A few words written on missing a station...

I still miss that station stop,
The station where I had perhaps dropped
A few peals of laughter strong
And crystal watery forms,

That reddened streak on the clouds
Visible ,so heartwarming a thing,
Right from the platform vacated by the train
Puffing away, I still that miss, an enchanting scene,

And many more, countless moments, unworded,
Never to be put into any series of numerical expressions,
Nor into any language profaned by running of alphabets,
I miss them in blood, in veins,

I miss that station stop
Where  I  had perhaps dropped
My holdall on the dust of a few hundred years,
And sat quiet only to gather on heart the crimson light.

Never losing thou,

'Never losing thou'
Was the thought that i took
As a vow,
But it is a grinding time,
My words have taken the plough
And they do nothing to me,
They keep silent shape,
They are stilled,

'Where are they?
Those little children
Who with supreme innocence
Spent the day
Playing under the sky
With no cares of life?
Where are they?
Had they gone away
To another land?
Had they forgotten their jovial selves?'

Asked myself,

And answers i thought i had,
Long before the time arrived,

And then i did not look far,
I looked at the greenery around,
The godly presence of our ancestors,
Their works, their harvest,

And i at once put things at rest,
The unsettling thoughts,
I took plunge
Into  silence,

For there resides
Thy providence.

Hope springs eternal

Hope springs eternal
And so does everything
That's why we are here
To ring in us a meaning,

Otherwise it would've been
A blasted heath, a wasted course,
Hope springs eternal
And that is life's sole discourse.

We will forever sailors be,

We will forever sailors be
Till in us we will find the sea,
And the voyages will be our ways
From the sleepy nights to the wakeful days,

Storms will call us to rise
Gales will buttress our lives,
And we will forever sailors be
Till in us we will find the sea.

In absentia,

In absentia, by those molecules of water in the air
I think I get the smell of thy spatial frame,

The way you cross all borders, corridors, lanes,
The way you travel through all lands and seas,
The way you move, trespassing the fences ,
And those lands which had supernatural corns,

In absentia, I think I own thy presence.

(Based on 'simanta' , a bengali poem by Sankha Ghosh)

The homecoming

Stood he infront of the facade
Yellow was it with a pinch of green and red,

Got the old view of some trees,
They are there still after so many years,

And
      Ah!
          the sweeping breeze,
And
     Ah!
         the sweeping breeze...

Have a walkaway

Have a walkaway

                                     To the rains, the cloud, the mist,

For the world is there as it is

                                     The way it was formed, unperished,

Have a walkaway

                                      To the saintly  hills and salty seas,

For the world is out there as it is,

                                       The way it was formed, unblemished,

Have a walkaway
          
                                      To the sunshine glittering on leaves,

For the world is out there as it is,

                                       The way it was made, like a bliss,

Road to Pedong,

I remember distinct
The road to Pedong,

It had slopes of green
On one side and little huts
On the other, with glass windows
And flowerpots,

A basketball court,
A slanted ground,
A sculpted figure,

A fenced yard,
Olive four by fours
Motionless, part of the scape,

And then a bazaar
With smell of spices
And incense,
And little trinkets
Hanging loose in the air,
Copper armlets, ethnic wear,

A bend where stood a tree
Nameless with blossoms,
A manifestation of tranquil pleasure,

And soothing solitude
Unscrolled all over the dome of sky,

A visible top
Of a stupa glistening quiet,

I remember distinct
The road to Pedong.

That freedom, lord, let there be,

That freedom lord,
Let there be,
Where we all will be free
From those ills
That bleed adversity,

That freedom, lord,
Let there be,
Where we can rise to see
Each other as mere dots
Compared to Eternity.

Mortal and the immortal

Once,standing at the fringe
Of a hill, touching the sky
Mortal frame discovered I,
Then dawned on me
Immortality thine.

Euterpein

Blow thy aulos Euterpe
And make me sing all the way
songs which eternalise
bow of rain which fills the sky,

Make me part of your grandest art
That takes in all in one cart,
The songs, the music, the paints,
The lyricism of monsoon rains,

Blow thy aulos Euterpe
And make me travel all the way
Like You hath made Strymon once
To flow unhindered from Olympe,

Make me wonder and gape
How from throat songs escape
which can never one replicate
Teach me thy songs of Heaven's gate.

Cinzas

'Play the Cinzas!
One more time for us!'
The mob shouted in chorus
To the man sitting on stool,
He had his guitar hanging cool
And the fretboard glistened under the spot,

'Hey! Play the Cinzas
One more time for us!'

Their cry reached his ears
And he lumbered back to those years
Kept in chambers of his heart
Under the thick layer of dust,

He picked up the tune
Washed it under the drops of rain
And blew a whiff of air to clean
Little ribs till they gleamed,

Cinzas , he did begin
like little waves slow
That one another follow,
Under the glittering sky,

Cinzas, he made to fly
From the copper strings
To make the whole bunch
Sobered and filled to the brim,

How many minutes it did last
He had no idea just-
It seemed the parlour had turned
Into a pool of water that drowned
All the cries of the outside world,

Cinzas , he unfurled
One time more
Cinzas, he spread
Till it poured.