Time Whispers in my ear

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Time Whispers in my Ear

Selected Poems of

Aju Mukhopadhyay


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Published by: OnlineGatha – The Endless Tale

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© Author

All the poems in this book are the creations of Aju Mukhopadhyay who claims the

sole intellectual property rights for all these poems. No one is permitted to reproduce,

publish or transmute by any means; electronic, mechanical, photocopying or

otherwise from this book without the consent from the author except for the purposeor review and such purposes.


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Acknowledgement

All the selected poems published here have been published in different books of poems

except ten fresh poems which have not been published in any other book. I gratefully

acknowledged the publication of my poems to various journals, e-zines and websites and

their editors through the respective books except to “Impressions of Eternity” fromAsansol which I herewith acknowledge with equal gratefulness. I acknowledge the

publication of the poems in journals, print and electronic, not submitted or known to me.

Out of the ten poems introduced here for the first time four poems have been published

in Kohinoor, New Man International Journal of Multidisciplinary Studies, Sons of

Camus Writers International Journal, Poetcrit, www.indianperiodical.com, Bizz Buzz,

Contemporary Vibes and www.allpoetry.com. I gratefully acknowledge the publications

to these journals and their editors. Of the six other poems some have been selected and

awaiting publication and the rest have not yet been submitted anywhere.

Author - [email protected]

http://www.indianperiodical.com/http://www.indianperiodical.com/http://www.indianperiodical.com/http://www.allpoetry.com/http://www.allpoetry.com/http://www.allpoetry.com/mailto:[email protected]:[email protected]:[email protected]:[email protected]://www.allpoetry.com/http://www.indianperiodical.com/


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Other books in English published by the same Author (Besides 12 books in Bengali)

Biography, Philosophy, Literature: Sri Aurobindo: The Yogi of Divine Life, Mother of

all Beings, The Mother of All Beings, Sri Aurobindo‟s Ideal of Freedom and Human

Unity, The World of Sri Aurobindo‟s Creative Literature

Poetry: The Witness Tree, In Celebration of Nature, The Paper Boat, Insect‟s Nest and

Other Poems, Aju Mukhopadhyay‟s Poems on Sri Aurobindo and the Mother, Short

Verse Vast Universe, Short Verse Delight, Manhood, Grasshood and Birdhood

Fictions: White Bird and its Black Shadow, The Moments of Life and In Train

On Nature and Environment: Water and Pondicherry Environment

Essays: Lord Ganesha and The Story of India‟s Progress


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Index Pages No-

The Burning Lamp 10

Time Whispers in my ear 11 - 12

A Woman Saviour of Mankind 13

Nelson Mandela: An Epitome of Struggle and 14 – 15

Buddha Purnima 16

A Presence 17

The Being 18 - 19

A Dream like State 20 – 21

Rowing Still 22

Inwardness 23

Invisible yet Perceptible 24- 25

Invisibly with me 26

Do I walk or I walk me? 27

Il Pleut 28- 29

The Inner World 30

Life’s Curves 31-32

The Channels of Life 33- 34

Act like a Sage 35

Life’s Curves 31-32

The Channels of Life 33- 34

Act like a Sage 35

Worship the 36

Pray that you Play your Part best 37- 38


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United in Camp fire 39- 40

Cultivating the Human Being 41

The days Pass by 42- 43

The Days have Passed by 44- 45

A Fragrance of dried Rose Petals 46- 47

Sri Aurobindo 48

A Poet Violated 49

A Complete Human Being 50

February Twenty-first 52

Mother the Divine Spark 53

Hope 54- 55

Morning 56

The Day is Lost in the Shimmering Twilight 57-58

In the Last Phase of the Night 59

Silent Witness of the Bygone Ages 60- 62

In Reasonable support of the Hazara people 63- 64

Kolkata: A Still Image 65- 66

Structural Violence 67- 68

The Uncivilised 69- 70

The adivasi 71-76

What an Age we are Passing through 77- 79

What a great Republican Shore are we Basking in 82- 83Politicians of the World Unite! 84

Terrorism 85- 86

Tenant 87

Peace 88- 89


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What Peace is like 90- 91

India the Mother 92- 93

Our National Anthem 94- 95

Sea of Humanity 96

Nuclear the Evil Force 97

Krodha 98

Either a Saint or a Ganja khor 99- 100

Deaths before Death 101

An Attitude to Life 102- 103

The fallen House 104- 105

The Past 106

The Events 107- 108

Remembering my Mother 109

Mili 110

Mismatch 111

At the river bank 112 - 113

The Grasshood 114

The Profiles of Birds 115

The Lovers of the Dark 116

Insect’s Nest 117

Ant’s Hut 118 - 119

A Creative Artiste 120 - 121Bumblebee Bamboozles 122

Fall of a Habitat 123

The Dust 126 - 127

Death of Roses 128


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Life and Dream

Fluttering before Settling at the Right Place

The Paper Boat

Flower of the Future

What is Impending?

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The Burning Lamp

The lamp was burning golden-brown

In my dark room steadily, alone

No one was there around

Flowers bloomed of a mystic hue

Radiating my obscure chamber;

When you came to light the lamp

No one knew

No tread, no flash, no sound.


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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;



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that past never sits in its forlorn chair

but leaves its essence for assimilation;


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;


that everything passes on for ever.


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A Woman Saviour of Mankind

When on 16 April 2014 Sewol, the South Korean boat,

Was sinking with 476 passengers on board

Frigid water filling up its hold

And the crew with its captain fled

Betraying all the hopes of the passengers

There appeared a courageous woman head

Rising to the occasion, raring to go ahead;

22 year old young Park Ji-young, a cafe workerTook the lead in helping children and half-dead sea farers

Supplying them with life jackets, courage and burning hope

Keeping not a single jacket for her to elope

Promising not to leave till a single of them remained.

Many were saved but she was drowned.

Among the dead by the divers her body was found,

Buried in chill watery ground.

A savior of mankind, entirely humane

Igniter of the sacrificial fire

With the fire glowing within her;

Inspired by the Divine will and bliss

She lives in man‟s heart for her selfless sacrifice.


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Nelson Mandela: An Epitome of Struggle and Victory

Graduate he became after protracted efforts

and law-graduate at the age of 71

then the President of African National Congress at 73.

He married thrice divorced twice

married for the last time at 80.

Jail was nothing to him who surpassed

most records of active suffering in jail

at a stretch for more than 27 years.Leaving perhaps few areas of life untouched

leading the people from behind and front

achieving the ideas of French Revolution anew

after 200 years

he surpassed them in breaking the chain apartheid

honouring Junior Martin Luther King, esteemed.

Life crowned him consecutively

at the age of about 76:

voting for the first time

he was elected democratically

the first President of the country

winning the Peace Nobel Prize jointly.

At the very ripe age

he gathered the fruits of his labour


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in his humble hermitage.

Patience and perseverance with persistent resolution

were the basis of his lifelong struggle;

without an iota of frustration

he was unconquerable;

without giving up an idea once conceived

he would struggle with all his might

eventually to succeed.

O Time, you honoured the son of the earth

for all his worth.

Nelson Mandela can be compared

to Nelson Mandela only,

that in a nutshell is his life story.


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Buddha Purnima

Some are famous for serving the sick and the destitute

by their own hand with sympathy and rectitude

but many an unknown person also serves them

with the same or more sympathetic attitude

some are prone to do it by their nature;

philanthropy is not the only thing to consider.

