Fields of Red poppy. (Day 25) a tribute.
Inconsiderate! Making me wait
Like a beggar at your front gate
Really ? and i work for you
Ringing the bell endlessly…what more must I do ?
Wake up dammit get your arse out of bed
So that i can start work get the kids ready and fed
Amazing how you sleep and pop pills all day long
With all your wealth and riches youre not very strong
The kids are arriving but we cant get in !
Wake up get up Stop doing nothing !!
4 April 2017
I look older somehow
I look older somehow
Wrinkles and sagging skin
I feel wiser now
Funny how it all sinks in
After years of trying to be this or feel that
Be correct and professional when I speak
Thorough all of that I became me
Wrinkled and wiser -aged in waves -like the oceans waves on hot summer days
Never regretting now those silly younger times
They were some steps that had to be climbed
and there were falls too
But they brought me here to this moment-this time with you
To say now is the moment -now is the time
We’ve gone alone for such a long time
Through problems and issues but what they really were -tribulations and crown partaking as we rise to die no more
As you reach for something yet unsure to you in your mind
But your soul always knew to bow to The Creator Of Time
The wonder that we are not able to comprehend and yet he created us made a thought become true do you know anyone who could do that? Do you?
And now how can I sit in judgement or raise a hand to a man made just like me
Same lungs- same heart -same eyes that see
I’d have no clue if I were to do that cause as far as I can see
We’re down here together Yes you and her and me
Can we get smart don’t take from Moses to now to think it through
How much time could be left -might be worth a thought or two
All of us together what kind of genius couldn’t see- that if we bow together give respect right now on bended knee
We might make it one day to see our loved ones -old and new
It’s time -I am bowing
Hope I don’t see you up on your feet
To God give the glory-soon time to do the meet and greet
I sure will be going- you want in too? Reserve your seat
“Man in Black Hat” by David Flam
any white shirt would do
for a black and white stageplay
as long as I got to recite
my lines wearing my old
soft black cowboy hat
crown-pinched and brim-rolled
like pages of scripts my gray
fingers would worry
again and again line-by-line
word-for-word all to memorize
life in the hope that some
might redeem the dull effort
On Miguel Cervantes’ Don Quixote
WE ARE ALL DON QUIXOTE
Amidst childhood fairy tales
Exploits of Don Quixote regale
Fighting ,fencing his own shadow
Foolish chivalrous….was a weirdo !
Whisking off childhood’s glasses
Matured wise worldly classes
Are we not all Don Quixotes ?
Fighting our own coyote
Attacking the windmills
That are on mind’s till
Churning pulps of thought
Wisdom always dearly bought
Slaying our own private demons
Positivity is forever put on
Effort conscious concerted
Living tools of clean hearted
Yes , we are all chasing our own shadows
Trying to kill our very own self afflicted foes .
Copyright Sudeshna Mukherjee
for muse and madness I-III
upon your seeking hills for muse and madness
i have thrown an egg of answers…
may my egg stay an egg
may your seeking hills melt and become plain…
for he that shakes a market
must be patient for the tingles of noises…
i am a market of noises
i shall not twist my tongue on silence…
the lines i bleed are the droppings of tears
there are tears in the lines from these hands
there is a passion patient paintiently passionate…
i am a poet of tears…
i have asked my eyes questions
under the mumbling of lips
the calculations of within the streams of my tears…
they say i have cried a nile…
a true poet does not look for rich walls
whose regalia of wisdom run far from wise
he searches patiently for broken walls
whose woods are rooted in the palm soil of knowledge…
i light the lamp of generous elders for burning wisdom
they give me their teeth for my teeth
and bless my eyes their eyes…
get noises…get tears…get passions…light the elders…
i have picked these words from the stones of my tongue
from her womb tomb…tomb womb…
and upon your hills for muse and madness
i shall again throw the wool of answers…
may my wool remain a wool heavy for the lips of the winds
may your hills break at its silenced thud…
i am a market of noises
may these noises tingle your ears…
