Monthly Archives: August 2016

Nilotpal Sarmah

 AN  ABANDONED FOUNDATION STONR

Amidst sylvan adoration of an empire of undergrowth,

this stony mound still rears it moss-crowned head

as if in wishful contemplation

of its long dead purpose

 

The stillborn token of some long forgotten idea

nipped at its embryonic bud by ever-fleeting human dedication,

it still incubates in its thick, unscathed, bush-enmeshed womb

redolent in stagnation’s sylvan stench as if in hope that

its abandonment might be attended to by human steps and eyes

akin to yet unlike  the ones that once reared its very birth

 

But it shall be graced by MY eyes and steps – a mere musing observer

oblivious of the stone’s root and curious about its plight;

A plight that reeks of my intellectual reflection

 

Like a cricket that sits atop this stone and chirps its insectile reveries

into the nocturnal ambience,

I sit by the stone’s earthy side and view it as a tombstone;

a tombstone commemorating the death of my

despair-laden confusion

that used to gnaw at my youthful mind

 

A NOCTURNAL PIECE

As the nocturnal landscape’s moon-kissed frame

Perspires in streams of mist and beads of dew

a haven from society’s dystopian game

it wields from the shadows’ primordial hue

Darkness, the fertile, omnipresent muse

to the sylvan spirit’s ever-growing art

mortality, with chaos and gloom imbues

routing their blood  to HOPE’s utopian heart

Like a dust-bathed flower whose beauty’s spasms

Rebels the urban air’s grimy assault

Sylvan fragrance permeates nightly phantasms

Like a beacon amidst the mind’s stormy faults

O dreams! Drown yourself in the fragrant dark

Your writhing breath shall wield awakening’s spark

 

PUTREFACTION

O precious putrefaction! Unveil each

Corner of your gloomy process whence seeps

Out, glorifying cessation’s sublime stench

Mother Nature’s acrid tears of mourning

 

O putrefaction! As death gorges on

Every speck of physicality,

Life, through your ever-flowing juices savors

The vibrant essence of soil’s fertility

 

O putrefaction! May you feed every

Evil mind with stench of its own misdeeds

That has rendered humanity arid

Cracks on whose parched womb shall dissolve into

A fertile rot for flowering progress

 

THE OLD LANTERN

My hands yield to the hindered motion of

the knob, forcing upon my heart a mild

disappointment. Thus retreats my wish to

behold the lantern in its luminous

glory. Embalmed lay the metallic fount’s

lustre in oil-scented, flaky layers of

umber rust and the glass frame in dusty

stains of stagnation, while as emblem of

days of yore, it illumines nostalgia’s

breezy CHAMBER that aerates and cleanses

my mind off time’s cacophonous gloom

In brisk thoughts, I stroll through this lighted chamber

through which, in emotive rumination,

whispers every passing breeze of feelings

 

Summoned by the olden days’ nocturnal

hours, it used to push the darkness

To a plunge upon the homely stillness

thus molding upon the walls shadowy

ripples that transcend the arcane confines

of time and as unrelenting waves, splash

upon my shore of reveries and as

fluid bliss, upon my young, parched intellect

 

Many a flicker its wick has embraced

and raised them to a steady, radiant flame

Like time, that has, many a mortal’s transience traced

who mothers our intellect’s ever-writhing frame.

 

Nilotpal Sarmah : is an engineer by profession hailing from the North-Nilotpal SarmahEastern state of Assam in India, currently residing in the Indian city of Bangalore.A poet by intellect, he has been putting his musings in the written form from an early age and is writing in the hope of seeing his work in book form someday.His work has been published in literary journals like Illyas honey and Ashwamegh journal.

 Email:  nilotpalsarmah1987@gmail.com

Indrajit Rai

IF YOU CHOOSE TO DWELL……

If you choose to dwell on the trees,

You have to share its pain and bliss.

If the woodcutter comes to fell it down,

Scare him away with screams and frowns,

Or lose your nest as the tree loses its crown.

 

If you choose to dwell by a river,

Avoid meeting it when it rises in shiver.

Rain that comes to disturb its flow,

Infact, boost its liveliness and glow.

You will survive, such secrets if you know.

 

If you choose to dwell on the sands,

Be ready to bear terror that nature will extend.

