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.




Paddy corn ripened; from this small field in the morning

It seems a screen saver opened, as if it is the source of enjoying

New festival of harvesting that is window for its live viewing

That saves energy in everything, retracing life with significant caring.



I am walking alone in the street

I turn around smiling faces

I search for first morning drizzle,

I find last drizzle on a busy evening.


I admire them who are smiling

When they are returning home,

It is a bit of happy endurance

I ask myself, “Why do you remain gloomy?”


I fail to count long way, walking alone,

I come out from home for finding peace,

I find no answer; I cannot take steps ahead,

I break my vision, it is symbol of ageing.


I feel bored; the world is like a big wall,

I cannot climb, and cannot reach other side

Where all smiling faces are like a silent river

Flowing through gesture of tranquility,


I am abandoned alone in the evening rain.




This poem is for Dr. Biplab Chakraborty, author, poet and critic.



When the morning is too delightful

They appear in the world they want to know,

In cool, brilliant sunrays of winter morn,

With little footsteps, alongside wise notes

Of elderly blessings, searching for

Love and epoch making destination,

In the sun’s contour upon living things,

Welcome singing of life’s journey. 


Every day this world wakes with morning,

Sleeps with evening, life just borrowing

Spells of activity, from singing of birds,

Energy from the sun, the animals in tirades

Of our significant search to know and

Use them for our benefit and all pearls

Those are white selection of our dear ones,

And dream of our life has some barrenness

As harvesting is not all time business,

As we prefer for the attainment,

When dear ones are for performance

Shaky shoulders with orange eyes,

Slim hands giving feeling of purple innocence.


We have rooms, we have skin,

We have perfume, we have Milky Way,

We live with performance, daily movements

Appearing before world zoo with consciousness.