I am in Love...

A non-coherent thought

Appears

Repeats

And remains…

She disbeliefs

but reflects distrust

to his words

she says

apparently uninteresting words

her acts are not harmonised

and

she hears only exclusive sets of words

Her imaginations have spread wings

unaware of earthly happenings

she is in absolute disorder

and chaos

or, perhaps

she is in love……

Just like that...

In the Past

In the past
cloth
use to have carcass

Long back,
Three to four thousand years' back...

Now, clothes are there
and,
remembrance of carcass
far from touches...

[This photograph was taken at Lake Balaton, Hungary and the poem is a translation from original Hindi written by my poet friend Siddharth]

In an Alien City...

In an alien city
I am longing for somebody
to call my name.
This will make me happy.

Then, I can smell the leaves
falling on the path of spring
I can see the colours of flowers
blossoming after the winters

I will recognise peoples’ voice
decipher their words
and
greetings

In an alien city
free from so many things
I could have felt its fragrance
Or, the woman
who was so close to me
years ago

Distance bothered me
distance from my child
his yelling and smiling
that has his own special marks

Distance bothered me
distance from the crowd and chaos
distance from responsibility
in an alien city…

[This poem is an outcome of my initial days in Pecs, Hungary where I spent my last one month. My blogger friends:I am really sorry for not keeping up the momentum of writing, all these days]

I Prefer to be Silent...

I don’t know how

time passed

and

winter was nowhere to be seen

Leaves started falling

at times one by one

at times in bulk

From nowhere

a gusty wind came

and

took away many of those

to a distance of dreams

to desert them

at the end

No explanation was given

No reason was sought

At times I feel

How will we take the views of the leaves

if words are the only medium of expression!

I prefer to be silent

I prefer to look at my child

and

his innumerable expressions

NO WORDS

I prefer to be silent

...

Nothing but Death...

I wish to write a poem

about nothing

but

death

The woman in next door

walks away

through the narrow alley

The old man

beneath a unknown tree

rests

after a long walk

A boy of twenty

smokes out

in a synchronised form

while talking over a mobile phone

I chose not to write

a poem about them

I hunt for a character

like a rickshaw puller,

like a man on the street

who announces about the next movie

in nearby theatre

and

distributes leaflets,

A man who comes to our street to sell charcoal

The woman selling puffed rice

All of them are dead

Long time passing

Let me rework on my flute

and

play the melancholy…

Khalida

I love you Khalida
while gathering the mat in the dawn hours

in the morning I can see the depth of an ocean in your eyes

when noise of the hand pump echoes in the slum
your looks tremble me

why you look so beautiful in this morning hours
and see, how petite is my morning


The children would be rushing
to the ice-cream vendor
in the recess time of their school

I have to reach there

Yaa.. Allah..
If there were no school in this world!!!

(In the Original in Oriya I titled this poem as “The Ice-cream Vendor”. Here I prefer it to be Khalida, such a beautiful name, isn’t it?. I know, I have failed to recreate it in English.)

A poem I did not want to write…

An untold event

started roaming in the head

She,

a small little girl

till yesterday

took a few steps

towards the river

I call her Shyamalee

This poem is incomplete, if,

she does not take bath in the river

and

climb the steps in wet clothes

I wrote this again and again

I resoled to see her in my favourite colour

and thought,

her hair should be untied

I kept returning

to Kelo, my river

time and again

where

my mother’s soul is at rest

Now, when I attempt

to see her in my ways

I do not find Shyamalee

The little shop-owner

across the river

told me today,

'she committed suicide.

Post-mortem report says

she was pregnant of six month

at the time of death'.

She is buried here

by the municipality workers

somewhere near the Neem tree

adjacent to the hillock...