Freedom

Source

 

I ask the young boys

of our neighboring country,

why do you cross the border

with guns

claiming a part

of our land

while your native land

remains shackled

in darkness

of poverty and ignorance

and itself burns.

Haven’t you ever been fed with love

or anything good?

Has knowledge never been your food

to set you free?

Why are you

on a killing spree,

shedding blood and tears

over a piece of land

that never was yours

nor will ever be.

Why won’t you

engage yourselves in works

that make your land

Great

instead of sneaking into

a foreign land in darkness

with threat?

From this side of the border

all I can do is grieve over the loss of lives

of yours and of our eighteen young men.

Seems terrorism is a business trend.

I only wonder

whose pawns you are!

 

If I had the power

I would turn every gun

into a rose.

 

But these days

Love is a myth

Hatred reality.

 

 

 

[It’s impossible for me to remain quiet over some stupid activities going on in our Borders. India was torn into three pieces on the basis of religion by the British and power hungry Indian and Pakistani politicians in 1947. People (read the media & politicians) on both sides harbor a kind of hatred for each other ever since. So sad it is. Very recently two of the terrorists from across the border connected with Uri killings have been arrested. Thanks to the villagers of Kashmir who informed the army of their whereabouts. The well known strategy of the statesmen to opt for war simply to divert attention of people from internal crises to nationalism must be denounced by ALL. It’s really sad when educated people fall prey to nationalism, media hype and fill their heart with hatred for their neighbors.]

Posted for my Midweek Motif ~ Two Souls – Caged and Free @ Poets United

 

Advertisement

A Red Autumn

Source

 

We don’t call our autumn, ‘Fall’.

It’s soft, fragrant

like a mother’s caress,

almost a blurred white in hue.

It is rather a being

with two dove wings.

When it touches us

with one,

the green fields

sprout their wings of

silken Kans grass

and begin to sway,

as if to join

the milky clouds in sail.

Sheuli flowers,

the die-drop beauties

drop all night

leaving their sighs

in the heavy

sweet scented air.

While the other wing,

touches to bless us

with cool, sequined nights,

owl songs, a softer sun,

dewy grass, day’s foggy eye.

Full grown crops

wait silently

to break their tie

with mother earth.

The Neem tree

prepares its mind

to bare its soul,

to let go

of its weary, sleepy leaves,

and to rest in relief.

This autumn

eighteen coffins from Uri*

reached home

safely.

*18 Indian soldiers were killed in a militant attack at Uri, Kashmir. Terrorists from neighboring Pakistan still keep trying infiltration bids. May be it’s a price India is paying for never ever being an aggressive country, a misfit in today’s world. Whenever India sent someone abroad it was always with message of Peace and Love from the days of the Buddha to the very recent times of the 19th century. She has been like this for the last 5ooo years and has seen the rise and fall of many a mighty empire.

Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Equinox, Equator @ Poets United

 

Identity

source

 

Who, What am I?

Buried deeply

under this

flesh of a body…..

A gender?

A thought?

An emotion?

A consciousness?

A space?

A time?

A journey?

Destiny?

How this home of a body

flows through time.

With an ‘I’

ever mysterious,

seated inside.

 

 

 

Posted for Sanaa’s Prompt Nights: On Popular Demand – That which we seek; deep within will find – “IDENTITY” [9] @ A Dash Of Sunny

 

&

 

Shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United

 

Appreciation

Source

 

The little potted plant

Smiles with its

Blooms

The street dog

Wags its tail

Seeing a familiar face

Yet

The humans

Often

Misspell

A simple word

Like

Appreciation

And don’t ever regret

 

Posted for my Midweek Motif ~ Appreciation @ Poets United

Open

Source

 

“Don’t ask when, which song

To whom I dedicated.

In the dusty wayside

They are lying about for those

Who feel for them.

 

Have you heard my voice

Have you embraced them in your heart

I don’t know your name

I am giving in your hand

This love of my very own soul”

—Rabindranath Tagore

 

Countless pebbles were strewn

all over the dust in the open.

I took one in my hand.

It felt soft

and began singing in a liquid voice.

This world turned shadowy; faded out.

Infinity opened its eyes.

I was immersed, melted

owning them all.