Wind and Sun will torment you beyond relief,

And will grow ecstatic by making you grieve.

Here, build your dwelling from sand and live.

 

Listen to such tale of man living at various place,

Find such places of your life and retain your grace.

And uplift the banner of humanity wherever you dwell,

Be it amidst forest, sands or place where waters swell.

You will earn such a bliss that no seer can foretell.

 

YOUR NAME 

The holy rhymes when I chant,

My mind is soothed and calmed.

But as I chant your name O’ dame

My heart feels the warmth of soothing flame.

 

I wonder what charm in your name rests,

That its utterance sanctifies me to my best.

Like the smile of nature that finds its bloom,

When spring conquers the winter’s gloom.

 

As I hum your name, every melody to it trace

And every freshness swarms around my face,

The space around turns into a glorious sphere,

A joy filled dwelling bereft of every fear.

 

My voice rejoices with the treasure of your name,

My senses rejoice with the treasure of your fame.

Your name has done me a favour, your favour is solicited.

Allow me to name you mine, my every fear will be forfeited.

 

ADDICTION OF PLEASURE

I know my goal, I know the course,

And toils to enrich self with the vital force.

But the stream of pleasure that all around flow,

Numbs my wit and forces along the flow to go.

 

A voice cries at loss of every time and its treasure,

But I fail to move out from the grip of pleasure.

Wearied by these foes that lives in me,

My enterprise falls  like a storm felled tree.

 

Many comes to my rescue but no hand I seek,

For I have fallen prey to addictions that tweak.

Drenched in the rain of worthless joy and delight,

I am losing the perennial source of bliss and bright.

 

Enough I had gained from years of stress and strain,

But lost much within months of deeds that my purpose did drain.

I struggle to stand and walk but the path is out of sight.

Help me to find path of my goal before I lose all my might.

 

 

HABITS

The day my ill-wishes gained might,

And flourished into habits that blight,

My mortal frame became its realm,

And habits reigned it like power supreme.

Drinking, gambling, few more so cheap,

Enslaved me with their addictive whip.

It fed on my virtues and bred vices,

Forcing me into fatal and moral crisis,

Strange, the emperor of domain strengthens,

While the domain suffers famine and weakens.

But weakens not my will to live with these habits ,

And conquer the weakness my strengths that bleeds.

I wonder what charms me that weaknesses I seek.

When every source of strength my hands can pick.

 

 

SHRINKING OF THE GREEN SCREEN

 When beneficiaries treats benefactor like a foe,

Denial and rebellion from benefactor is bound to follow.

O’ humans, you have plundered the earth ruthlessly,

Like tyrants that plunder their defeated foe mercilessly.

Drought and flood, quake and cloud burst;

Avalanche, chill, warming, undue fog and frost.

All are just uprising of nature against your ill ways.

If rebelled, you will lose existence beyond trace.

Enough of freedom the earth gives to fill your needs.

But your greed for more has given birth to your unmindful deeds.

Shrinking of the green screen, soiling of water and air

Forces snow to leave its home and for the sea to fare.

Restrain your deeds that gives pains to nature,

Or you will lose everything in near future.

 

 

Indrajit Rai, a warrior by profession and a poet by passion. Having Indrajit Raiintermediate in Science in his educational citadel, he is striving hard to be a renowned personality in the world of words and rhymes.  He is always busy exploring his potential, extracting the positive ones and irrigating the weak ones.

 

 

Rupesh Singh

For Love  

1

 What is love??

I do not know. O Dear Life!!

But still I love you…

But still I love you…

When you are with me

It seems to me that my Self is plunging down

Into the deep sea of thy love…

 

But for awhile…

You are not with me, OIntrinsic Nature!!

I start searching you in this limitless-sky

And my eyes get dampened

And overflows in your long –longing separation

 

For me…

You are my soul mate and the precious-gem of life

where my corporeal-frame resides

Our love is Godly…Our love is Godly…

The realization of Oneness

Born out of Nothingness

 

My peace dwells upon thy soothing-breast

And my Maker appears on thy agile-lips

When you kiss…When you kiss me…

Eternity lives on thy glowing-face

And thy blushful-cheeks marred those glimmering-stars

 

I hanker to dissolve…I pine to diminish…

Into your life giving eyes…

 

Thy eyes speak the language of the Unseen

Where I can see the seeds of reeling-Time

And thy love has made me womanly and effeminate

My Lord comes when you smile

Before my humid-eyes…Before my humid-eyes…

In thy twin-pearls I feel the ecstasy of love

Which makes me yours forever and ever…

2

The lovely and temperate morning is coming down

From the home of laurel-heaven

Where are you? O Youngling Flower!