the lines i bleed are kilned in the face of the moon
they have walked the lane of the sun
they are the little teeth hidden into the knotted hems of elders…
they are the dance in the market of fine maidens of thoughts
they are the tears from restless sleeps of a wandering soul
they are the drums of many rhythms for the days without beats…
they are the they in the they that they are…
a true poet is the patience under the udders of poesy
the patience that caresses poetic breasts for abundance of milk
he is the humble ember that waits for the caress of winds for fire
under the watch of the tripod who hold the pot of muse…
for the pot needs fire for agitation
to spit forth the froth of muse madness…
the winds have blessed my ember…
walk lanes…get patience…get winds…light the elders…
this is the third time i write to you
from the bones that held the cheeks of elders…
and upon your seeking hills for muse and madness
i throw the gourd of answers…
may my gourd remain a gourd and not falter into shards
may your hills heal into plain grounds…
i am a market of noises
may these noises tingle your ears…
my poetry is like the congealed pap caged within the shell of leaves
caressed by fine hands of musing maidens…
it is the chewing stick that lives long in the mouth of elders
the bitters that taste better on the tongues of grays…
i read the rhythms of your strings
the riots in the colours of your weaves
and the lies they told you in the feathers in your cap…
i cried into a long hiss
for you copulate with poetry like a greedy gigolo
lost into the lustful laps of sodom…
i wish you go blind…
a true poet is a soft kiss on the cheeks of art
a soothing caress on the virgin lips of poesy
he is the quietness in the threads of fine colours
the teeth that have kissed the feet of elders…
he is the meticulous knock on the corridors of muse
the mirror that mirrors himself from blurring imageries…
or what is poetry in a poetry forced?
be true…get patience…kiss softly…light the elders…
bark before bite (trilogy)
the eagle who boasts the stretch of heights
and challenges the mystery of eledua
will learn lessons untaught in space and time…
again, it is my wandering wonderings
the wonderings of a poet’s mind
the mind burdened with words…
and like the eyes defeated by covetousness
over the morsels of the gluttonous visitors
fragments of thoughts frame me bound…
i chew the sticks of mockery
and gurgle my mouth with the water of jeers
for the snail in the gaits of a cow…
it is true the shell is a deceptive deception
and a shell is not a hump…
will you help me tell the snail?
who flaunts slimy fleshy horns
that he is a snail and not a cow…
a snail is a snail…a shell is a shell…
alani…you are a fool
so fool of foolish foolishness
i smelled you…and you smelled stale…
who sharpened your teeth?
and plagued you the deception of praise
that you play your novice on the screens of maestros…
have you forgotten?
the beans you cooked yesterday
played our teeth rhythms of stones…
and if you wish to wear the clothes of fathers
would you have not begged wisdom
to robe behind the gossips of passers-by?
do you even know?
the clothes of fathers are sacred
not for sacrilegious toddlers…
and if the moccasin of elders attracts you
will you not first learn the art of mending
and drink lessons from the cup of wise cobblers?
i brew you a bitter truth that heals
in the inks of a patient prey
in webby weaves of the great Spider…
let your puppy learn the patience of barks
and caution the deception of your putrid whines
whines on the pages of roars…
let sweet silence raid your loosed noises
and for once
learn to bark before you bite…
i stroll past the abode of elders
and my head gains the grace of their pats
they say i wash my hands well…
they pour my cup libation of understanding
and gift my hands the teeth of wisdom
a quill in the inks of ancient knowledge…
something swells in my stomach
it is the screams of unsaid words
awakened by the pats of grays…
your tale chimes upon the gong of my thoughts
upon the skin-weave of my heart…
they say you spat into my words
and broke the pot of wise wisdom
into shards unredeemable…
is it true
you sewed the threads of obstinacy
and invited more madness for your mockery?
will i blame you?
it is your ear, i blame
whose vacancy is of pure wisdom…
but if your ear lacks learning
is your heart too void of saneness?
