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Father

Writing something about you is like
Trying to make a swim through a sea,
Through wave after waves of memories,
The first distinct smell of you
Had the that peculiar mix of tobacco and shaving cream,
The first distinct touch of you had been to feel your palms a bit roughened,
And to feel how those lines on them had withered the ups and downs of time-
Partition, independence, state of political instability, carnage , emergency, flood of seventy eight , hartals, strikes, lockouts, bandhs,Then your smile , never too loud,
Just a sweet candid one, 
And your angst - silence spreading over clouds of even more silence, Your writing hand curved and sparkling
Your fountain pen dipped in ink - your poems and stories, your sessions of debates and discussions , Marx , Lenin, Engels, Tagore, Vivekananda, Aurobindu- all turning like lively figures standing before us as if saying their words, Your recitation of poems ,
your acting at amateur theatre- glittering dresses, swords of tin, And the…

The leafless chinar

In the shade of chinar tree
Like two birds who had flown over a sea
The boy and the girl gathered quiet
Drenched softly by the fading twilight,
The girl coy and a bit terrified
By shrill buzz of gunshots bright
Whispered her fear and longing too
To her man, her hope, her beau,'Don't you anymore join those men
Who are fighting for years and dying in vain'
The girl with tears in her hazel eyes
Pleaded to the boy with whom she has ties
Of love and hope and all those little things
Which amidst despair only joy to her bring,'I know how much you are worried about me
But as long as there  is this chinar tree
We will come here every evening , dear,
Why those gunshots you falsely fear?'
The boy told the girl putting his palms on her cheek
As the evening slowly turned dark and bleak,Suddenly they found some shadowy figures
Circled around them with fingers upon triggers
' Who are you? What are you here doing?
Don't you know there's a curfew this evening?'
A m…

That tree

Things had changed greatly
I say , since we have left our summer days
And went to farthest shores, away
From our home town,
Still once in a blue moon
When anyone of us happen to pass
By that park surely
Even in the dark he or she
Would  find that tree
Which we made our companion
Upon whose branches we had swung
And sitting upon them how we always looked at the distance
Finding the lazy motorboats gliding on the river
Or a bunch of workers going home in the noon day heat
Walking briskly,
And those chimneys which stood like grand towers
Belching smoke which went up to compete with clouds,So many other trivial things how we did notice
Amidst our games of hide and seek
Or mere gossip,The day would wane and before we would return home
We would take a leaf or a bloom
As pretty little souvenir,We picked them
As we picked tales too,
As we sought our summer refuge
In the big tree.

Smell of lavender

Image
Coming back from work, Sreemoyi was sipping her evening tea, sitting at her favourite spot- the window of her bedroom from where she could see as far as golf course which appeared like a lonely but distinct patch of greenery amidst the buildings of the city.
Come evening, when the city would deck up in shimmering lights and far away when the bridge over the river would dress up in tiny dots luminous like a beauteous damsel in a flowing gown, Sreemoyi would just look at cityscape as visible from her window. The window to the world outside.
If it rains she would try to sit there for awhile till Riddhi would come home.
Despite being married for eight years, her marriage to Riddhi had not brought any child to her lap. She and Riddhi could have explored other possibilities but with the passage of time , the eagerness to bring a child home had died down considerably. Riddhi being always busy with his office tours thought it to be quite suitable not to extend the family further barring they…

Oft I long for

Oft I long for that sweet late evening
Of a delicate aromatic spring
When you took me to your home
And gave me that ambrosaic potion
To drink and savour all night,
To feel how the buds wake up after being kissed
By first rains of the season, freshened,
To get that first hint of heaven
Reaching which one can only get the calm
Spreading all over one's mind and soul,Oft I long for that memory enlivening
Which took me to find the hills and valleys and bushes
All gradually becoming a part of me,
As if I have been given a strange fulfilment
A view of the world so savoury
That can never ever leave me,Oft I long for you
And when I do not that do
I perhaps dream of mountain streams
And leaves green drenched by sparkling drops of dew.

Love at dusk

Love at duskAfter many days took the road
Winding as it flowed
Away from the crowd as we thought
We could be somewhere where poetry wrought
Little things into a different rhyme
We arrived where the sky kissed the line
Of horizon gently almost making no noise
There we stopped with songs poised,
She held my hand and whispered soft
"Is it not beautiful that we have stopped
Here where no one is there to intrude us
Is it not a wonderful way to pass
Our little hard earned leisure?" I looked into her dark lake like eyes
And felt got all the pleasure
Which I yearned to get  her face with colors of dusk set
Looked so soothing, calming and filled
With love that only a night rose could seal
In her petals fragrant and blue
How was I killed by that murderous view!She let my lips touch hers candid
And to feel the moisture in the air
She wrapped me in an encumbered sleep
And to lay my heart for her bare.

Just a love poem

Losing myself into you
Has oft brought me to a sense
Of fulfilment perfectly due,
As perhaps a bud feels dense
Breaking open just at the cue
Of the morning's mildest light-
Pinkish and orange hues
Whence touch the sky bright,
And I think I turn a flower true
Blessed by love of you,
Your smiling face I then reflect,
My petals drenched by dew
With sweetness of pollens set
Greet my blossoming new,Losing myself into you
Has oft brought me to the brink
Of an overwhelming view
Of life and love in which I sink
Haply as ever as someone lured
By something inexpressibly wonderous
Something that is deep and pure
Quenching all human thirst,Yet people driven by vanity
And pride of being modern
Discard love and poetry
Without knowing how they turn
To decadence and pity
Which only their souls burn.