The dewy-rain is yet to arrive

At my drizzled-windows…….

 

I made a garland of fresh flowers

For you, O Corn Flower!

The sweet-spring is waiting for you

Amidst the woods and the fruity orchards

Where have you been? O blissful joy!

I am feeling you in this sullen-air

And my Self is melting into thee, O Life!

 

  3

Life is what but a sickle of Time

My love is not time’s servitude

How can I express thee, O Creeper!

How profoundly I love Thee!

My love is book of holy Scriptures

And its each chapter begins with you

And ends with you, O Selfless love!

 

 4

Whenever I sleep or awake

I find thy presence everywhere

O Moist-dew! O Ductile Willow!

Will you love me?

When I will be not here…

To listen your gentle-melody

While I will sleep in my little-cave

Will you come to offer me sweet-rain?

O wall-flower!

 

 5

Into the shelf of time…

When I behold you, O Full-Circled Moon!

I gave my wild heart to you

And you caged into your cell forever and ever

Your advent in my deserted life like the dewy-rain

And moisten my frame with joy and pain

 

Ah! The sweet-morn has arrived at my door

With the sweet-twittering of colourful-birds

Where are you? O Angel of my life!

The evening is melting down

In the shady vales and highest mountains

But you did not come, O Falling fountain!

I keep on watching your ways…

I keep on watching your ways…

 

Without you

O Humid-tears!

Each and every atom seems to me an inevitable-century

O bluebell comes! O dandelion come

I am waiting for you at my half-closed windows

 

FOR GOD 

1

Who are you?

The moving wheel ?

The annihilator of Kalpa,

I have to come to expunge the entire universe

 

No one will remain…No one will remain…

Except execrable-carcasses

Only oceanic-tears…Only oceanic-tears…

 

Devastation, Detonation…Deterioration…

Has arrived to destroy all the mankind

O provenance of all species!!

Save the degenerated and debased mortality

 

2

O life!

What are you?

Darkness or light

 

Where should I go?

Darkness is visible everywhere

In the encompassed-world

And into ME

 

Darkness…Darkness…Darkness…

Rolled into the skin of blackness

Each and every thing upon the earth

Seems to me into the dungeon of utmost

Darkness…

 

The ways are foggy and the misty

And the nothingness is diffused everywhere

Life seems to ME at the verge of havoc
and the lethal-destruction

 

 

3

Who am I?

Dead or alive

Where is my living-abode?

 

Who am I?

Body or soul

How can I bifurcate?

 

Who am I?

Male or female

Where do I exist?

 

Who am I?

Dance or the cosmic-dancer

Where is the music??

Play on…Play on…

 

Who am I?

Worldly or transcendentalist

Lurking between two-worlds

One is obscure and obnoxious

And the other is powerless to born

 

Who am I?

A friend or foe

Clashing in the darkling-nights

To each other

 

Who am I?

Water or fire

Same in virtue and nature

 

Who am I?

Lover or beloved

Loving each other

Perpetually

 

4

Where is the equanimity?

Is it in the mind or somewhere else??

My heart is full of sorrow and compassion

And the mind is depressed and shaggy

And the eyes are full overflowing tears

 

O My Genitor!

Show me the right path of life!!

I am but a puppet in thy hands

I beg your pardon for doing sleazy-action

 

All the righteousness

And the unrighteousness emanates from Thee!

Where should I go??

What is the right route of life??

All the world moves through the charm of Maya

Spare me!! From your bleakly-Illusion

And redeem me from this spasm and tremor

 

5

Whatever duty I perform

O Supreme Deity!

Whether it is auspicious or inauspicious action

Whatever I take or give up

Whatever self-denial I do

O Lords of Lord! Leads to Thee!

 

Though I am avaricious and abrasive

Though I am dubious and deficit in virtues

Though I lack austerity and self-abnegation

Though my mind is not fixed in your devotion

But I am your wretched able child, O Lotus-eyed!