But the karuna and benevolence emanating

from a being like Buddha in peace

spread throughout the globe

touching all living beings

like the light blue rays of the full moon

carrying love and peace; desireless boon,

embrace all hearts like true arhat.

More the time pass by more his influence

reach the tumultuous humanity‟s confluence.

Buddha‟s benevolent debonair face

shines in deep blue sky

as on Buddha Purnima;

above all religions how he touches our soul

is not an enigma.


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A Presence

An ever-awake presence in every heart

including that of the demon and the desert

in humans and animals in a state rudiment

in the bosom of the hazy and dark inconscient

in the dark cave, a spark of the supreme presence

carries in every matter a spiritual sense;

It is the cause why severe passion and violence

of the vital world, wave of advance of the forces adversecannot bring a catastrophe total

a total annihilation with a blow fatal

creating a control somewhere in the deep

causing the face of the harmony to peep

and save the earth from threats diurnal

leading Nature to a state sempiternal.


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The Being

Without a shape, formless

without fragrance, odourless

without a colour, not even whiteness

beyond all sound

pure and profound

light or darkness, nothing abound

whatever and whomever most I adore

is that absolute, the essence of all beyond any question of rise or fall.

Vast and limitless without a shore

with all sense It I adore

up to the last drop of my blood

overlapping all sense of regard

up to the last puff of breath

beyond all human strength;

with the last raft of mind to sail

I try to reach It and hail

though I know not

if to my call It will respond.

Such a Being

overwhelming


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beyond all cognition

will fulfil me beyond all definition

if by chance I reach it

completing a full circuit.


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A Dream like State

The more he lives near you

More by you he‟s possessed

More his living in the world

Becomes a dream like state

Toward a being transformed

Shunning the old concept

From an unknown world

He drifts in dream like state

Paraphernalia of life

bonds with him thickset

Fall like leaves from tree

Leaving in dream like state

Natant faces of bygone days

In memory‟s water set

Attempts to hold them fail

Floating in dream like state

Before he sleeps he has

To go alone miles ahead

Over the nights and days

All in a dream like state

Silent hostile path


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There is no goal exact

None can uplift give shelter

In his dream like state

Even if misunderstood

His love for all spread

He cannot be dishonoured

In his dream like state


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Rowing Still

rowing towards the ochre gloaming

or in the night with full moon floating

are events of the dreamy past

which do not remain, do not last

but that rowing in a dinghy

in limpid water blue

reflecting the azure

with bright white clouds floating in it

into the depths of its watery heart

where my energetic face shines

continues endlessly

amid unknown islands

sometimes in the vast

sometimes near the shores

peopled by strange faces

sometimes forlorn


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Inwardness

Living in society helping the needy

Busy with friends and relatives, wild and greedy

Arguing in every issue, debating in groups

Gleeful, bavard or shy, living in a family

Popular or unpopular, criminal or honest-

We live outside at our best.

Vibrant even when retired or ostracized

We still live in market place in our memoriesIn the company of onlookers

With our colleagues, friends or rivals

Of the time past in bitter-sweet taste

In erotic sense, with pain or pleasure

Fear of the unknown, hope for the future;

Alone yet in company, we live outside.

With a faint intuitive glimpse we may live

When all cherished guests of life would drop off

Wing past our life all dreams and reverie,

Not in haste or turmoil but calmly;

A voiceless, guiltless hush settles

Neither pleasing nor bitter; no stir.

In impeccable atmosphere serene

Under the graceful serein-

May be time for going inside.


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Invisible yet Perceptible

Age is pushing them below with feet

as they try to rise from the subconscious deep

the relationship; physical vital mental

heterosexual or asexual or obscure camaraderie

passionate quagmire from the oblivious memory.

On one hand something invisible

yet protective and perceptible

is trying to pull you out of the rusty rustic past purging you out of the iron base

from moment to moment

for life is meant for correction at each step;

on the other hand something shining

is trying to emerge out of the mud,

the past holding the key is pulling

the legs towards the sludge;

a claim of birth to hold life in its sphere till death.

All the strife and struggle are ephemeral

against a flight eternal;

a reward for one who believes and relies on grace

of the invisible yet perceptible existence.

There may be changes in the world contemporary

resulting in a situation topsyturvy

but to hold on to that something;


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a spark in the being

is the game of all games

a play between the light and the darkness.


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Invisibly with me

With a soft touch caressing

whispering blushing

sometimes with a rude shock

a foreboding experience

other times like a friendly fondle

a remembrance of the idle days

over a cup of tea;

it meets me in various waysflowing over me, through me

coming out of the doors of the body.

It behaves differently at different times

as its nature changes seasonally;

endearingly, roughly, lovingly

telling me of its presence constantly.

Its presence at different parts of the body

is conspicuous at different stages of life.

Flowing in and out of my nostrils

the air as breath

supports me essentially

to live.


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Do I Walk or I Walk Me?

Suddenly I stopped

inspired by a questioning thought;

am I walking or I‟m walking me?

Am I a becoming or a being?

The whole system called I or he or she

is a cosmic reality

yet a thirst aided by insight

welled up from inside;

can this really walk or stalk

unless propelled and guided

by the inner reality?

Is walking an act of mine

or of the self indwelling?

Stunned by the divide of I and meI was inclined to embrace the reality

when someone accosted me

asking for something otiose

which compelled me to come back

to the diurnal fact

bewildered!


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Il Pleut

It rains torrentially

after long drought and disorder;

it rains drenching the empathetic

scraggy soil of the heart

it rains moistening the rocks of anger

crags of revenge and cracks of depravity

it rains covering the jealous holes with purity

healing the undesirable crevices of the beingit pours incessantly to fill up

the gaps of deceptive caves of life

it rains inside me constantly

stretching the cramped limbs

softening the being;

it skits with a susurrus

leading me to the lee

when all on a sudden

something goes wrong

influenced by someone‟s lewd smile

or a serein‟s half -hearted dampening.

Rain of grace falls and falls

to soothe my ruffled feelings;

it corrects, it helps, it leads me


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always to the right way.

When it rains in the forest of my being

where the tallest trees touch the sky

and the moon shines bright on the leaves

through the gnarled branches

lighting the dark parts of existence,

life becomes wholesome

peaceful and serene.

Removing the dryness and darkness of life

rain of grace falls and falls

perpetually to revive.


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The Inner World

The wide of the sea

Dwells in me

At night.

The calm of the forest

Deep in my heart

Resides.

The height of the sky

Lifts me up

Eagle flight.

The chaos of the city

Fumes inside

Then hides.

The bright of the star

Calls me ever

To it.

The love of the earth and hearth

Keeps me to them

Eventide.


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Life’s Curves

Each time of the day and night

is coloured by different issue

at the same site

each time a new problem ensue

mostly out of the old

kept in diurnal fold;

even this routine

through childhood and teen

youth and mature age

has undergone many a change

in ever new towns and cities

even in different countries;

in spite of all changes

someone inside is a diehardin spite of giving in to new forces

it holds on to the old crust;

life to some is boredom

for the punch they receive from it

for the mood they are in as yet;

life is mediocre to some

but life‟s seasons are seldom the same


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to different players life is a different game;

by will and effort it may be diversified;

recreate recreate

each curve is different.


