas
your dream PURUSHA
who resides in you
but he does not touch you
and he prays for you.
Today I become your distinguished worth,
today I cannot become a sex-slave
today I cannot become a love seducer
today I want to be real lover
today I want to live in your favor
and I am driven in quest what is love.”

-“Yes darling, today I feel something new
and your presence thereon.”

-“Tell me darling, what is that?” I say.

-“In my spiritual sleeping of this night,
I feel many things,
I feel many images in many mirrors”

-“Explain me.” I say.

-“I feel I am hungry of love
I feel I am infallible of love
I feel my beauty is not all for love
I feel my softness is not real vessel for love
I feel my anger is not much spoiler
I want to hear whispers into my ear,
‘I love you; I will love you more tomorrow
I am yours for ever, I am your depth of love.’

I feel I need heroic velour residing in man
I feel I need one able-bodied man
who conquers me, winning me is his a victory
I feel I need a lustful man-husband
who tears my bra, enters his firm fingers
on bare skin of my breasts, tenderly twisting my nipples
and he puts his lips into my lips, kisses my eyes, kisses my forehead.

I need one firmly built man
who holds my hands in his tight grips
and lifts me straight as if I am feather-weight
and throws me upon bed with a shaking
that Japan quack has done to its own traits
and penetrates my body and mind
that I possess by birth and preserve it
thinking it as God’s gift to honor for its bloom
from my childhood to adulthood.

Before slip away from his grips
his tongue breaks my locked teeth
and take away all saliva from my mouth and throat
to feel his mouth and my lips are cut
and having great secretion inside by the able-bodied man
he will live with me and care me till I am alive, in his promise,
then I will feel fresh and turn to be connoisseur of love
that awakes me and thrusts me to take meetings
and to go for marketing, and taking everything on the way in rhyme
that creates root to grace the love forthcoming.”

-“My brave girl, my lady-love, my wife, my beloved one,
I have waited for 60 years to know feeling for love.” I say.

-“Go, take bath, and prepare for the day’s work.” Swapna says.

© Asim Kumar Paul



For four hours I have to wait on the e-mail box
to receive your letter full of word that you want post.
and in the source of imagination you are sleeping now.
Dear Swapna, in your sleep, I see your breasts are taking rest,
yet they have a little wave that the breathing makes love.
Today you do not wear bra, beautiful curves are there.
I see your face so pure so sweet so intimate so cute——
I do not let it be kissed now, and I will wait for your awake
then you certainly make me feel I am man and you are woman
and we are one another respect solicitor
and if you allow me to kiss your forehead when you are awake
I will be purified with your love.

Dear Swapna, please do not move in your sleeping posture
then I will lose the vision of your beauty in sleep, your lips
your closed eyes, nicely placed as petal by the nature,
no dew has yet touched, yet those eyes are so clean and alike
tendering love, like grace of heaven where live Apsaras.
You are above them, you are like Goddess, whom we do not know her,
yet she resides in our heart that blossom with trials and dreams.

Sleep my dear wife, SWAPNA, your freshness keeps me alive.

© Asim Kumar Paul


Softly you lift glasses from your eyes.
Your cheeks dazzle with bright daylight
eyebrows twinkle with love and grace
as if morning sun takes bath in rain
skin moisture put pink on your lips
and pour some tender kiss on its brown
skin that desires like eyesight blinks in a fix
and drops of sweat down pass the chin.
You glow like sparkle to yield dawn
and fall on your breasts, O my Lady Love.
Your black eye balls tandem with sanctity
and fairer zeal falls upon my thirsty mind
that I cannot restrain to have a kiss
and you gets no upset but goes
taming as if you are mine.

If I have a e-mail touching skin
I will touch your palms to study your life line
and make a feeling curve with your dreams
and if you have another name of my choice
I will then break all e-mail junctions
and keep my feeling hot with breathing
that we both share and know each other
and you swear to me
and I swear to you
and between the legs I keep a little pie
that is not rough and you cannot say no
and the world will not destroy it
and keep them like your two kids
and protect wall I can make to divert ills
and with good words you greet me with your lips
and we both inherit our bondage
that lights the earth, that assures our muse.