 

 

 

Rupesh Singh was born in Masena-Mirzapur, Ambedkar Nagar. He wasRupesheducated in Ambedkar Nagar and Azamgarh. He completed his graduation and post-graduation from the prestigious University Of Allahabad where he is currently pursuing his D.Phil on the topic: The Meaning Of Love in selected  tragedies and comedies of Shakespeare: A Critical Study. Amidst the idyllic village sourroundings the peace  and beauty of nature greatly influenced his personality filling him with a sensitive approach towards both Man and Nature.

SANJEEV SETHI

HABITUDE

My heart: a guesthouse of grief but I have worked

on ways around it. Have you nested alongside

an aviary? In rookeries one descries the distress

of circumscription. Pandiculation is the socializers

idea of obelizing. Solitaires? No one knows how

they hide their slashes.

 

 

UNDERTONE

Anxieties from the fire

of ignited extensions

stir the coruscate

of our closeness, in tints

prettier than any palette

known to me. In such glow

I chafe to calmness.

 

The campaign starts with sojourns

far and further, of seas alien to me

of sand softer than imagined.

Your undersong hums its final strokes

as cinnamon of your chassis

speedballs  me to the abundance

and ache in your eyes.

 

 

STRICTLY PERSONAL

Glutted by earthy games

I’m easiest in His essence.

When a part of me persuades

the self to swerve, I find I’m

fragile, too frail and fixed in form.

Is this why I’m hooked on to Him?

 

 

 

KERNEL

Users of basilect are blind to their place

in the loam broadening the pantheon of

languages, especially if that is the only

one they are equipped with. This is how

the human condition ought to be: happy

being who they are.

 

 

YOU AND ME 

Stitches embossed with our emblem

were on the carrel after our last concert

gleaming on cleat of atonality. I could

never convince myself of flip-flops

to fasten sudser induced seams in smoke

filled saloons, trillion of times I implored

the self to hasp gazettes of our history

on little known reefs so wavelets wash

them away. You’ve a way of finding me

in frisson, in unusual fonts. This emotional

fregoli, isn’t about you: the lever is with me.

 

 

 

The recently released, This Summer and That Summer, (Bloomsbury)seth is Sanjeev Sethi’s third book of poems. His work includes well-received volumes, Nine Summers Later and Suddenly For Someone. He has, at various phases of his career, written for newspapers, magazines, and journals. He has produced radio and television programs.His poems have found a home in The London Magazine, The Fortnightly Review, Allegro Poetry Magazine,  The Galway Review, Solstice Literary Magazine, Off the Coast Literary Journal, Hamilton Stone Review, Literary Orphans, Crack the Spine Literary Magazine, The Peregrine Muse, Otoliths, Café Dissensus Everyday, The Bitchin’ Kitsch, Section 8 Magazine, Futures Trading Anthology Three, and elsewhere. Poems are forthcoming in Sentinel Literary Quarterly, Ink Sweat & Tears, First Literary Review-East, Pyrokinection, Meniscus, The Jawline Review, The Open Mouse, Drunk Monkeys, Amaryllis Poetry, Harbinger Asylum. He lives in Mumbai, India.

Nivedita Dinkar

“Since…”

Since

My Crawling days

My thirst

To become closer to you

Has increased.

 

Since

My school days

My love

To become your shadow

Has expanded.

 

Since

My career days

My regard

To Understand the meaning of time

Has escalated.

 

Since

My Motherhood days

My worship

Towards You

Has taken leap.

 

Because

You are an angel.

My Positivity.

My Guide

My Unbreakable Bond

My Teacher

My Mother.

 

 “The Marks”

When I see the marks …

 

The permanent marks…

The permanent burn marks…

 

On my fingers

On my arms

On my wrists

On my breasts

On my thighs

On my toes

 

On my soul

 

I calculate the weightage …

Physical

Is equal

To mental

Is equal

To Spiritual …

 

That is,

I gather the rhymes and rhythm

Of life

 

And

I become more powerful!!

 

“No Optical Illusion”

I am a little girl

In my mother’s womb

 

I laugh

Ismile

I chirp

 

But,

Sometimes

I sob,

Sob

And

Hear

My Mother Sob

For hours…

 

My Romance with Kolkata

Fondly remember all,

The waiting,

The believing,

The packing,

The shopping,

The excitement of Summer,

The essentials of Vacation,

The meaning of joy,

The Kolkata nostalgia!!