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The Channels of Life

When this flow of life,

considered so long

as the attribute of youth,

the force that was thought

to be vitally vigorous

slackens,

the mind and life

make the body despondent by the push to revive

but time changes the flow of life

to new channels;

it is perhaps wise

to ride the horse

trotting towards the source

where the water of life flows naturally-

the vast sea

There is regret, there is remorse

pull and push

but if you agree

in sweet harmony

to initiate the drive


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towards the height, the infinity

life becomes secured

utilizing its resource.


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Act like a Sage

After retirement at the ripe age

even when a nonagenarian

and out of usual vocation,

seek the real and act like a sage

beyond what you have so long done-

seek the one you have not sought so far;

either the absolute or the details of the matter.

Better wear out than rust out-monk Vivekananda said aloud.

If you have a disease do not lull or tend

rather help the body to flush it out or amend.

You were not born as you had wished

so there is nothing to lament about it,

duration of life no mortal can fix.

Now is the chance in life to flourish

none can outlive life

as none can unripe the ripe.


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Worship the Body

Body is the receptacle, ever strong base

On which the sky scrapper is built

A kingdom for mental and vital progress

Homely, secure and reliable indeed.

An epitome of beauty and harmony

Touchy and sensuous, usually erect

Body recalls life‟s smallest ditty

Joys and sorrows, life‟s secret. Serving is always its primary duty

Barring sickness, accident and injury

It is amiss to ignore it, suppress its growth

For intellectual and spiritual budding forth.

Pay respect, worship, care the body

Its image is a remembrance to all posterity.

After all efforts, reaching his pinnacle

One ought to salute it, his being‟s tabernacle.


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Pray that you Play your Part best

From the king to the beggar

from the deadliest dictator to the lowliest invertebrate

everybody has to take the exit path

from the world stage, today or tomorrow

with or without sorrow.

Even those who might have remained in the other sphere

never before the mortals appear.

Death is the greatest equalizerwhich birth growth or existence cannot forbear.

In spite of all hotchpotch, topsyturvyfication

hallucination evaporation decay and death

Nature with all the living beings

move on through progressive evolution.

And you, with or without your knowledge,

participate as an actor in the world stage

moved by forces invisible without poise:

You, the powerful man, a body-life-mind, everything conceive

in successive stages; even when you do not believe

know that no scientist, materialist of the West or East

has ever been able to hold on to the stage beyond limit;

else the most undesirable would have ruled the earth

dwindling all possibilities of progress and firth.


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Blinded by pride if you do not see the beyond

must you admit that the world would not have progressed

without death which calmly waits as we eat and sleep and rest.

If you cannot admit God, do not explain it away as Nature‟s way;

humbly sit before the ever present unknown like a child

pray that you can play the part best as you are assigned.


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United in Camp-fire

How have we progressed in time

when we are still not in rhyme

with the primitive and the ancient,

with Nature, our everlasting friend?

In shame only we cover our face;

how can we ask them to efface ,

our mother and sister, their god-gifted appearance?

How can we still wag our tailin the prospect of a king, queen or their entourage frail?

Hate and envy, our greatest enemies

if still dominate us

how can we progress as humans?

Buddha was awakened after great ascesis

to call for benevolence of all conscient beings,

Christ came down to serve the suffering humanity

with utmost empathy and humility,

ancient seer-poets of the Upanishad

realized everyone as Brahman, spark of God;

they blessed all on earth to be sukhin, happy

from the tiniest grass to the tallest canopy.

A soft touch in the heart, a pious feeling, desire

a glowing warmth of the psyche


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may impel us to say

that we live in camps, united in camp-fire

for the world is a field of our sojourn divided in camps;

what after all, life of 60, 80 or 100 years is

compared to unending infinities?

Instead of pride domination or diplomacy

let us embrace all with pure love

for that is the only sovereign entity.


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Cultivating the Human Being

“O mind, you don‟t know agriculture:

Such a fertile field

as human being

remains fallow.

Gold it would yield

after cultivating

as a human motto” –

sang Ramprasadthe Kali worshipper.

Leave aside the mind and heart,

ultra moderns have far surpassed

the saint

in cultivating the human body and body-part;

women sell their bodies through media recent

children are bought and sold

as are the body parts of the living dead and old.

Flesh trade was there before Ramprasad,

the story continues in ways hilarious and sad.

Beyond all ceremonies,

cultivating the inner being

shedding all disharmonies,

we could become the life‟s king.


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The days pass by

The days pass by

With the quivering Sun on the leaves

And the tinkling of the spoon in the cups

With many a domestic tale

Like the last farewell of the spring

The days pass by with soft footfall.

Accepting the warm love heartily

From the one who came offering it silently,

With a huff of the lover who was

Refused many a time earlier

The days pass by like the far-going birds

Leaving me all alone.

Ever moving from moment to moment

From every point, time remains indivisible

Like the unending waves of the sea

With the quivering Sun on the leaves.

With many a domestic tale

The days pass by to come back again

With soft footfall.


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The golden dust of the time remains

With the air, in the sky, with the breath,

Whether it‟s me or whoever else that is,

It comes back among the golden ripe paddies

And the undulating grass.


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The Days have passed by

At the fringe of the forest facing the hills in the west

we sat usually together on the trunk of a giant tree for hours

to behold the brick-red gold spreading Sun

dipping down into the fathomless ocean

taking us with it in darkness entire.

Wind started blowing, playing with the dry leaves,

evening smell filling the space all around.

The solid silence mixed with our deepest feelings brokeas the jackals started wailing about in unison.

We moved, words spared,

taking the village path, hand in hand.

Cottages lit by star-moon-light

cool lamps burning below Tulsi plants

would welcome us to a joyous reverie.

The days have passed by

hills are dwarfed

stone chips made out of them

solidify the plinth, roof and floor.

The wood is dwindled, highway runs through it;

trucks run roaring, gigantic.

Villages are metamorphosed to hybrid creatures.

Living in separate corners of the globe


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never can we recreate the things we beheld

or the time we lived then;

Beholden as we are, carry them in our heart.

But the images are getting thin, associations rare

modern hydras are growing up

out of the pristine nature.


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A Fragrance of dried Rose Petals

You used to come often in the pretext

of doing something or the other

I always greeted you silently

without any formality.

Your usual acquiescence to whatever I might have said

or desired as if that was the reason of your visit

reason enough beside me to sit

lengthening the thread of relationship

without a cue to it, without ever being a chit,

telling me nothing about you nor asking anything about me

as you were quite insignificant in our surrounding

regardless as a human entity in the family

as the one related to a menial;

and I sitting or going round

in some petty errand quite forgetting you

not remembering when you left without a sound.

Me in the prime of my youth, you in your teens;

our actions or inactions were so insignificant

devoid of any reference

that they obfuscated any relationship.

When we left the place of our temporary sojourn,

each of us is always a tenant, was not to any one known.

With the passage of time your presence,


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out of sight out of mind,

vanished into the vast world of business!

The days passed by quietly and quickly.

After long many years suddenly I find you

coming out of the heaps of oblivion, quite vivid.

I wonder without my knowledge how you hid

into a hitherto darkened niche

telling me loudly enough

that you have a permanent place

in my heart‟s recess;

so close yet so far for a meeting

nor any happening between us

brooking no cause for it anywhere

no cry no urge.

A fragrance of dried rose petals wafts in the airmaking me aware

of the past making an upsurge.


