Kaushik Roy

Clap! Slap!
There they’re – paying tribute to Raja
Clap, clap, clap!
He saved many a girl from grill of religion
Making them safe from pyres
From being burnt alive
He died a pauper’s death
Far away from his home
Deprived already of
His mother’s lap.

There a man stands on a podium
Turbaned in saffron
Petrified with prominent eyes
Preached the world
With the message of peace
From Hinduism
Clap, clap, clap!

There they have a holiday
To celebrate the centenary
Of a long bearded bard
White as an angelic soul –
White beard, white dress, white mind
With brown skin
With millions of white pages
Turned into lyrics
Clap, clap, clap!

There they have the man
Whom the truant school girls
Blame for making them study
Making schools for them to go
Lest enjoying all His blessing in life
Of dignity, of knowledge, of respect
Clap, clap, clap!

There a horse carries a hero
On his back at the five point circus
Amongst many crowds and carriages
Waiting to be garlanded once a year
With a chain of marigolds
Who once tried a way of emancipation
Of the whole nation on his own
Dying a death unknown forever
Clap, clap, clap!

There every currency note carries him
Like a hero
Looking at him as a model
His loincloth is long forgotten
His being tormented inside outside
But celebrations
Clap, clap, clap!

There somewhere in the city clatters
There in the rustic serenity
There in the mountainous innocence
There in the corporate masquerade
There in the political jugglery
There in the societal pride and prejudice
The faces forget those faces
Faces remember faces of gentile-civility
Mask for the masking
Slap, slap, slap!

A mother scolds a child
A father scolds a child
A teacher scolds a child
A boss scolds a child
For being a child
Be anything but a child
In the childless civilization
Where child must grow into a man
To survive
Lest he will die the death
Of a fool, the fool of the fools
Slap, slap, slap!

The heroes are heroes
To celebrate not to follow
To remember in books
Not to make a part of life
Heroism is not realism
Romanticism is not realism
Realism is realism
Rest is stupidity
Of emotional fools
Slap, slap, slap!

The Zen

When she opened the box, found a letter
Brown by boxed for ages
A sage has given her the box on
Her way home from the forest of fire
She saved it heavily guarded from funeralled

She opened the letter and read
Every word was meant for her
Her nerves to stand before the fiery words
Scribed in the pages brown
For her to read and decipher

Words are easy to read
To decipher hard is the task
Almost impossible to infer as they are all bizarre
She read and read and read and read
She tried to look through to look into

The sage was nowhere in sight
The sage is not meant to be in sight
Until she pangs and pangs and pangs
With the letters with the arrangements
A job an ordeal a heavy load on her

Grey hairs waited for the sage
Greyed and tattered with reading through the pages
Greyed eyes with cataract to hide
She hazily sees the form of the sage
At distance to come to her

The young old sage a man or woman
Not known to her knowledge
Comes close the form
Says the sage in serene voice
Fool never to decipher life.

Kaushik Roy is a poet ,novelist and a short story writer.10415567_891065084257400_5689473032211531156_n