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.




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.





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.



Old men are beautiful of fineness in immensity

Of loveliness as father, teacher and grandfather,

They are sitting in colorful passage where

Dense outstares at shining visuals of arrivals,

New generations – birth and death,

And people gather there for observing fest, in a sea of

Baul Songs, Harinam Sankirtan, Bhakti Songs, Bansuri.

They are seeing the arrangement over the place,

Where bubbles of aspiration, fire, burn, and lastly

Emptiness, beyond grief, arrives in oceanic humans.




A little Cormorant and a duck

In a village pond.

Morning mind of the little cormorant

Flexible with love

Reaching likelihood its own, floating on, is

Flying around the duck swimming

On water peacefully,

That seems focusing the danger

Other one not resembling to its own,

Chaos in water

Morning has a twist,

That the duck does not desire,

And it hurriedly tries to thwart

Other one’s attempt to pick it up,

And finding another one

Not likelihood of its own,

The little cormorant just flies over

The pond; and the duck hurries to swim

Across the pond to reach the bank.


The duck is beautiful. And naked dream

It dreamt first in early morning and it gets

Puzzled with not having messenger of love,

While the little cormorant has met one

Corner of mystifying appearance,

That involves it to fly over the lovely pond,

Morning speaks out without togetherness.

Culture, religion and tour at Tarapith, West Bengal, India, on the eve of New Year 2017.

It happened to me to be present at Tantric temple and its adjoining cremation grounds (where sādhanā are performed – Wikipedia) at Tarapith, Birbhum district, West Bengal, INDIA, on the eve of 1st January, 2017 when TARA MA SANGHA, Shyamazar, Kolkata organized 40th anniversary there with colorful events and I have enjoyed it and took snap shots and a short video recording of those events.

It seems to me this program is like a poem in composition.

–  Asim Kumar Paul, 07.01.2017

Culture, religion and tour at Tarapith, West Bengal, India, on the eve of New Year 2017.