That you call a feast for your new foolishness?
that for your growth of few feathers
you drag ages of wrinkles in your mud
and flaunt your wings in mirages of pride…
the trees you lean on are decaying stakes
stakes deceased with destructive ants
ants that pined your backs with deceptive accolades…
when will you first learn?
before you robe yourself in the webs of art
before you make noises of your budding sunrise
and if this ritual of caution
sounds your ears the incantations of pride
your canoe must have drowned deep into a buried blindness…
will you not gulp the pool of patience?
and take deep incisions for your thoughts
or what is in a dog with a bite without a bark?
will you not kiln your clay in pure fire of arts?
and bring smiles again for vexed wrinkles
that your praise be praised indeed…
will you not grave delight for your frowned destiny?
and train your whines
lessons to bark before bite…
i take warmth in the pouch
of elders from the coldness of words
from the shivers of patient leaves…
i have lit my lamp shards
with the stones of sparkling wisdom
and my tongue licks the dance of witty flames…
i beckon on the divorce of sleep
for my heart snares me for thoughts
the elders say i should speak…
your thoughts are convulsing confusions
do we say your head flees from knowledge?
or why is your curse defied of remedy?
that you have now become naked omoye
whose fatness outgrows the robes of rightness…
why does your blindness refuse
the staff of direction on the paths of arts?
and leave you ignorant of your blind blinder blindest…
i hear that your soared saliva
plummet into your opened eyes
and you turn red with rage…
that you hiss like a long vowel
who refuses the consonants of caution
are you the seed of the hardened serpent?
that you have borrowed cowries
to buy the regalia of challenge
and your dwarf stomps feet for my fiery giant…
is your ear that heavy
that its lead of stubbornness
refuses to melt at the steams of wisdom?
you are like the little chick
who sees deprivation in her caged wandering
and complaints of meals in the gathering of eagles…
tell me the ritual of your deity
or what colour of gods is your madness
that you refuse the propitiations of sanity?
what blinded your inner eyes
that you plague the fate of words
in the wombs of uncircumcised thoughts?
did you not call herbs, vegetables?
you are just a babe who seeks the meals
of encomiums in the baskets of shame…
only if you know of the eternal gift
hidden in the pure patience of preys
whose learnt barks tooth bites without limits…
The Lamp Of Love
You are the Lamp of my soul
Your flame resuscitates my being
From the darkness of wicked nights
Your magic shines in my womb.
I ascend flesh and bones to your sky
Every pulse of my heartbeat flies
Towards the zenith of your eternal bliss.
I chant the divine melody
And Ink the art of your divinity
With the Lamp of Holy muse
You inspire upon my spirit and diffuse.
Your flames enlighten the eyes of my soul
I dwell therein resting my heart
To embrace the essence of beautified wisdom
Lying myself on the flying carpet
Of your mystic kingdom.
Kissing the zephyr of whispering clouds
I closed my eyes for a while
And rest my soul upon your arms
To feel the mood of serenity and joy overflowing your Eternal Lamp of love.
The Lamp of Love
The Blessed Moon
All my favorite songs I have composed
Remain hidden in suppressed heart
Unsung ones agitate within
As if rooster crows scaring to assassinate desire
Very sternly I caution all to walk carefully lest my dreams may be shattered
Scared by that human skull threatening to spread hunger through plunder
To snatch away peace from Nation I love from heart
I am in love with my songs too, strong desires create upheavals
Afraid that my glass cabin sheltering my desires may be smashed
And Broccoli will be stolen, I fear the ugly theft
I desperately want to preserve blessings thus received
But calmed down by cool breeze that settles on my shoulder
Eager to sing, I shout for freedom
Only to be muted by ruthless silence
With no response, refusal to reply anon
Blessed are my songs which in dreamland spread in air
Reaching soothing moon on the expanse of smiling sky in memory unlimited
My precious blessed moon smiles asking me to wait patiently for God’s time.
All ® Rights Reserved: Sanjib Das
UNLIKE THE OTHERS
A butterfly came fluttering
Ascended, sat on a red rose
It looked deep inside the rose,
Smiled, turned back, flew away.
A rainbow was forming in sky
Rain expecting, it reached cloud
It looked deep inside the cloud,
Smiled, leaving silver lining, spread.
Mountain snow melted, flew down
Forming a river, reached sea
It looked deep inside the sea,
Smiled, spread in shore, drowned.
A pure drop of tear filled the eye
Rolled down the cheek, then chin
It looked deep inside while passing heart
Smiled, slowed, rested on the lap!
The butterfly, rainbow, snow and tear
Did not descended without a reason
As they dared to look deep into,
Into the core of heart of its subject,
They saw someone inseparable,
Installed there, inspired in inducement.
Yes, just like I myself prevail
Adored, worshiped in your heart
Even though YOU pretend, fail,
Not to know nothing of that kind,
I know you are unlike the others!