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Sri Aurobindo

„God shall grow up while the wise men talk and sleep

For man shall not know the coming till its hour

And belief shall be not till the work is done‟-

said Sri Aurobindo in his epic poem “Savitri”

The voice of truth in the seer poet Sri Aurobindo was heard

As he was a lotus born in mud, away from the mundane scene,

The cascading Supramental light like the golden swanTouching the sky kept its foot on earth fixed.

Like a tree he was peaceful, unhurried and calm with perseverance

Among the thousand resounding words his existence was silence

In his body sat the God, his face revealed the eternity

Out of intense love for men he sat away from humanity.

Small fries in shallow water and surface-gazers

were lost in the depth of his fathomless water.


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A Poet Violated

Many great geniuses thinkers and philosophers

As they were heretics, brave but non-believers

Feeling not as they felt,

The barbarians and fanatics tried them to cast;

They were persecuted and killed at last.

No wonder then that he was challenged and censured

In his own house he was beleaguered;

There was lust to emend his creations

Craze for correction haunted the grammarians.

No great poet, no guru of his height

Answered them night after night

What mystic poem and spiritual truth is.

Many hued were his creations, many were their wings:But after he ventured to take their help things started to sink

With many a lost, many a missing link.

She denied their plea to correct him while in her body.

But after their passing away they lost their purity.

They tampered with his works justifying with many a reason

To present him before the commoners, perfect and clean.

Though he never encouraged, he was offered some hagiographies

As they say, some genuine life sketch and some twisted biographies

And from ambitious highbrow harmful intellectuals some pathographies.


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A flowing language changes its course- tone usage punctuation-

But people adore the original form of a great creation;

A poet belongs to his own country, nay, to all humanity

None has the right to violet him nor to commit perjury.

To go beyond the poet‟s chosen manuscripts or design

Were all unauthorized as none did he such power assign.

Who said that they could judge and understand him best?

If fared so well, they could be at their own creation‟s crest.

A Cultural blasphemy, it will only show a path to others

To violate at their turn the poets and writers


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A Complete Human Being

He was not poet-turned-politician-turned-yogi

Such an idea is the flip side of the story

Abracadabra of the common man;

When a poet, rising up in him was the revolutionary,

While preparing for the secret revolution, yoga touched him secretly;

One prepared the other in him as he was a manifold man

The inner being pushed him from one to the other theme.

He was poet revolutionary yogi journalist writer and thinkerOne rolled into the other inseparably forever

He was not one but many at a time;

This truth about Sri Aurobindo is verifiable in varying degrees

In other greats‟ life-histories.


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February Twenty-first

Under the hush of the early devout hours

An immaculate calm and a mystic silence prevailed:

Silent soft pearl-drop dews

Of grace and love of myriad hues

Were constantly falling from the divine bowers.

Then came the moment when all got drenched

By the heart-blossoming and joy-flowering showers

Of the Divine‟s transcendent powers.

The throat and the lips and the tongue

Remained unstirred; not even a whisper was heard.

Yet an unnamed name, a wordless cry

Kept repeating and throbbing in the occult depths of the heart-

Mother Mother

It was to commemorate a divine birth;

A fathomless emotion was blissfully conscious

That it was February twenty-first.


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Mother the Divine Spark

„You know, we live in eternity‟,

Said you in hushed silence

with little interest in your material existence

for you acted and became as the Lord wanted.

Your body bore the sufferings of humanity,

pangs and worries of the devotees.

Cells of your embodied self

were being transformed and illumined for earth and men

until you gave up your physical sheath.

Your body spread itself into innumerable beings

like lightning during ecstasied dreams;

the Divine Spark lives in us and vibrates

as each of us lives and sleeps and eats and ruminates.

The Mother is indeed always present in us.


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Hope

It‟s nice to observe the abundance of material wealth

but its mal-distribution causes plenty of illth

nevertheless, something like pittance

has reached the poor

and all have eaten some sorts of

fruits of technology

an air of abundance prevails;

dictators dominate in all sorts of governments

but a feeling is there that their days are almost over

though the fire of battles is raging sporadically

most of the perpetrators are in hiding

atavistic, fundamental funk and fury still disturb

though they are on the wane;

bold simple and straightforward men and womenare rising up again

uttering Sanskrit, the beauteous wealth giving tongue

and, or a song in a language accepted by all and sung

all sorts of divisions created by the cunning and foxing lot

are gradually giving way to unity and prosperity

artificial dams over the rivers of logic

are gradually breaking down

men have realized the fault of creating

ecological imbalance


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adjustment at every step is perceptible;

even amid terrorism and destruction

a hope is growing within

that catastrophe will not happen;

tiny buds are maturing day by day in every tree

to bloom at once

and flood the earth with celestial fragrance.


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Morning

Nothing is as fresh as the morning

And so hopeful of its journey in the offing

Sweeter than honey

It cannot be compared to any

With its colour and smell and haze

Morning is life‟s new phase

Nothing can be compared to its purity

Vibrating with serendipity

Nothing is ever so simple as morning

Resonant, loving, forever beginning.


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The Day is Lost in the Shimmering Twilight

This opaque and dark evening sky

without a particular hue, defy

the reign of the Sun as it goes to set

and pulls the erstwhile bright warm day straight

into its mysterious unfathomable womb.

Those who rise up with renewed oomph

at the prospect of devouring the evening young

like a familiar song many times sungsink eventually into its hazy darkness

reeling at night

and those who never look at the hieroglyphs

of the evening sky in obscure light

pulling the day into its hold aright

and the majority of those sheep

who never realise that the day

with all accompaniments is kept at bay

to be lost forever into the unknown fold

of the mysterious sky in spite of its efforts

to survive clinging on to the fragile human memory,

live the useless life of ignoramus

without verve and sense

condemned like a Sisyphus.


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The day is lost in the shimmering twilight

in its ever hopeful flight

into the mysterious womb of time

never to be reborn after melting of the rime.

It is a holocaust of time

adorned with rhythm;

night and day

are born for a while to pass away.


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In the Last Phase of the Night

All are wide-awake

In the first phase of the night

Hedonists are awake in the second

Then the thieves appear at the site

Yogis get up fresh

In the fourth phase of it;

It is the hour when diamond pendants are set

From the overhead canopyWhen gossamer clouds rest

In the space azury

Everything remains inert and sleepy

Silence engulfs the earth from end to end

Many happy dreams are conceived

Many new hopes tend

Hours are pregnant

With ideas attendant

Glowing love fluttering wings beautiful songs

All are in a flux

May or may not come true;

The grayish-orange dawn waiting to bloom

Has something in its womb

Neither can we comprehend nor can we groom.


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Silent Witnesses of the Bygone Ages

Lotus petal shaped Lotus Mahal, abode of feminine beauties

Lotus shaped fountains sprouted perfumes over many such bodies.

Queen‟s Bath was kept apart like a stone Chariot majestic

Alone on the courtyard, wheels of which are not really static,

Once it was a vehicle of the royal passengers. The whispering air

Still flows in the palaces, through the abandoned corridors of power.

The musical chime fills the air when struck, each of the

56 pillars of the Vijaya Vithala temple become blithe.

Made of a huge monolith, Kadela Kalu Ganapathy,

Most simple yet full of artistic profundity.

Seated on a 7 hooded snake is huge Lakshminarasimha.

The walls of the Hazara Rama announce the story of Ramayana.