 

The spread of Howrah bridge,

The jam trams,

The handpulled rickshaws,

Or

The Sardarji driven yellow cabs…

The narrow gullies,

or

The archetypal interiors,

My joy,

The city of Joy!!

 

The openness,

The straight-forwardness,

The leisurely chat in “rock”s

Over Cricket, Football, Carrom…

The adda culture,

Or

The kolkata Pustak Mela.

The soaking voice of Rabindra sangeet,

Or The revolutionary Nazrul geeti…

The tradition of Jatra,

The Roshogolla,

The Mishti doi,

The Sandesh

Or

The Durgotsav…

My sentiments with Kolkata

My romance with Kolkata

 

Is my diaspora!

 

 

Nivedita Dinkar  is a M.Phil in Sociology with Master’s in BusinessNivedita Pic Management and English literature. The experience of more than 18 years in Multinationals, Hotspitality, Education Industry has taught her professionalism, positive attitude, dedication, devotion, leadership and given her reputation, fame and satisfaction.Nivedita is a bilingual writer whose Hindi & English Poems has been published in various magazines & Newspaper. Also Six Anthologies on Hindi Poems and Two English Poem Anhologies is published too.Currently she is sharing her hands with her husband as Chief Operations Officer in their Environment Consultancy Firm.She is an avid traveler and a sensitive thinker which is why penning down her thoughts has become her passion and an utter requirement.

Vishal Ajmera

Scrambled

Scrambled thoughts

imaginations galore.

Uncertain words, never a pleasure

emotions mundane, never lifetime’s treasure.

 

Scrambled passages

Life so mysterious

twists and turns; veiled.

Uncertain walkways, never happiness prevailed.

 

Scrambled wisdom

textual knowledge .

Mythical world entangled with science

Uncertain experiments, humanity’s demise.

 

Scrambled acts

sometimes in solitude.

Greatness blended with guilt

Uncertain maneuvers, never heart tranquil.

 

Scrambled life,

Waiting to unfold.

New lease of life, fresh gust

breaking into another mould.

 

Vishal is an Indian resident. Over the years, Vishal has developed aVishal Ajmera penchant for poetry and has established himself as a successful poet cum lyrics writer; composing poetry across several genres and encapsulating various aspects of life from psychology, nature to imagery. With contributions in several international anthologies and magazine publications, his journey in the ‘poetic world’ continues unabated. Apart from poems, Vishal is an ardent music lover and plays guitar.

Dhriti Haldar

   Fri-E-N-D

With hustle and bustle, they start with a rule.
One named as mighty satire and other the great ridicule.
Both expose human foolishness in a mess
One has a gorgeous deriding voice while other sounds less.
Ridicule has a caustic wit to show.
While satire vice turns slow.
Sometimes satire can overtake reality with great anger and fire.
Ridicule answers this in a dismissive language and behavior.
Unkind words and action share between the two.
Mock whisper and tease them with a clue.
All stand in a que, with their portend
The human said, I have fool and it has no end

 

B-GIRL

A girl walks through in the dark,
Cumulonimbus suddenly blow with a big spark.
Beings in the house, and animals under the tree.
Others take their shelter in the busy road for free.
Clouds roar and crowd of the rain quarrel,
With chilling sound, water freezes in the barrel..
Its 1:00 at night and every door of the town shut
Inspite, the girl walks through the road with a brave heart.
The road lays as it is and the rains deflect in that dark.
Sizzling night, incredible voice shake hand with that spark.
Oh God help them she says
Nature wonder and goes on her feet and lays.
The Sun knocks through fog at 6.
A sound came says dont worry I am enough to fix.

 

Sleepwalker

Her hair take that sharp bend
He gift me a smile and lend
I stammer, stumble & woke up from sleep
My mouth then shut after seeing with a beep
She blow me in my ears
I feel like riding a bike and kick the gear
It feels complete to smell her fragrance
Sometimes its a road but for a glance
A sound so sharp came from her
She slap me tight and i have that love fear
Suddenly she goes blur and i see her fade
Yeah u walk in sleep, and a somnambulist they said

 

Dhriti Haldar, a Mechanical engg works in Coal india ltd. Resides in dhritiDhanbad as of now ,Jharkhand,India

Md Sarfaraj Nawab,

 

A POEM IS LIKE A PAINTING?

