“This death-valley is not my land”— Nabarun Bhattacharya


At present

Terrorists are having fun

In my land-

They are on a killing spree-

Fun foregrounds fun

Of a gory kind here-


I’ve buried my laughter

Under sands

Of a salty sea,

Turbulent, in my heart-

Is this land, torn apart

My country?



Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Fun @ Poets United





Thirty third spring

Sprouted in our heart this dawn

By a cuckoo’s song


Posted for my prompt ~ Love @ Poets United Midweek Motif

Zero Tolerance

Syrian Kurds Battle IS To Retain Control Of Kobani

Google Image

I have zero tolerance

for the worshipers of violence

that unleash Lucifer

to other lands

in the name of army

to sniff oil in others’ soil,

to make their ‘streets melancholy’

their ‘minarets mourn’,

to kill and get killed-

while their angels at home

are on a shooting spree-

how playfully they kill-

I tell the wrathful deities,

of the trigger happy nations:

stop writing horror stories-

live and let others live-

but they have no ear, no eye, no heart

save a big, illiterate mouth that runs deep

to the abyss dark

to churn out words of liquid fire-

we have seen so many

bellicose civilizations seethe and fizz

like pathetic bubbles before-

these scourges will pass too-

Words within inverted commas are from Nizar Qabbani’s poem Jerusalem


Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Zero Tolerance @ Poets United

Put Out The Light…..



Darkness is a white misty world

where light is not absent

yet you can’t sight him-

his frozen words no more breathe-

darkness is angst and despair-

darkness is disheveled hair,

the loosening of the tight bun

to be hung to the waist-

darkness is dried up milk in breast-

darkness is insomnia,

a million spark

to be surged on paper-

darkness is a flair,

a fire,

a burnt soul-

darkness is a dead love,

a forever sleep

in a kitchen gas oven-

to be resurrected in luminous words-

(Whatever I have written here had happened to Sylvia Plath, one of my favorite poets)

Posted for my prompt ~ Darkness Is….. @ Poets United Midweek Motif

Why This Hurry

(it seems our normally very brief winter will be briefer this year)



Gliding through the mist

Winter alighted

On my palm-

It held in its beak

A marigold promise

Of staying long-

Its plumage not as bright-

Eyes listless

feet, in fear-

In a feeble chrysanthemum note

It crooned into my ears

About the lost bees-

Then I don’t know why

It threw all its song into the fire

And left me to a pitiless sun so soon-


Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Climate Change @ Poets United

The Poet Has Gone

It’s comfortably cold here-

Winter birds have all come-

The pond is full

With water, tree-shadows and fish-

The blue sky seems dreamy,

So are the night stars-

Things of beauty,

Scattered everywhere

Like a Mary Oliver page-

Yet there’s an uncanny calm-

Where’s the ecstasy gone

With the “luminous fruits”,

“emerald eddies”, “lean owls”

“egrets”, “daisies” and all……

When I close my eyes

I see ‘red’

What’s burning, methinks-

A fire in a forest in a faraway land

Or a heart?

An ear of mine catches a note-

Is it a dirge in the woods?

May be-

A poet is gone-

Words in inverted commas are from Mary Oliver’s Poems


Posted for Poetry Pantry #436 @ Poets United

This poem is a fig tree, a bowl of sweet and enlightenment


Google Image


This poem is a large fig tree,

a witness to the struggles

of a seeker, smoldering within-

whose body, like the last autumn leaf

brown, emaciated, was about to drop off-

the tree could do nothing save being a shelter,

a prayer for this man ablaze in renunciation-

This poem is a Bodhi tree



This poem is an earthen bowl of payasam*

in the hands of a village maid

who sang a song of the ‘middle-path’

and offered the seeker the delicacy

which the ascetic accepted-

sun and moon rose and set

no manna ever came his way again-

this poem is Sujata’s bowl of sweet-



This poem is a story of enlightenment

of a prince in his thirties

who wished to conquer desire, disease and death-

he had his ‘rafter broken’,

his ‘ridge pole destroyed’-

his ‘mind came to the end of craving’-

he became Peace himself and a Buddha-

this poem is Man’s enlightenment



this poem is a sacred tree that saw a seeker transcend

this poem is a bowl of heavenly sweet that led a seeker

this poem is enlightenment a seeker leaves home for



*milk-rice pudding

The poem is written in Boomerang Metaphor (invented by Hannah Gosselin)


Posted for Poetry Pantry #435 @ Poets United