Dear Poetry lover friends and bookworms -October 2015-
With great pleasure I announce that my Selected Poems (Paperback and E-book) titled, Time Whispers in my Ear has been released and it is being displayed for sale in the following sites plus more as one may find from the site of the publisher, Onlinegatha. I invite you to visit them, one or more; this is seeking your patronage. I have confidence about the quality of my work as confirmed by the learned critics over the years. The cover page of the book also is given below.
The Paper Boat
The paper boat
I set adrift
In my childhood
On the flooded road
Of a metropolis
Has just arrived
This rainy evening
At my doorstep
Under full sail
To set out on it
For a nouvelle
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 shines like a mirror
naked boy in it looks at his figure.
The world without a name
halts at the bank of the river
no one knows when it came
none knows if it was there.
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 top with nail.
Peace is love, Peace is smile
Peace is fragrance of the flower.
Peace is faithful surrender to the Divine
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.
Life and Death Hugs each other
Even of unknown species
Thrive on the body of the dead
That lies on the sea bed;
The carcass of the giant whale.
They enter into it and come out
Of their shelter paramount,
It is their food
Source of their life on earth;
Death is the cause of their birth.
From the dead rises the living
Living thing kisses the dead
One dead gives birth to
Innumerable living things ad arbitrium;
Life and Death hugs each other ad infinitum.
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.
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 racticing
With a heart vibrant and roseate.
In peace let India shine among the nations
To fulfil her mission of creating a world United.
Flashing like a busy black diamond
Appearing from an unknown beyond
Settling almost at your nose tip
Whirling still with a whiff
Giving a momentary shock it flits easily
As you’re nonplussed, in flurry
And settles on a flower, knotty bumblebee;
Whimsical and dangerous it seems.
At a great speed fluttering its wings
Humming restlessly here and there
Black strong and stout, whiz past you
Bamboozling like a tormentor,
A perfect gift from God; true.
Scientists bewilder how in the air does it run
With its heavy body weight, disproportionate
To its swiftly moving light wingspan;
It’s a violation of aerodynamic laws, they bet.
But there are laws beyond assumption
More wonderment at every step beyond our horizon;
Nature has more in store
To shock the recalcitrant therefore.
Uighir, 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 aboriginals
for they cannot survive the touch of the civilians-
so keen they are to sip only their cup of tea
destroying others’ dignity.
Wherever minerals, oil or woodland treasures are found
the greedy 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
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 civilised people are the most uncivilised.
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.
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;
a spark in the being
is the game of all games
a play between the light and the darkness.
© Aju Mukhopadhyay All the poems have been published in different journals and ezines and some of them included in several anthologies and discussed.
Poetry: Adivasi withdrawn
Poetry: Six new poems added on 11.5.2016
published in different magazines and ezines including www.kitab.com (Singapore), The Seventh Quarry Poetry (Wales, UK), Poetic Connections-Poetry from Australia and India (Anthology), Syndic Journal (US), Asian Signature (a Web Journal: Face Book), Whispers in the Wind (a Web Journal) and others. They are included in my latest book of Selected Poems, titled Time Whispers in my Ear (Online Gatha, the endless tale, Lucknow)
The Burning Lamp, Time Whispers in my ear, Politicians of the World Unite, Flower of the Future, Insect’s Nest, Sri Aurobindo
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.
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
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;
time whispers in my ear
that past never sits in its forlorn chair
but leaves its essence for assimilation;
time whispers in my ear
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;
time whispers in my ear
that everything passes on for ever.
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
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.
When it came and built the frame
on the wall,
briskly I bruised it
by a finger.
Twice it came again
I ignored it then.
Now on the wall it has a shelter
at the back of my computer;
a frail one inch hollow tube
upside open downside closed
clipped to the wall.
It’s a tiny wasp
may be with family it lives;
they come and go.
Ain’t all the great constructions
like insect’s nest
brittle and fragile
sure to go
today or tomorrow
measured by time?
Why bother about any mark made of lime?
Flower of the Future
Unknown and uncertain
Are the results
Of the mystic bud
While shimmering hope
Is rising up
From the luminous vast
That the flower of the future
In harmony with Nature
For a Divine purpose
Has been opening its petals
From ages far behind
Towards a time
Peaceful and glorious.
‘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 swan
Touching 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.