I will give you more service with the kids
that you see and kiss with power of your lips
even if I am small like phosphorous burn.
O my Lady Love, can you love me like storm?
O my Lady Love, can you take me like fancy tale
and I only give wisdom of love
that gives our heart a journey to eternity
and we will get light by giving love eyes
and I will try to satisfy your sense of humor
that your wits call forth with fairer skin and eyes
and I then suck your juice to glorify your fertility
and our minds will dwell in fables
that next generation babes read when they are intimate
and when these kids grow like man and women
will amaze to feel how our male female
partnership keeps the world amused like drama
of Shakespeare or poems of James Merrill.

O my Lady Love, can you be brave
to make that history to establish
unselfish love upon this earth.

© Asim Kumar Paul


Like dawn you appear before me,
walking like an angel, you enter my heart.
O Young Lady, my mind goes crystallized
to look at you, winter here, yet my eyes
get soaked with tears with real imagination.

You are cool, loving and caring, your eyes tell so,
from your fairness, let it be marveled to mount
upon a time bound love that every human being
desires to have to live with, entering psychological
and biological cycles that can shape the world with love
that galore, firm our limbs, dance, praise
to keep fair love unaffected in our life span.

Yours eyes light my eyes with your grace,
my speech renders no defects in your eyes,
lips, cheeks, smiling and curly hair.
For your love, a feeling comes in mind
I will take your Anchal of your sari
and hold it outspread and
make it full with Jasmine flowers
and walk with you crossing the doorway
and let you sit on a flower bed
and strew all Jasmine flowers upon you
and I hold a candlelight before your eyes
and ask you to look into my eyes
to find the revelation of my love
and ask you to become mistress
of my parliament to hear board meeting
where love itself moves to be heavenly thing
and tell all the world that love is ultimate goal
upon this earth –
no need of quarreling
no need of combating
no need of praying
no need of arms making
no need of interfering.

I hold my breath, my old limbs thrall
in blues, blood moves like wind
as if it is mine, not letting it out
for others’ breathing.
as if you come here to pacify my mind
and sink me with love, and
partaking me of beauty of beauties
that mounts upon abode of my verse novel.

Where have you been so long to love me?
Where have you been to love so long without me?
I never meet you earlier to assure you that I will not
make you another Shakuntala of great poet Kalidasa.

Now I can dream, pour sense’s feeling in arteries.
Now I cannot be Hansa (the great white goose)
to move and conquer the world.
Now my traveling is in terminating vacation.
Now my being is in ending esthetic,
Or I cannot put short of age term back to twenty years.

Dear Young Lady,
Can you put your lips in my lips?
Can you put your nipples upon my eyes?
Then I will embrace you, and put a little pressure
on your back to feel your body warmth, before I leave this world.

© Asim Kumar Paul


From sun rays to box offices
there exist one bonding and one sound tracking
the word, love, that fills bricks
moisture with lipid profile tests
medicines are those verbs
that bind proper noun to conjugation
where I feel a war
between bricks and ribs
to reign over heart’s territory.

Sometimes sun rays penetrate
the heart like milking breasts
feeding the love child.
Sometimes box offices
fill the heart with observers
who plays only as audiences
to comment upon and light upon
aspects of love, and retire upon sanctum
finally go outside our vision.

Beauty moves such way
of lovable choices, and
much dangerous turns the steps
that milkman has to pour water
in the milk-pot for selling only,
keeping own share unadulterated.

If we say how it could be so,
we can only say war has not finished
between beings and non-beings.

© Asim Kumar Paul


It is morning
my wife make me awake before the time of awaking
and I have to buy a little Prasad from bazaar as she has
to offer a little PUJA (prayer) before crowd jolts in the Mandir.
– “Think first how you pass your time this day.” She said.
– “I will not read newspaper this morning,
enjoy no TV shows, only enjoy with you all,
so long I was strident with my job with thralls of protecting me.
Today I will love everyone who loves me despite age and looks.” I have said.
-“Is it so? So long I find you as job-alcoholic.” She says.
-“I have a feeling that is not speechless. Mind that.” I have replied.

Another service opens before me to practice and
to stay in this earth as lovable one who always defy
hard necessities with ease, and I have to lean where
love comes, and this time I have to remove her loneliness so that
her eyes may converse with me and with the world, too,
and on this day of 15th April, the 1st Baisakh of Bengali New Year,
and on this auspicious day I have to move with more love,
sense and sympathy that will give me a nil slapping on my head,
and we all have to live in the valor and musical bangs
with assistance and harmony to create a colorful wall of understanding.

This day sings thus and swifts over to touching the moon
through the mind’s window.