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)
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
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
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.
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