A landscape strewn with boulders, dry with dust,

Alongside flows the river Tungabhadra, steady and fast.Stoned memorials, though not stone-cold, of the bygone days

Tell the tales of kings queens merchants and wardens

Of festivals diamonds courtesans war and victory;

Take us back to the 14th century

When Hukka and Bukka founded the Vijayanagara dynasty;

From 1336 to 1565 C.E. through many ups and downs it existed,

Alas, at last by the Deccan Sultanate to be completely routed.

We are shocked to read what historian Sewell wrote-

“ Never perhaps in the history of the world has such havoc been wrought,


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and wrought so suddenly, on so splendid a city. . . .

in the full plenitude of prosperity

one day, and on the next seized, pillaged and reduced to ruins

amid scenes of savage massacre and horrors beggaring description.”

It was done by one of the barbaric groups who brought to ruins

India for more than 1000 years, with a sense of exultation.

Lord Virupaksha in his temple, among the silent witnesses of time,

Is still worshipped, had been there before the Vijayanagar regime

In his seat. The ruins at Hampi, 500 years old,

Remind us of colosseum and other Roman ruins, 2000 years old.

But physical ruins are not the only basis of history

Images of truth of other bygone days are shrouded by mystery;

Life styles of different ages through symbolic story

Come to us supported by epics and mythology.

Anagundi before Hampi was the capital of the other kingdomOf ancient kiskindha, Sugriva‟s platform.

The beauty of the nearby Pampa Sarovara

Made Rama passionate, enamoured of abducted Sita.

It is believed that in the neighbourhood, in Anjanadri hill

Hanuman was born and near to it is the Durga Devi temple.

Beneath the Matanga hill is the temple of Kodanda Rama,

Where after killing Vali, he crowned Sugriva.

Relics of nothing made by men, of the mythical age, remains

But the same flowing river, same hills and dales and lakes


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Carry the memory of the dramatic personae, their presences.

The dry and rocky region, with ancient memories is replete

Makes us pine for what is not, makes us nostalgic.


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In Reasonable support of the Hazara people

Though born differently in shape size and quality

all living beings are born with equal birth rights

to be taken care of by the Mother Earth;

none has the right to dwarf or cull others

unless it is Nature‟s spontaneous action

in helping species and individuals

to maintain harmony in death and survival.

Humans too are born with their unequal inherent capacities

But with equal rights to share

earth water fire space and air.

Tribal life is one of the beginnings of human social life;

some people love to remain in their pristine past

some go ahead to make the most of natural resources

in their makeshift civilization but humans have no right over the others

to extinguish them for self-interest or self-assertion.

All religions are self-divisive, self-assertive;

curbing women‟s rights and sectarian deadly fights

destroying revered monuments of the other religions with hate

are the works of the philistines who live in every age

the offspring of the sterile religious rocky crust;

with that none has the right to compel others

to comply with their faiths; it is their ill-begotten ideas


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to bring others to their fold religious.

Hazaras are a distinct ethnic group, may be with their

Mongolian-Buddhist past, linguistic touch

with the Turk, Persians or the other Islamic sects;

they cherish a forgotten idea, keep a bygone thought

some forgotten mantras vibrate in their hearts

but true it is in the recorded history of hundreds of years

that their birth place is Central Asian Afghanistan;

they‟re now relocated in other countries due to persecution and fear

though they‟ve every right to live in their land as live the others.

It is the voice of the Poets voice of Peace voice of Love

for the Hazara people, appealing to all who have been

so far persecuting them, appealing to all humans throughout

the globe to put a stop to it mainly because we‟re humans;

not dogs who chase and kill the other dogs that enter their territory.

In wonderment we observe that the persecutors arefrom their own land, sufferers suffer within their own boundary;

after aeons of development of civilizations

how men can be inferior to dogs?

Rise up brothers to forget and embrace the brothers

be humane, not just logs.


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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


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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 white 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 blooming 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.


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Structural Violence

Ten proud faces beamed

in the slave media:

World‟s richest chairmen of companies-

all worth several billion $

arranged in descending order.

The same media on the same day

while the Sun shines to make hay,

published stories

of the bizarre mud cookies

doing the rounds among the poor kiddies

and others, desperate to stave off hunger in Haiti:

“When my mother does not cook anything”,

says a poor sibling,

“I eat them 3 times a day.”

Rickety, they die in hundreds

as in Africa, exploited for years, degraded.

In a computerized world

with a technological hype and commercial fair

with explicit understanding among the players

to exclusively exploit the market share,

to speculate in the share market;

degrading the earth, water and sky


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enjoying the resources everywhere

the successful ones are always victorious.

Is it not a structural violence

against the naïve, innocent children of the earth?

Shall we offer hurrah to the rich for their mirth?

Beg on behalf of the poor for their munificence?

Does the whole structure not require

overhauling or demolition with fire

to rebuild a new structure for all?


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The Uncivilised

Uighur, a nomadic pastoral tribe

of Turkish origin in Xinjiang,

find it difficult to survive

squeezed out by the Han Chinese

introduced just for this

as was shifted the Ethnic Chinese

to kill the culture, depopulate, destabilise

the peaceful Tibetan Buddhist race;

this was the technique of red-rebellion

of killing and degrading men by brewing poison

of jealousy, hatred and strife among them.

Creating tourism and villa in the land of Jarawas

leads to the extinction of the aboriginalsfor they cannot survive the touch of the civilians.

Wherever minerals, oil or woodland treasures are found

men run to acquire the wealth profound

extinguishing the pristine flora and fauna

and the indigenous people, Nature-bound,

in Amazonian, Peruvian forests, hilly belts in India

in Indonesia, Philippines, Canada and Africa.

Moving into galaxies, to the north and south poles


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plundering the reserves of the earth and heaven

men feel victorious but the soil they stand on shifts

for their pollutive role in human lives;

that men become pollutants, we are not surprised

that civilized people are the most uncivilised.


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The Adivasi

The adventurers from Europe, with greed

For gold flashing in their eyes, swooped with guns

And swords like human hawks on unknown lands.

Columbus, ignorant of the earth‟s size

Named them Indians, the Caribbeans, so they

Became, North and South Americans.

Columbus with Bahama Arawaks

And other tribes of Caribbean islands,Cortes in Peru with the Incus,

The English settlers in America

With many tribes including the Pequots

And with many others in Australia

Following James Cook‟s visit in the year

1770, so savagely

Behaved with all the unarmed innocent

Adivasis of the foreign lands who welcomed them,

That made them ride the rough roller coasters

To embrace sudden death and devastation.

Original Americans were pushed

From eastern Atlantic to the western

Pacific for burial in the ocean.

A „Creek‟ man of more than 100 years old

With deep sigh about colonizers told


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In about 1829-

“When he first came over the wide waters

he was but a little man . . . . His legs were cramped

by sitting long in his big boat and he

begged for a little land to light his fire on . . . .

But when the white man had (so) warmed himself

before the Indian‟s fire and filled himself

with their hominy, (he) became very large.”

A chief of „Black Hawk‟ tribe delivered speech

In 1832 while surrendering-

“They poisoned us by their touch . . . . we lived in

danger. We were becoming like them, liars

and hypocrites, adulterous, lazy

drones, all takers and no workers.”

Not only all wealth of the land besides goldThey besieged, African humans they sold

Who survived after the immense torture

As slave, to be branded with on breast bare

Red-hot iron, imprinting the owner‟s sign.

Before colonizers sucked Indian wealth

Barbarous invaders massacred it.

All such indigenous human beings

Who were so devastated, sold and killed

Were cultured and civilized, lived fulfilled.


