Plough thy field!


Plough thy field ,
O! restless mind,
barren is thy land
make it fertile…
rake up the soil
undug the earth
freshen thy surface for the sow…
spread the seeds of the enchanting name
Whose utterance will lift your veil
O! ignorant mind,
cultivate thy land
let the virtuous arrive
till then thy senses,
recite the song
of the majestic creator,
The Supreme one
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The masquerade


I often came across a face,
which wore a masquerade circadian
bright flashy,sometimes grey
when eyes flashed as pretense.

while it stepped out
dodging the world
The ruse, it played
became deceptive aid.

Changing masks, a regular charade
simulation of hidden guile
What a guise,
the face plates?

Façade of false expressions
Pose of honest imitation
Sly,deceit the masquerade’s colour,
Which hath you put today
O! clown of disguise
What’s your colour?
will you ever see your real image
your  real reflection?or will the masquerade  be your shroud forever?
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Danseuse of Konark!


An epitome of grace,
as figurine in  tribhanga
The ultimate superfluous aura radiates
in the dancing statuette …
on beats pulsating,reverberate which the atoms of air
she steps on earth,kissing the soil of her motherland
with hands folded in a lotus shape,
her fingers offer the love of her heart,
she, the classic danseuse of  Konark!
 
Behind her, wheels of the royal chariot of Sun stand
withstanding years of scorching heat and sordid weather
The rustic sandstone roughens every moment
while her feet thumps in rhythm ,on every beat of the Mridanga!
 
Echoes the melancholic intense love of Geet Govinda,
sways the sculptured posture like a waving petal…
tenderly mesmerizing the ambience
in every atom of the milieu …
 starts the Abhinaya.

 

What an enchanting sight!
an alluring panorama…
The vista shines in flamboyance
in the ethereal dance
with the myriad hues of heaven…

 

Tribhanga: Pose of Odissi dance.

Mridanga: Indian drum,                           

Abhinaya: an Odissi dance form
Geet Govinda: an epic in form of verse written by Jaidev

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“I”


“me” the universe rotates around,
swirled “I” in the prism of creation
dissolves the outward character
like a particle of salt
I be a part ,now of the supreme ocean…
One drop ,is what I become of the
gigantic waters…
What for then”I” cried and wailed
When tis the drop ,what I become!

Rather promiscuous in the flowing waves
“I” the wanton , merge
in the flaps of that motion
carries which to the soul of bliss,
in form of a dancing dervish!!!

spins my legacy,
my originating designate
in atoms of the Supreme

I” assimilate ….

 

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AT THE FEET OF THINE !


I wish to be the tiny flower lies who,

at the feet of thine…

Instead of the jewel that shines in thy crown

O! immortal Krishna ! I sing your praise

in verses of mine!

 

The brilliant gem bedecks your aura

Outstands it every precious stone

O! but it cannot see thy face benevolent

even while decorating… in thy diadem…

 

I , the lonely flower, rest in thy feet

grace bestows my presence

When thy eyes look at me…

 

Thou universe that rotates around you thee!

I unaware of the method,

here! I sit and surrender at your feet

O! Krishna ! Raise me from

the chasms of time!

 

 

 

 

THE REAL POET


O! look ,there’s the real poet

who pulled out his heart

adorned it with

“the blows of ruthless love”

the mute feelings unearthed from gravels

slide as drops across the scar

creating a magical aura

in between the theme.

The silken imagery of fabulous scenes

diced with stupefying verses

dipped in the blood ink.

 

Oh! He rolled out his soul

on the streets and alleys

where once lived his wife to be

in the deserted palaces

and through the lanes of slum

wanders he , frantically.

 

 

Wondrously he conversed with the birds

Kissed the floating clouds

flowers danced to his tunes

in broad daylight , he fears

Under the starlit sky, he wanders

 

Alone he undertakes the journey

for miles in deep slumber

and in his solitude .

 

Look ! Oh! There’s the real poet

His soul dripping with blood and love

resented by the world

he now

is named lunatic

psychic he is referred to

on the path of destiny.

Music of the “Mighty King”


listen to the music melodious
the fluttering of leaves in shade of summer
the river gushing through rocky terrains
the chirping of birds on dawn
rains droplets falling in rhythm…

blissful tune of the nightingales
stormy winds and lashing waves
the cool serene touch of grass
flying above the cottonballs
standing mountains sheltering, the land afar…

Harps the wind on the twigs and trees
the melody of a song pristine…
enchanting as the flute of the lord
the harmonic composition
of the MIGHTY KING!

“To Rise”- A Verse for Women’s day



It’s a dream ,

 A simple wish

Neither jewels fancy me

Nor the glitter of being rich…

As a tiny colourful bird,

I want to wing my feathers

Spreading in the open air

To hover over the colourless ocean…

 

Clipped , chained,

I lay in tethers

In the dark abyss

The dust of nostalgia

Suffocating my nostrils…

 

From ages , restrained I am

Crumpled like a rose ,petals crushed,

Oh! Who doth seen ,

The blood that oozes

When Iam strangled within my shelter…

 

Buried beneath the fire ablaze

Watch the smoke moving high

Kisses it ,the clouds white…

I await…to be born again..

from the ashes of the pyre…

Like a phoenix ..of modern times.

 

The Grey Shawl!


Beneath the grey shawl

I still shiver and tremble,

It shrouds my figure

Yet is devoid of the warm ensemble.

 

Sparingly I look up

Or try to search

The tattered shawl needs a mend

Few stitches shall repair the imperfect shred.

 

With a needle of courage

A thread of hope

I hide the patch and refurbish

It’s a new wrap in possession

The old torn is nowhere…

Water wont seep in

through the pores of this mantle ever…