Canvas full of hues
Or brushes soaked with paints
Do not do justice
Or give your charms
The equal dress.
My heart cannot follow
Those arts and
Yet I try to
Paint you with my words.

‘a poem is like a painting’?
Is it so?
In a painting
Remains fixed your face
But still then
In words you
And your beauty
Find a thousand shapes
Full of heavenly grace.

In my words
You are not
The same as
You be in
My mind’s canvas.
You ever change
And come with
Meanings and colors
All new as
My words are
Repeatedly read.

On a canvas
I do see you.
Where in paper
I read you
Feel you best.
You are not
An idea all
Abstract finding place
In woods or
In papers wet.
You are beauty
Given a human
Shape by the almighty.

Where in painting
I just copy
Your appearance.
In my words
You are more than that.
You’re not merely
A copy of you.
I find you alive
In each my words.
And by them
I can crowd my room
With your praise
Making a loud
Voice and utter
Your heavenly name.
That a painting,
I hardly think can…
For often I doubt,
Even my words are
Not worthy enough
To sing your glory,
Then how the paintings,
Or any other arts
Can define you?

 

 

WHEN YOU WILL LOVE ME TOO

I often think
Or just imagine,
How would it be,
If you would,
Love me too?

This very thought,
leaves me with
a sense divine.
And immense pleasure
at being your dear.

I stare at you,
you watch me too,
as the love-birds ever do,
and find me blessed,
to find here you.

I take your hands
hold them for hours,
and kiss at your head,
and lose ourselves
in our world of love.

I hold you hard
in my breast,
and change with you,
my heart beats too,
with all my other senses.

Hence I love you,
but yet you dont,
you don’t feel the like
that I feel for you,
yet I say, worry you not!

Let me just think,
and imagine you,
as if you love me now,
like fool I wean myself
that you will love me too

THOUGH I MAY THINK IN VAIN…

 

 

YOU THE BEST OF HUMANITY

And the wind blew,
Filtering thorough your
Hairs that have some
Celestial move inside,
Provided me with
Some fresh new breath.

With its blow,
My long crumpled soul,
Fluttered along with
Your naive and
Embalmed syllables full
Of some divine joy.

My unnecessary words,
May sound annoying
You have thousands more,
To take care of you,
And my existence,
For you is no more,
Than a mustard seed right now.

Still know, my Charm,
This tiny heart
Has intentions to grow big,
Like a Bunyan tree,
To shade your
Heavenly look all beauteous.

Each second with you,
Be immortal in this mortal,
Each of your staring
Keeps the forte
To freeze me with love,
For you’re the best of womanhood.
And will live through all the worlds.
And this man will be by your side,
Whether you know or not
As wind, as soul before be it cold anon!

 

 

A LOVE STORY

I loved a girl.

Sweetest amongst all.

But she was too little

To in that passion fall.

I waited for years.

So that she can grow.

My love doubled.

Beauty was in her brow.

I saw her tall-ing

With her shining face.

Sparking luster

And a divine grace.

She walked all different

From the common mass.

Took joy in things that

People not see and pass.

She grew handsome

More than any belle.

And bore in her soul

All sweet Arabia’s smell.

This was her beauty,

More than any can tell.

She was a heavenly wind,

In the gallows of hell.

 

I wanted her love.

For her I did live.

But the cruel Time

Hatched a plan massive.

As she embraced all

Her youthful days,

I grew pale and

Decay did me chase.

My limbs did shake

And wrinkled all skin.

Hairs all came white

I grew ‘specter thin’.

My steps too faltered

And heard not what I said.

I lost my glory

With decaying dust was made.

 

Now she is by my side

With her love fully grown.

Counting each my breath,

With tears and heart all torn.

She can love me now

But now I hardly can.

For death is at my door,

Waiting for this man all wan.

Now she is beauty

And I am incarnate old.

Now she is to be loved.

And myself in my

Coffin to be hold…

 

 

Unrequited Love

Here I write,
NOT TO OFFEND YOU.
Since you are hurt
With my verse.
Still I write,
I go on sing
Of your glory,
As just a treatment
Of my heart.