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It was time for aggression and settlement,

For crude and scientific development.

All such broils overlooked, turmoil forgotten,

In air-conditioned room with push-button

Comfort, secured by atomic weapons

Surrounded by all high walled constructions

A soft-spoken sophisticated man sits;

He is the epitome of high culture.

In an age of tense globalization

All are concerned about prosperity

Forgetting all past political feud

How over the corpses of tribes wealth made

In socialist, capitalist countries-

But still some misguided terrorists shine

To be handled properly and quelled in time.

Nothing has stopped, nothing goes unhindered

Old world of exploitation marches on-

Extracting wealth from the bowl of earth, sea

And sky for prosperity, industry;

The old incorrigible, superstitious

Adivasis are still reluctant to

Be evicted. They remain misguided.

They do not yield even after threatening,

Conversion and brainwashing: The Rotters.


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But they had their civilization, they

Have culture and tradition, they defy

Globalization: their war rages throughout

The globe; Oil-Timber-War around Peru,

Amazonian Rainforest, Niger-Delta;

Mine-War spreads in Papua-Indonesia,

Phillipines, Niyamagiri hills, India-

In Chhatisgarh, Jungle Mahal, Anantapur

There, in Yanomami land, Brazil and

Manywhere. It seems a desperate strike

By organized forces is imminent

The sons of the soils to eliminate-

From the face of the earth, water and sky.

They are really helpless, misguided, they

Hold on to any discredited lotTake to arms to survive in their plight.

A recent photograph in a newspaper-

Body of a young girl, died in combat

Carried in a bamboo pole by killers-

Inspired a similar scene to get flashed

In memory- it was the corpse of a

Wild boar hunted for community feast.


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It is ugly to ogle at jarawas,

Oldest Andamanese , like beast in cage.

To declare „International Day of

World‟s Indigenous people‟ by the highest

World-body is nothing but puffed up farce.

It is a clash between civilisations:

Industrial-technological, man-made

Against agricultural, forest-bred.

Globalization cannot destroy all;

Environment, ecology, human.

None can evict them, throw them into sea

What has happened is a stain on human glory.

People regret now as the last speaker of

„Bo‟ language dies or rejoice when a

New-born is added to Onge tribe.Advasis were the first born on earth

They have the first claim on it before us,

Modern civilized. They live in Nature-

Forest and hills, rivers and animals.

Everything cannot be exploited, used.

If they must be removed for any project

They must agree, must be compensated.

Be aware man, awake; Honour Nature

To be honoured by it, to live better.


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What an Age we are Passing through!

What an age we are passing through!

What a hodgepodge what limosis what craze!

Best of all the cracies, they say, is democracy

after all; rule of and by the people, for the people

but alas, it‟s only once that they get the chance,

easily duped by the demagogic, prolixious speech

and the crocodile tears . . .

everything they lose to the politicians

who possess kaleidoscopic characters

verily, the chhaya of the ancient maya;

they change the statute once in the chairs

defying the wisdom of the Nation to suit their purpose

judges cannot undo.

They give anything to anyone, of any denominationdeny our heritage, destroy the land we stand on

to secure their position of power, right to misrule;

no party no group no policy or ideology has any value

if that does not serve them, does not satisfy

their hunger and greed;

rage for industries grow, farmers commit suicide

private contractors for every work throng

merits and wisdom are sacrificed

at the altar of caste and community vote;


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newspapers serve many tainted and wrong news

with partisan attitude, features and letters

they publish have to conform to their views;

climate change and global warming

are the offshoots of mechanical, luxurious living

of the rich and the powerful.

Because of all these the youths of the country

Flee to foreign land for money and comfort;

the primitive trade is upbeat

women stand naked before the public

of their own accord,

human trafficking is a part of it.


Ecology destroyed, disharmony brought to Nature

Man-Animal relation worsened

by killing daily thousands of dumb creatures;meat and leather industry

are the diabolic face of the humanity.

Gandhiji, a bad politician but great humanitarian,

wished cottage industry, real Panchayet and simplicity

lived on earth with earth on his head and body.


smile and guffaw, snigger and bravado, choking of voice

lead toward kakistocracy on piscine principle;

clutching each other‟s throat with claws and talons


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when men will fight to reach the nadir

a gigantic unknown vulture in its turn

will be ready to descend on him;

only then a chance may arise for us to see

a divine ray to rise to save us, free

from the heaps of a doomed democracy

through the real forerunners,

messengers of the God.


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What a Great Republican Shore are we Basking in!

Caught in a vortex we are under siege

of those whom did we select

as our representative friends;

now nothing is in our hands

though we are the true republicans.

No neutral body to apprehend and punish

the real culprits they would establish

for those who govern the house

by mutual consent do not find the proposal sound.

They keep an appropriate bureau of their own make

which is at their beck and call, for their own sake

to engage the bureau their adversaries to hound.

Gradually we are pushed to the corners of our rooms

with something to live on a good

according to our respective petty capacity;

may be hybrid or genetically modified food

trifles like free-rice, free-TV, free-cycle or some doles pretty.

That at the pinnacle of our countr y‟s pride

is a player or a female model, we are not surprised.

Our agricultural model is fixed in such a country‟s agro-operation

where dependence on agriculture is less than one per cent of its population

the rest feeding on meat in their cozy corners reside,

their discarded products are thrust on our shoulders;

There during 1995 to 2010 167. 3 billion dollars they paid as agro-subsidy


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whereas out of 550 million of our population depending on agriculture

debt-burdened 256913 farmers committed suicide.

With the age old farming experience of a country of our size

we go for foreign seed, discarded pesticide

and entirely unsuitable foreign expertise.

Aping is for causes serious; the republicans

fail to comprehend that everything including petty vegetables

will come to their hands well packed, marked by multinationals.

Muddy hands and legs, poor farmers or tilled lands and bullocks,

nothing will remain except foreign bred goods, profit and stocks.

Our forests already denuded, their bowels getting quickly emptied

to feed the foreign business interest, our industry‟s greed;

it must have already satisfied our national need

for they are partners of our business tycoons; our guardians indeed.

On our pristine sea shore or some peace-abode

is made nuclear factory or missile testing sitedefying the people‟s legitimate right;

for we have taken the development road.

Development surely for statistics show that we have developed

but who are the we?

We who have captured the house and our supporters

in art and culture, in literature, in media and in various fields

to whom we give prize every year on merits

this day, as our friends and ambassadors.


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Politicians of the World Unite

At the dawn of independence

patriots were substituted by professionals;

shedding idealism and humanism gradually

came into existence the selfish politicians.

Diehard political activists

have spread their wings far and wide

cutting up didoes, corrupting

the country‟s social fabrics; by brute force they work with their class in cahoots

while missing the balance losing the political clout;

they touch the pithy heart of truth

with hard core supercilious falsehood;

this is a class irrespective of parties

who loot the country‟s wealth

shedding all dignities;

there are exceptions as in every other field

but in the long run most entrants join their guild.

When he was digging violently

a soft target, the law-breaker himself

could not properly guess

that he was producing a lawyer;

when he lost his political clout


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after 32 years

the lawyer, the son from his own seed,

could the law-breaker supersede.

It is a dangerous signal in all countries

when people aren‟t awake, forget to perform their duties

remain an onlooker simply witnessing all happenings

swimming in the intoxicating rigol

avoiding to face the problem heart and soul.


