In this age, lack of time pushes us to devise short means of communication, I
think poem is the shortest language which can explain the full story. I like
poems, I used to write a lot, but it has decreased now due to irrelevancy to my
study concentration.
Below, I paste few poems that I wrote when I was in grade 11/ 12 (~2003).
None of the poems reflect my life in anyway. I also published some.
1.
Written on the feeling of a man, left by his lover
“No tragedy, this is"
My life a blackhole, may your life be bright,
My love! May you become a light.
My dear! No anguish upon you,
You are certainly a diamond.
But I – a plane glass;
transparent and easy to break,
which cannot refract light
nor as you, sparkle on other's neck.
Rose! I am the dew dropped by you,
Don't tease on my fall to the sand,
your love swayed with that wind.
You be the sun, yours be the star,
I am past, the black you see far.
Emit the rays, warmth your intimate scenes,
I will survive smiling on those beams.
Why is this present? Where was my fault?
humiliation I deserve, my love why you insult.
Your promises and whispers now pierce my heart,
everything you sold in the public mart.
Did I smile? while you were sad.
why are you good and I am so bad?
Now your reality smiles, why my dream cries.
May you rise, wishes my eyes.
Thank you dear! Love & sufferings have vanished,
From attachments, I have been freed.
I will remain until there is the night,
Please understand the end, soon as you see the light.
A new start then shall begin,
Next birth will I be the earth, let me in.
For motherhood, in fragrant wind, her future she sees,
She is right, so for me, no tragedy this is.
"Shelters like cemetery and crematorium"
Tonight my shelter differs not from a cemetery,
Although consciousness is not dead,
forcefully buried is the body.
We are our enemy here,
brothers delete brotherhood
and doomsday is near.
The life lives without soul,
Why here is more solitary
than a north and a south pole.
Wrong is the saying that there are three colours,
Look at the thousand shades in my place,
Mentally diverged shades indeed,
Sky and nether world, the demarcation of life
that a city and a village lead.
Some rooms flooded by tears,
no hut, no nut and they shiver.
Elsewhere a party of light, no time
even to sleep at night.
Oh! hence a strife, a big fight.
A vast unlike in two yell,
one vouches for the liberal wealth,
others oppose ringing a communist bell.
Some advocate radicalism and Mao.
But between all these,
young aims on the road fear to step forward,
there is peril of electric mines,
but they hope the sun shines.
But hope remains hope when
Rhododendron smells bullet,
blood from mother’s breast, here jasmine is red.
‘It’s too late’, ‘it’s too late’
where is the trust? where is the just?
when peace snows, only blooms the rose.
needs tranquility and serenity at any cost.
2
Oh! another invitation for fire offerings,
and I, an unfortunate guest;
to see the acrobatic swing of future dreams into the blaze,
cannibal to become, smell the flesh, I taste.
Smoke of ashes all around,
I choke when it surrounds,
I ran for the windows’ frame
there again I see the flame,
who is it? the peace advocate of east,
crying loudly, cremating the peace.
But certainly shall this dream end,
on the eve of morning, the night will cry,
light fights, wins and darkness shall die.
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