That ’tis ill,
And suffering too,
Your name that it,
In its systoles do!
PLEASE DON’T BE HURT,
Let the pain be mine,
Merry be you,
And let me pine
For your care forever!

I know you
Want not what
My heart does want.
Maybe you think
Me creep that
Falsely for your love
Does hunt.
But hope dies never!
Unlike me and you.

Hence let me dream
In my dream since
Truth is something else.
But no lullabies
Can delay the wake
Of the sense!
I will remain as such,
And so will you
And men will keep aging…

Perchance this world
Is too small a place,
To lodge our loves together!
We need two different
Globes for the sole
Amount of our love.
This one is filled
With my love alone,
And yours divine one
Will reside in
The world beyond THIS…
Beyond life…
And these two loves
Will mix up
In a place that will
Unite us as ONE.

 

Md Sarfaraj Nawab, a student pursuing my masters degree in English mdliterature in the University of Gour Banga.

 

 

 

Anit Mukherjee

Polarization

I hear no sound on the streets these days,

But the noise of rampant extremism,

The winds once carried the fragrance

From the flower-bed nearby,

Now they carry nothing but the howls

Of adjectives being hurled to and fro.

 

I see no human on the streets these days,

Only the instruments of divisiveness,

It is an abomination of civility where human-

No longer inspires one another, only scrutinizes,

No longer empathises with one another, only classifies,

No longer responds to one another, only vitiates.

 

I hear no friendly advice these days,

Only the directives of blood-red eyes,

All the Philosophers,Guides and Friends

Have vanished; given way to

Dictators, Anarchists and Stooges,

Leaving us to suffocatein whirlwind of conformity.

 

I hear no saintly utterance these days

Of all the roads, traversed honestly, leading to truth,

Even the idea of truth has gone through the ordeal of being

Defiled and desecrated, re-structured and re-defined,

One is no longer permitted to begin the quest for truth,

Rather is paratroopped into the defined boundaries fabricated.

 

I see no intellect these days

Thriving to stand unique, apart from crowd,

All are rushing in the race of conformity,

Either to the left, or to the right,

As the sheer human density nauseates the extremes,

The ungrazed field of ideas in between, in despair, gazes.

 

Anit Mukherjee ,an engineer by  profession but  a poet by nature.anit

Srijana K.C

Rich – Poor

News flashes! as is the nature of news

“Earthquake shakes my country in April”

choppers, private jets, whirlybirds whirling in sky

while Hillbilly in beastly beauty- the Mountain

notices an alien bird pooping a sack of rice, bawls

as cereal scatters on ground with the thrust it falls.

He looks at his coughing oldies and starving children

squats pondering whether to feed them muddy grain.

Meanwhile, banners, celebs, agencies flash their teeth.

Rich getting richer, poor poorer beneath.

 

News fizzles! as is the nature of news.

news return home,cuddle their warm blankets.

there remains Hillbilly amid forsaken mountains

now covered with snow,

shivering in cold winter,

still inside makeshift tarp;

impotently looking at his oldies

now the blood they barf,

his innocents still sit on edge of a scarp

setting their myopic eyes over the  skies.

 

Sometimes I wonder, what if dimes

Diva spends lifting the face, boosting her bosom

and pennies Richy swings at golf course,

gambles at casino could

pierce these stubborn mountains;

Limousine and Lamborghini could

disguise as cable cars and the trains

just to meet Hillbilly and his family,

how poor yet how rich,

how helpless yet how resilient they are.

 

I know, I just wonder a lot!

 

The bliss of develop – ing;

you get the eyes to see the both

extravagance ruining the ‘-ed’ and stun,

vengeance ruling the ‘un-‘ and mourn.

The curse of dangling in the middle;

the delicacies the bulging belly serves above

entices your salivary flow

yet you swallow back, nauseated to look at

its shit over the scaphoid below.

It helps maintain your BMI though!

 

 

 Srijana K.C, a doctor  by profession. She writes both to express herselfkcand for her love for Art and Creativity. Besides she likes painting, reading books, visiting places, trekking at times.  She listens keenly to Buddha’s words and therefore follow peace since childhood. Her name Srijana in Nepali means ‘Creation’.