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Terrorism

War revolt uprising invasion and dictatorship

Ways of killing by torture of humans by the humans

No beast can think of perpetrating but only titans

Animals live by nature in nature without authorship.

Even when such things for grater cause are supported

Terrorism is never rationally fed.

It gets its sustenance in converted idealism

In murderous passion of a few

Abetted by sadism and masochism

Thirst for blood and revenge anew.

If any religion has any association with terror

It must be in its lowest strata wrought with fear

It has no relation to the quest of God

It misguides man away from the path of God. None recognizes a terror‟s face

Terrorism has no face.

Such death is never hailed as of martyr

Such death is never remembered as sacrifice

But a terrorist may turn into human flower

If properly utilized his valour and spirit of service.

Talk of terrorism never dies

Unless it dies at its birth it ever spins.


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Tenant

Windows are wide open

doors are kept ajar

none is in there

nothing except waste matter and dust

air passes through them

unhindered

none sits in the balcony

none in the terrace walks apace;

very few knew when they left the place

flow of cars and two wheelers below

as usual.

Very few knew them in the neighbourhood

none knew wherefrom they camenone knows where have they gone

or why they should;

who bothers?

Only sparrows, crows and mynas

knew

the housewife and her daughter

who used to spread

on the balustrade


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curried rice and crumbs of bread

or leftover anything

each morning.

Birds come and go

perch for some time

then fly away with least sound

wondering-

are they gone, are they around?

Ain‟t all of us tenant

living in whatever tenement

changing it like our raiment

unnoticed?

Ain‟t everything on earth

based on temporary arrangement?


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Peace

In a global village beheading in video show

Bomb blast and wreckage in T.V.‟s glare

Media reports of rape, carnage, arson and massacre

In my neighbourhood rivers of blood flow;

All these with earthquake, flood and accidents galore

Banish Peace from earth‟s shore;

A cycle or run race, a poem or claim for Peace

Are farcical shows, wraith like enterprise.

Without bypassing social problems hiding in your hole

Always awake fighting for truth heart and soul

Responsible for all your sincere efforts

Without bothering about successes of all sorts;

If not chased until satiety by all crude desiresUndisturbed by worry and fear

Free from wrath, envy and hatred, without self conceit

You are at Peace.

Peace is a state of mind, state of being sound

When in such a state you exude Peace

In spite of all external contraries

Peace oozes out of you to soothe all wounds.


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What Peace is Like

Peace is like the early rays of the Sun,

slightly auburn, spreading on the eastern sky.

Peace is like the mild setting Sun, sure of its return,

splashing colours on the western sky.

Peace is like the rising full moon, bright in its orb,

from above the rows of giant palm trees.

Peace is like the resting of the elephants

in a sward before the promised sunrise.

Peace is like the birth of an arc-rainbow

after the gale and copious rain.

Peace is like a sleeping pregnant cat

on top of the hay stacked in a burn.

Peace is like the child‟s sucking sound

from the round breast of its mother.

Peace is like the deep silence of the wood

pregnant with promises near.

Peace is like the concurrent rain

spreading across the vale and dale.

Peace is like the trustful pacing of the child

holding his father‟s finger to p with nail.

Peace is love, Peace is smile

Peace is fragrance of the flower.

Peace is faithful surrender to the Divine


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Peace is enchanting shower.

Peace has its last resort away from the earthly bower

in the Nirvanic void;

beyond the domain of science, history or logic

even as it baffles the ideas of Freud.

Peace is love, Peace is smile

Let the true Peace spread

Let this not be fragile.


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90

India the Mother

Mother India has snow capped Himalayan crown

She sits with her feet on sea washed by the three;

Bay of Bengal, Indian Ocean and Arabian Sea

The ancient peninsula is Bharat Mata renowned.

On her left hand is Bay of Bengal and Sundarbans

Full of history, biodiversity and maritime commerce.

Farther to the north-east the land is rich

In biodiversity, wildlife and Nature‟s bounty.

On her right hand is the turbulent Arabian Sea with maritime history;

Foreign merchants and missionaries from an early age

Reached attracted by the spicy smell, carrying Christ‟s message.

The rest of India, secured by coasts and mountains,

Is equally rich in natural wealth, holy breath and sweetness.

Humans of different faith colour and race

With quest for adventure and zest for life

Charmed by her noble face

Mingled with her pristine body of humanity.

Some outsiders ravished her time and time again

Some pseudo-civilised people tried to establish their reign;

None is here now; it is India with her people sovereign.

The perpetrators of crime were from the other age;

None presently is responsible but none can the past crime assuage.


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Religions, racial bigotry and weak democratic structure

Divided the holy country; those are at work wreaking damage further.

The real enemies are insiders holding powers

Who stealthily rob her wealth and beauty; the cheaters.

But Mother the mighty will ruin the rogues, stop the trend

To give birth to unity

In accord with her inner harmony

And wholesome spirituality.

With all admixtures India is a cauldron of culture;

Present looks back to greet the past

Past comes back to harmonise the present;

With all imports and revivals, looking to the future

India is unique in her original essence.

Let all those who left come back to make a single race.

Let all try to fulfil themselves in her fulfilment

With a heart vibrant and roseate.In peace let India shine among the nations

To fulfil her mission of creating a world Union.


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92

Our National Anthem

Rabindranath Tagore directly addressed

The presiding deity of India‟s fate:

“Bharata Bhagya Bidhata”

“Thou Dispenser of India‟s destiny”

The leader of her people‟s mind for eternity.

The deity is both:

A father who looks after his children‟s progress

A mother who rejuvenates her children from sickness;

The dispenser of India‟s destiny

Is the “Eternal Charioteer, thou drivest man‟s history”

And “Thy voice goes out from land to land

Calling Hindus, Buddhists, Sikhs and Jains round thy throne

and Parsees, Mussalmans and Christians.”

India‟s eternal deity is lover of all humanityShe leads them from ages immemorial.

Its earnest call is responded by all Indians

The others from distant lands join the nation.

Universal in its appeal, all embracing in its approach

The poem was written neither for the colonial King

Nor for the Congress party though sung in its session

But in response to a poet‟s heart beatings;

So wholesome, so pure, so endearing to all

The National Anthem deserves national adoration.

Let us with the poet hail her wishing her victory.


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93

Sea of Humanity

At the crest of the huge water body burned

a thousand lamp at its Himalayan height

as it moved like a gargantuan with tumult

creating an unforeseen sight at the dead of the night

when in the cloudy sky stars shied;

it was an imponderably giant evil spirit.

Apprehending its power to engulf the ship

men inside it surrendered to the inevitable doom

like timid sheep but rose from their imagined death

as the ship managed to come out of the marauding waves

moving up and down over its body like a straw

dancing to the tune of the fate

without a hint that the turbulent sea would thaw;

the ship lacked man‟s timid heart and frail body to anticipate the inevitable doom which did not take place.

The vast water is the helper, the base for the ship to sail

but water is the bar if it enters into its hold causing it to fail.

Ripples and small waves make the sea of humanity

dancing around the ship, a few inside its hold

but when the evil waters of tornado, tsunami or cyclone

coming out of such vast body of humanity enters into the ship

threatening its movement, making its life precarious,


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though the ship does not easily succumb to the evil political force

that rule the state ship emanating from a total criminal source,

it may not be victorious if the timid waves and ripples of humanity

are aware of the danger of voting to power such enemies

coming with the mask of leaders and friends, all goody-goody

ravishing democracy, ruining democrats‟ lives with impunity.

