Aju Mukhopadhyay

Time Whispers in my Ear

susurrus over the vast undulating grass
tumbling of water in the forest river at night
cackling of hilly meandering streams
flowing of molten lava down the ravine
spewing of ash;
volcanic eruption at unknown site
spread of forest fire with a strange beam
spreading rapidly with the wind,
desert storm changing the face of the sand dune
without notice;
rains and rains in the rain forest again
in the country sides and cities, rolling of water bodies;
seeds sprouting, trees growing and dying
again and again;
sibilation of nature’s shifting phase;
nature is at work without rest in every nook and corner
in every pore and cell, near and far;
time whispers in my ear
that with nature it flows with all its belonging
to the events forthcoming
while consciousness keeps its progress in everything
constantly rolling towards the future;
time whispers in my ear
that past never sits in its forlorn chair
but leaves its essence for assimilation;
time whispers in my ear
that the ethos of the bygone ages, their zeitgeist
can never be recovered by any strategist;
the world may be seen in the grain of sand
but the flow of sand is constant;
infinity may be guessed in the palm of hand
but it cannot be gripped by any standard;
time whispers in my ear
that everything passes on for ever.

Kolkata: A Still-Image
Passing by the hillock of garbage
he lifts the handkerchief mechanically
to his nose-
uneven broken footpath
sharp stonechips hit the ankles
coming out of the newly repaired disheveled road
resulting from yesterday’s two showers.
The contractor sniggers standing somewhere near-
“Out of a contract valued two paise
if one third of it is shared
how much is left out of it for the work?
What better way is there to use the stonechips?”
Broken roads overcrowded bus footpaths encroached
Hoodlums and youngsters raising donations-
passing all these by he enters the womb of
the stumbling city to easily cover a long distance
by Metro-Railway: “A remarkable system
to be preserved with pride.”
Reaching Park Street, the only road
to show the discipline by the men and police,
he finds a VIP car with red-alert on its head
followed by vehicles galore on its front and aft
speeds with the gun aimed at men
protruding from a corner;
if someone notices, most do not look at.
Courageous leaders- are the people their representatives
or they are of the people?
All around he finds them moving on the roads
with black hairs on their bodies,
he lifts the handkerchief again to his nose.
Walking mechanically through all these passing scenes
with lamenting thoughts and knitted brows
suddenly he halts-
light fragrance of the flowers!
This tree over the head, they too are there
favourites of the city, they too love it
like the conscience of men
with infinite patience
like many statues, reminiscent of the past, standing.
Aju Mukhopadhyay, the poet, critic and biographer, is a bilingual writer of 61846_452240424520_6917571_nfictions and essays. He has done some important translations on his way. He has authored 12 books in Bangla and 16 in English. His works have been recognized with awards by such bodies as The Writers Bureau, Manchester, Poets International, Bangalore, International Library of Poetry, USA, Excellence in World Poetry Award, 2009 by the International Poets Academy, Chennai, Lucidity Poetry Journal, Sugar Land, USA and others. His poems topped the list of some e-zines and websites like asianamericanpoetry and poetsindia.