2013 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2013 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 930 times in 2013. If it were a cable car, it would take about 16 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

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RETIREMENT LIFE

After retirement

The man thinks of life

He has worked nothing

Yet he worked more than others.

 

Spring was in his family,

Winter has much air.

He married

Lotus had bloomed in his garden.

 

He heard singing

First time in woman’s voice

A son was born

Bright days did come like the sun.

 

 

When teen aged children came

He felt drifts did come

Tender mind became stiff

Cool air covered moon light.

 

He felt loneliness

Singing got isolation.

The new air went on own surge

Elderly advice went yellow purge.

 

Future got no accolade,

He closed himself in his bed

Just looking outside

For others spin

He thinks let future to decide

The sky has open vastness,

He has to endure that vastness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CRYING CHILD

Another playing, the child wants it,

With his new football, in winter day time,

He takes the ball, and wants to go

To nearby meadow, with other children,

He softly calls his mother, “Come.”

His voice sounds sweet in cool weather.

 

His mother does not want it,

She wants to get his son sleep for a rest,

As the child is much in labor

And now requires rest, after taking day meal,

She has also to take bath and supper, too.

The child begins crying not being allowed to play.

 

The child weeps profusely,

His intention is not met, mother is angry,

What is playing in his mind becomes somber,

His skeleton body quivers, not being in cool,

Mother takes the toddler forcefully,

The child is still to learn talking full.

 

 

His crying is full with vigor,

His willingness will never reach to others,

And none is there to make the child open

With playing as winning game

He is alone in the world,

He is not independent to go outside.

 

He cannot be desperate, not having commiserate,

He keeps himself in lap of mother,

The ball falls from his little hands,

Not able to get escape over tight grip.

Mother is determined to make the child sleep,

Sleeping of the child gives her spell for working and the rest.

 

Crying of the child gets feeble,

And being tired, he feels sleepy,

The world of mother becomes open

Duty and familial work find path

For crimson passage, child’s intention

For playing another time gets dock without joy.

 

POETRY WRITING

Poetry loving hearts have feeling of
Life and situation, that poet’s pen draws.
Poetry loving hearts have minds
That read words, rhythmic with
Poet’s mind and writing, creating
The moment of visualization of
Shapes of life, with imagination,
Poet’s eye glances at the epic formation.

Poetry writing is unfolding own feeling
And thinking to be magical with words,
For someone, playing and balancing that part missing
To keep poetic scene alive, we hardly wed through.

THIS CHILD’S AMBITION

Wind carries the fire.

Mind is reluctant to burning heart,

All smoke pass over mind,

Trials and tests are done.

 

When the child eats nothing,

All attempts are failed to his distaste,

Parents are drunk with work survival,

The child goes with damned wimps,

 

The child cannot say,

“Please please! Take care of me.”

It is harder for him to take everything,

He works like a pushed button.

 

His cute face becomes pale

His mind is burning flame,

His ambition don’t turn to a song,

People never hear his little wishes.

 

He calls for nothing,

He is unheard, and remains

With playing, knowing nothing,

About his body and mind.  

 

 

Lingering in losing strength,

The angel walks with cruel fate,

Reels on elusive trails,

Churning in sand drifts. 

MY POEM

What I will tell you in my poem

Not it is a gossip, it is a poem

Telling something for my projection.

That contains all contracts about others

Rolls of all players are contracts,

Tricks play everywhere they speak for others.  

Who are on the way of life, agents of things

Agents are there for speaking, it seems,

Of others’ journey, it is a way of life.

Making my task critical to observe,

All things thus go critical, and

In this journey I take a blank observance,

And obsession fills my heart to clear

Their talking makes me obsessed with everything,

No remedy I do find and my thinking

The hard way to locate fault and natural status,

About people earns no reflection,

To identify which one is human fault

Or natural seeing through the light

As the earth is more legitimate with creation

That is a legitimate creation of the universe.

To pass through our life and we are filtered

Light passes through our life and filters

Our inner side and creates confidence.

With sense and drama, hardly does come

Living in a room, trying to feel survival spark,

We live with drama, tossing with flowers.

Escape plan, inside dogmatic rains, and

We cannot think of escaping the scene,

As our living is in rain, that is dogmatic, yet romantic.

Impenetrable fence comes to write all in words.

To write all these in words of poem,

I stand before an impenetrable fence. 

 

Note: I have rewriten my earlier poem, MY POEM, in the link

https://asimkumarpaul.wordpress.com/2013/12/15/my-poem/

Italic bold lines are lines in my original poem.

On criticism the poem is rewritten.