 

 

 

 

Posted for Opening to the Muse-dVerse Quadrille # 16

Travel

Source

 

I enjoy my inner flights.

I spread my wings,

in one long breath

I soar inside.

There is a sky

though not always bright;

but even in darkness

there’s twinkling light

of words; sane,

peaceful and intense.

There’s hue

of love dribbling in drops

from hearts

near and far

in places and times.

There is tune

waiting silently

for unsung words.

Now I have come to this Man*

sitting at his feet,

inside,

listening to his words,

songs,

and my dusk is turning into dawn.

 

 

 

 

 

*Rabindranath Tagore. Though I’ve known him through words from my childhood (he loved children and had written so much for them) but very recently I have started translating his songs (in my new blog Sonar Tori) which have already started opening a new window to look at life, once more, in a different light.

 

 

 

 

Posted for Sanaa’s Prompt Nights – To travel is to take a journey into Yourself – [28] @ A dash Of Sunny

 

&

 

Shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United

 

Bloom

Google Image: Sheuli flowers

 

 

All night, like the wish-stars

Sheulis* drop from boughs

on the soft cotton cloth,

spread, to take them to the shrine,

where sit deities with a smile.

The devotees wish on them

to have a blessed autumn

for all as Durga Ma comes home.

Like the gliding cotton cloud

I wish to sail back to childhood

to that sweet, soft home so full,

where mirth and dream bloomed.

 

 

*it’s a sweet smelling autumn flower that reminds us, the Bengalis, of the festival Durga Puja, when Goddess Durga is worshipped.

Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Bloom (Noun) @ Poets United

 

Wishes / dreams

Source

The pregnant dawn spills its secret

Birthing sun in all the earnest

Tearful moon hugs the morning star

Gifting me wishes from afar

Let’s do a daybreak twist

Before the dawn begins its drift.

 

 

The sunbird fluttering its glossy wings

Round the edge of honey spring

Pricks its needly-beak into the bloom

Taking away all my gloom

Let’s do a sunbird twist

Before the honey seeker swiftly shifts

 

 

I am spreading my dream of green

To reach all heart to make them grin

Let all souls be made of light

Glow and twinkle in dark night

Let’s all do a starry twist

Before the dream vanishes into mist

 

Posted for Poetics: Wishful Thinking over @ dVerse

A Question Mark

Source

 

In the middle of night she blooms, the Night Queen spreading her white petals of fragrance. In the morning she droops and wilts. To see her in true splendor midnight is the only time. Once I saw this little white fairy with her winged petals. She was like a fragrant moon radiant in her petal-corona; she kept her attached to a green flower stalk in a corner. I switched off the light after a while and she remained visible in her scent. Then I looked up. There the moonless night showed up with her millions of night-queens twinkling. In one place was a huge question mark, glittering, perhaps asking me, how do we look, we the starry blooms? Of course they’re familiar to me from my childhood days, the seven brightest stars of the constellation Ursa Major, The Big Dipper. They are the Sapta Rishis, seven sages to us. My father first introduced them to me with the story of these seven Light Beings that children of our times knew. And now they carry his memory too. I still have the reverence for them that was inculcated into me from my childhood.

 

Wakeful night

Blinks her starry eyelids

Memories glitter

 

 

 

Source Night Queen

 

 

Posted for Haibun Monday – Twinkle Twinkle @ dVerse

I Yearn For A Lotus Smile

Google Image

 

“I love the lotus because while growing from mud, it is unstained.”—Confucian scholar Zhou Dunyi (1017-1073)

 

I read the lotus,

petal after petal.

Floral words

tender, fragrant yet gritty*

unfold.

Born in mud

yet all life unstained.

No wonder our seers of yore

held you in their core

to turn you into seat of gods

transforming themselves

into lotus-souls

to be adored.

Aren’t there any lotus people

living in this mud of earth

anymore?

 

*An individual lotus can live for over a thousand years and has the rare ability to revive into activity after stasis. In 1994, a seed from a sacred lotus, dated at roughly 1,300 years old ± 270 years, was successfully germinated. Wikipedia

Posted for Sanaa’s Prompt Nights – We tend to smile in the exact same language – [27] @ A Dash Of Sunny

 

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Shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United