Best Poems From
(28th August 1961)
For last couple of days
I have an impetus to ponder over
Any one questions me or not
I intend to express my intention.
What is that?
I am allowed to be alone
Where there is silence all around.
I would plunge into deep penance
And listen to the whispers
Of the loneliness and the voice of silence.
I shall realize the echo of
My heart and what is in me
In my conscious, sub-conscious
And unconscious self
And to read me
Who am I?
And am endowed with what
To unfurl the petals after petals
Of my heart
I would prefer dark to light
I know light camouflages one
With gala and etiquette
To manifest the hypocritical
Civilization and its mundane ideology
Darkness eats away all artifice
It encourages and impels one
To relax the swinging tentacles
Like an emancipated reptile
When he reads himself bit by bit in silence?
Like the first dropp of rain
Touches the earth
The touch of some one
Touched some where in
The unseen petals of the hidden flower
Enchant the lone pedestrian
In the woods eternally
By its uncommon aroma
As an incense stick
Burnt sometime back
In a sanctum
And bemuses the passerby
With its last left fragrance
Through a tiny outlet exists there.
It is raining sparsely outside
The beautiful odor of the soil
Pours into the bedroom
Emanated from the crest of the earth.
The untainted smell multiplies
With the falling of rain drops
And the feelings of the touch
Spread into the each blood cell
The rain turns to heavy shower
The feeling preserved in each
Cell grows within
Like a honeycomb grows by bees.
It flows in the bloodstream
Captures and hypnotizes
There is no existence of anything
Anywhere except the feeling of touch.
A river flows downstream
To its only destination
Surrenders and mingles in the sea
Where there is water
No rain, no shower, no river
The feeling germinates somewhere
Grows to a full bloomed tree
And spreads to the entire Universe
Not curliness to any definite proposition
The touch is huge, unbelievable
Is that the feeling of love?
For one life only
Or for time immemorial
Or well above the compass of this
When evening runs to midnight
Darkness swells up
The music of the showers
Breaks the silence all-round
But creates no hindrance for the beholder.
The feeling still prevails.
TRAVESTY OF FATE
The middle aged maid, a graceful lady
was living in the nearby slum,
disappeared for couple of days
It was learnt that her husband had met an accident
and hospitalised unconscious in a hospital
with a brain haemorrhage
We remained in dark
as no message further was available
on the health condition of her husband
One day she appeared desolate
and started sobbing disastrously
All of us were taken aback seeing her emaciated situation
she had already shed her ornaments like a luxuriant tree
shed its leaves during winter
and was looking miserably bare
An ever smiling face used to appear
contented always in spite of tireless work
during the entire day had vanished
Since she was weeping desperately
I could not muster courage to look at her pale grim gruesome face
The rustic, illiterate lady had no other source of income
but to live on as a wage-earner
The only security she had her husband
who was also a manual labourer
But the cruel destiny played foul with the distressed lady
and snatched away the little help she had
and put her in such a gruelling state
from where she had no escape
The husbands companion was her only solace in life
that God even did not tolerate
A strong, stout and athletic man suddenly passed away like
a bubble of water in everyones view
After the awful incident the shaken maid accompanied by her daughter
who was almost a kid started coming to work regularly
Perhaps the child left the study half way
due to propelling poverty. At times
she was expressing her agony before the land lady
and working ceaselessly to keep herself engaged
One day the maid was seen tutoring the child
as to how she would wash the littered
and soiled utensils and make it clean
I just watched and watched the pitiable state of affairs
speechless from the seclusion and became deeply aggrieved
observing as to how the travesty of fate is playing
its game with the impoverished and innocent.
London Bridge In A Stranger's Eye
Three and half decades past
a boy in far East at the shore of Bay of Bengal
when heard the London Bridge is falling down, falling down
he plunged in to utter remorse
why such a catastrophe is befallen
on the tormentors or the entire world is
on the threshold of annihilation.
Though he had a lot of anguish
against the perpetrators
who brought misfortune to the soil
he belongs to for centuries
and caused shedding tears from the eyes
of thousands and thousands of innocent mothers.
He wandered to decipher the reasons there of.
He had a childhood promise then
to remind the children of today of that far-off land
the misdeeds some of their fellow countrymen
committed for not less than three centuries
and took advantage of the innocence
of the aborigines there and across the globe.
But what a great surprise he encountered
to his dismay today when he watched the sight
in his unbelievable eyes as a mute onlooker,
London bridge has not fallen down till date,
instead is still going solid and as appears
it will remain still unyielding and firm as it is for centuries
and centuries to come to bridge the gaps
that exist between the East and the West.
The unknown child of the East is bemused
and taken aback with the marvellous preservation
of the antiquities and the reverence for the past.
The respect for the traditions and resurgence again and again
from the jaws of the debacle surprise the lonely spectator
who with inquisitive eyes visualize each of the items
which are preserved magnificently here and there.
Past teaches and enriches the knowledge to go further
and learn to rectify. The foundation for the citadel of
knowledge that was laid many centuries ago
has played an incredible role to bridge the relation
firmly time and again. Dynasties after dynasties
will come and go but the temple of knowledge
built beyond the dynasties in the divine soil will go on
bridging the gap among the nations and between
the East and the West in particular that the beholder envisages.
(This poem has been written in the hostel room(west) no.16 of Somerville College, Oxford University on 05.01.2014 night while undergoing training from 4th to10th January,2014)