Ephemeral moments-III- A haiku

 

Mid winter night,

      Dogs howl in the street for warmth

            We dream in warm bed.

Ephemeral Moments--II - A haiku

 

The sea washed sun

 Jumps out of the cold water 

To wipe out darkness.

Ephemeral Moments- A haiku

  

      

                            In midsummer dusk

                            Gold dissolves on the Ganges

                            Conch-croons fill the banks.

                             

(NB: In the evening the Hindu ladies pray blowing the SHANKHA or conch shell)

Oh! Egypt Show Us the Way

Look how chaos reign our motherland,

How faceless tyrants at the gunpoint loot,

How the reigns of power ends in brigand’s hand,         

Who has kicked humanity with his golden boot;

How whistle blower’s ashes flicker upon free sand

How protesting voices stifled or given two hoots;

The white man’s burden has eased but rajas reign

And hungry mist hover the land of toiling men.

                                                                                                    

Here histrionics of rivals, equally adept

In showing their adversity in public domain,

While beyond the glare of lights they have kept

Common wine served by common women;

Where farmer drinks rat-kill or sells his mate

While the Shylock smiles behind his pounding men,

From rubber-spined capitalists, morality got grind

Look! Egypt has burnt; can we be far behind?

Amitava Chakrabarty

The Statesman reviewed my book today. It feels great to see your pics in newspaper. The writeup is heavily loaded in my favour and I feel somewhat shaky to upload it.  Nevertheless...

Just to share a bit of news. I have been one of the winners of  Aquillrelli Publishing contest, where the organizers were selecting the best 100 poems amongst a host of contributers. Those of you interested in the next publishing contest can click the following link:-

http://www.aquillrelle.com/

And the poem that was chosen by the organizers was:-

http://www.aquillrelle.com/publishingwinners.htm#publishedpoem8

The Final Moorings As the clock embedded inside Swings farther and farther Away from the umbilical chord Time boarding the magic carpet Flies back to my by-gone days.  In search of memoirs. The tired sail with mussels all over Waits to be beached Like other hulks' ramshackle In eternal Time's sand It waits dismantling In the final moorings Away from the beloved's guard In ruthless scrap yard. Strapped firmly upon a cot Lugged upon a sun-fed street The heartless funeral band  Roared, and all trusts breached; I see my head cold, Swaying like a frail boat- In intruding tidal bore, And I collect my deeds Strewn like cheap bran Upon the memory's floor, I marvel at my life's span Oh! so fast it has elapsed Before the fluttering bird Inside me has collapsed.

My mother came back today from the hospital after Laparoscopic Cholecystectomy or removal of gall stones, which she had plenty inside. For last few days she was in the not at home. What I want to share below is my poem that I wrote for her in the Mothers Day last year. The poem also finds a place in my book:-

 Oh! Mummy

Riding flippant wings of Time

As I flew three decades back

My world around was engulfed

Into the single-soldier barrack.

Under a general draped in a sari

And a vermillion bindi between brows

With beads of sweat from daily chores

She wipes her face in anchal* free.

This act often rejuvenates

Her sweaty glowing visage

In the slogging sultry summer

And injects love-blended  reverence.

Over the growing years-

The bridled bonds has slacked

The general has became a friend

Look! the octopus tires.

Mistake! She deliberately let it loose

The anchor grip in doorstep of youth

Not before steadying the sail

And refurbishing the keel.

"Let the waves thrash you dear

Let your soul burn wrath of fear

But when you will be back to me

Come back as a man.

Baked in sun, whipped by wind

Be the stick of my porous bones

Be back as light of my misty eye

Through your window my world beckons.

When my stones inside will hurt

When dark blood ooze from my orifice

Then be by my side dear

And let me rest in peace."

(*Anchal is one end of an Indian sari, that dangles at the back over the shoulder)