Pouch Poetry 10 - 13
10.
the apparent golden pot that i thought
to be the underneath of a kadam-tree
in the dim light i can notice that
the stars in the sky are disappearing
this session of poetry
is coming to an end
now where would i
go
to that little home
the home
a tiny word of 4 letters
within that home
the children are giggling
playing … and making funs
when i entered
with a tri-cycle in hand
for them
i have been perplexed
many old persons are waiting there
to shake hands with me
11.
almost most of my desires
are very much hurt
to show it publicly
i wrap bandages
around all over my body
i keep on the stage-drama
in our programme of reading poetry
tea is served twice
current has gone off for three times
for four times the mobiles ring
to pick up love
some people think about returning back
from today’s dais to the ancient stage
of performing folk-drama
then they are also sympathetic
to my sufferings
12.
everyday
on my way to return home from the school
when my mom took hold of my hands
i could see in my body
the dancing of an unforgettable
aura
even now that mystical halo is walking
on the leaves of the trees
to fulfil my mornings
that wayfaring along the road
is ringing far and far-off
thus taking bath in every day’s
dust smoke hue and cry
many such love
gradually gets aged
is it true
in the long run
i too
would be the ingredient
of a fairy-tale
just because i love
that paddy field
some time later
she will also become
human
13.
then she will make all of us
join her walking
those inmost feeling
those memories meditations
the loneliness and solitude…
sans the touch of the imagination of
a crater…
a creator…
this blunder…
this socially outcast white …
this type of uneven…
and irrelevance…
sume words
when peep in the mind
i surprise to see that
it’s ten to 2 at night
then in the balcony
my father is crying
he always notices some grave-yard men
in front of him
and sheds tears
|