If the waves are courageous, do not volunteer to give bribes

creating demands for it, do not live for petty selfish benefits

and personal security over the others knowing that such petty gains

do not give them ultimate relief

that all petty gains would be lost to the evil force

losing all life‟s promise,

if they agree to stand on their own robust feet with confidence

to rebuff such hegemony of the brutal force

the ship would crown them at the crest of Himalayan heightharbouring them into the realm of peace, tranquility and progress

for after all the State is the people‟s face

the well being of the sea is seen in its waves.


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95

Nuclear the Evil Force

Those who were wiped out from the earth scene instantlyDue to the dropping of atom bombs wantonly

Had their sufferings mitigated by God‟s bounty

Even before they guessed it at Hiroshima and Nagasaki

Trailed by Nibakusha who carried their maimed existence

Or carry still the poison of human weakness.

The evil of nuclear fission continued

To predate its victims in Chernobyl and Fukushima;

The nuclear plant for any sane use like power generation

Innocently proliferates as a prelude

To further destruction of our age old civilization;

It is the irony of our fate, the result of our megalomaniac Karma.

But Karma may be uplifted by human wisdom

To defeat the evils of life like nuclear fission

To keep high the flag of freedom.


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Krodha

A Zamindar lashed out his subject alive

Blood of the fellow humans live

Is the fundamentalist‟s holy rubric

Throat cutting is the ritual of men ethnocentric

A Sultan burnt down his recalcitrant horse as his right

It is the gamut of activities imbalanced and eccentric.

Anger fuelled by hatred is the prime source

Of such vile activities; a formidable force.

Once the fire of anger is roused

It cannot be easily doused

It afflicts the punished once he is around

But consumes the angry one if the victim is not found.

Wrath is an elementary weakness of man; a Ripu-Better try to overcome its onslaught on you.


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Either a Saint or a Ganja Khor

Leaving everything

if you live in Himalayan cave

or in a hole in Arunachalam hills,

live on begging like a mendicant

in Varanasi or Vrindavan

or live like a practicing sadhu

or wandering monk

concerned about nothing

but the inner call,

it‟s a way of life you have chosen;

best if it is honest

according to your real nature and taste

but if it is not the real inner call

from the life‟s secluded shore

it is often the life of

an afeem or ganja khor

or a culprit or an escapist.


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98

Deaths before Death

A modern man lives tactfully

avoiding the undesirable

keeping aloof from things

he is not concerned with

embracing those which help him progress;

but how many times he is caught unaware

reaping corn from other‟s land

perpetrating some crime!

How many petty compromises

how many looking aside

avoiding to be involved

in other‟s crime beset you!

How many speaking aside

and underhand dealsaren‟t we involved in!

How many times our self respect

is rolled in the dust!

The blunt headed brute among us

or those with a criminal mind set

may escape detection

even at the last stage

but usually a man of conscience

is arrested at the cemetery or crematorium


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as he is carried there;

for he died many times before his death

his cupboard is full of his own skeletons.

Tactfulness is selfishness, sincerity only gives asylum.


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An Attitude to Life

If you close your eyes ear and mouth

remaining aloof from everything

that‟s an attitude you have taken

for the reasons best known to you.

But the world goes on roaring

with life weaved in family

clan community and society.

Whatever the inn of life you reside

life vibrates in ebb and tide.

Man‟s life is not

like the birds or animals;

it has extra sense and conscience

pride and prejudice

surpassing everything in subtle sense;

a prudence, a providence.

What type of man are you

depends on your attitude to life

and your view.


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There was a pause as the past I remembered.

“None lives here now”- the wind answered

blowing helter-skelter with smell of dust.


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The Past

History is jotting down of events and phenomena

a part of the past gone by but not the whole of it.

Past is vibrantly living in us

as every moment of our life goes into the past

but we live; an indivisible, undeniable entity.

All our thoughts and ideas in ether

all belongings

including cassettes, videos, C.D.s and memories

to be played and replayed,

are obtained from the repository of the past.

It is puzzling to say that something

or some entity has passed away

for nothing really passes away

but changes form and quality.

Past is like dust which has

a lugubrious tenacity of coming back

even when flown with water,

as if from eternity.

No dust that gathers in your surrounding

did adorn your grandmother‟s belongings

but strange that no dust can be identified

belonging to you or to your grandmother;

dust flows and gathers like time

coming in or passing out;


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time is a dusty affair.

Past is like voiceless echo of the sound

present in our mind and sense

perceptible in its essence.

Present is a ghost of the past

for ever with us, guiding.

Mr. Harris and Srimati Nandarani

at the old age become conservatives

like their fathers or forefathers

which they were not at their early age.

Many Indians live their lives

exactly as their fathers

in business or in a grocer‟s shop

or simply as a talkative good-for-nothing;

a lady dies copying her mother

throughout her life.Past is inseparable from the present

as present lives forever in the past.


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The Events

Last of them, a couple, left an hour before noon

it started from the second midday

in a two-day literary festival;

taking leave one by one.

The third is a no-programme Sunday

many left in the morning flight

alone I stay put

in the vacant guest house;

a hiatus after tremendous hullabaloo

as if nothing happened in the past two days;

a gulf of silence

island of non-existence

nothing prevails:

No talks no grudge no banter or smile

no hearty laughter or impatience senile.

All impressions and remembrances

as if in a faded film

dumped in the waste-bin of time.

Life after life

events after events

it has been happening;

everything is in a flux

everything flows into the void

yet they take place

the evanescent events.


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Remembering my Mother

She was my earthly mother

I lost her before my teens

It is the story of one of the millions

Of such mothers and their progeny;

It is not important as news or fact

Nothing matters in any way

Other than remaining as a human story

Of birth and death and decay

But my mother‟s touch and care

On birth, in cradle and childhood fair

Her pleasure and pain, wrath and fear

Affairs with me intimate

Are still carried in my veins, skin and memory

In my heart and brain, all the parts of my being.

Of whatever type the child is

Mother always remembers it

So long as she lives;

Mother‟s child remembers the mother,

alive or not, so long as he or she lives;

This is the human mother‟s story

Differing fr om the animal mother‟s

Which takes all care of her offspring, a colt or a chick

But once its wings are grown she forgets her sibling


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108

Mili

School bag tied to her back

looking in front she walks;

no more whimpering

to get into her mother‟s lap

no more carried in a push cart

no more sucking her thumb, she walks alert

leaving all who reared

freeing herself from those

who so long for her cared

forgetting her lollipop days

she walks apace

with her bright eyed juvenile friends;

she walks, dreamy eyes, towards the future

like all her known and unknown predecessors.


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109

Mismatch

If the door of an old iron chest

By a mismatch door replaced

With latches fitted opposite each other‟s place

And two knobbed handles in very insufficient space-

It is doubtful if the chest be ever faithful

In responding to the master‟s pull.

Anything genuine has its intrinsic value,

Of whatever the quality, it is true.

All items misfit, countermatch, hybrid or just for show

Would give you trouble, today or tomorrow-

It is applicable to humans and things alike

Now or in future the idea must strike.


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110

At the river bank

And quiet flows the river

without a ripple or shiver

trees stand windless

not even a whiff in space

no leaf shakes, no sound;

fishes are sleeping

sweating fishermen around

have lost all zeal

in the act of rowing

their boats stand still

the water

Documents

Time Whispers in my ear