Morning is a river

In the morning's pristine mirth
In the flowers awesome blooming birth
In songs of birds and music of earth
how do i get oft that wonderous sense
OfThy compassion, Thy Love,Thy presence,
How do i find how in thy world every day
Light greets the arrival of another day,
And i again in my heart how do get
There is no end to Your poetic state
Is it a flowing one, a river true,
As oft i stand before Her to view
Her sparkling silvery beautiful hue,
Or is it that tune of primordial song
Which keeps on ringing for ages long?
i do never try to find how You arrive
With which song or music You fill our life
Only do i go by Your songs, paintings and writes
That You have left for us subtle yet bright.

Eirene

Whence thou art there
Holding true and tranquil
The lighted day, the peaceful feel,
Why canst do i not think of thee
Eirene whence You set me free?
Like that bird perhaps, (a grecian one?)
A pouli ( migratory like that in winter come) Or a white swan.

( Eirene: Greek Goddess of Peace)

Just by the river ,

Just by the river
a bit reclusive
How colors erupt
Quite idyllic,
They come together
Sisters two,
The younger one
Thinking of her beau
The elder one
Having a view
Of the beauty
Of the place,

Just by the river
Quite,
 how they get blessed.

( the painting attached for illustrative purpose,  is by John Singer )

Where does this path go*

Where does this path go,
Who that does really know,
To the foot of which hill,
To which sea coast
To which wish implausible
Who does that really know;

Who travels to and fro
Through this road , who goes
Who does that know,
How are His songs,
What smile doth He carry for long,
For which quest does he go
Who that does really know.

{* note: it is a transliteration of a poem of Rabindranath Tagore, as can be found in collected works, birth centenary edition, volume four, page 123, included in ' পূজা ' ( worship) section. The transliteration is my humble tribute to the greatest poet and philosopher of all times}

Winter morning

Don't know why but everytime

I think of winter,

 how I hear bells chime,

Somewhere up there in hills,

Where once had we that feel

Of mist and dew and roads running quiet

All drenched by softest light,

And how we kept on walking through

The fog and foliage to get that view

Of the hills and their sun kissed peaks

How there once a sabbatical we did seek,

How that sojourn and many more after

With a feeling of warmth comes winter,

A bit ascetic sometimes, the sombre gongs,

Sometimes colorful, with cakes and songs, 

How winter brings so many things

Pines, deodars and trees incense bearing.
( the painting attached for illustrative purpose is done by Mopasang Valath, an artist and landscape painter hailing from Kerala, India, who follows varied media, but mostly watercolor. This one is acrylic on canvas ) 

Who will take me*

Breaking the key to my home, who wilt take me
O friend mine!
Without seeing thou, canst live life so lone;

Perhaps the night has ended
Perhaps the sun has sent rays,
Thy soft pinkish morning's glow
On the sky blue how doth show-
There can see the path ahead,
Wilt not thy chariot reach my door?

All those stars of the sky
How stare momentless
As they beside the night
and dawn's path take rest,
Seeing thou they wilt leaving all
Into the luminous sea take a fall;

All those pilgrims of the morn
Perhaps they have come like birds-
Singing songs of mirth, in flocks,
Perhaps the flower has bloomed,
Perhaps the music has arisen
In thy lyre of the sky ( of this season).

( * Note: it is a transliteration of a song of Rabindranath Tagore, as can be found in collected works, birth centenary edition, page 22, volume four.
This transliteration is my humble tribute to the greatest poet, philosopher of all times)

How many times have I thought*

How many times have I thought
To feet thine should've my heart brought,

Holding thy feet, friend mine, will express
How much do I love thee in secret,

Thought as Thou hath been the God of Heaven
How could a mere mortal like me say my love even,

Thought will live at a distance from thee
All through my life will just remain a devotee,

No one wilt know my love so deep
No one wilt see where my tears me keep,

Now today whence Thou hath arrived to ask
How can I say how much Thou do I love.

( * Note: it is a transliteration of a song written by Rabindranath Tagore, included in  ' প্রেম ও প্রকৃতি ' / Love and Nature section of his collected works, volume four, birth centenary edition, page 675.
The transliteration is my humble tribute to Tagore, the greatest poet, philosopher of all times )

Without You where doth lie
The destination of my love?
Had you been not there
Where would have found I
The words of my longings
My songs, my harp, Love mine?

How beautiful is it
To see rain and dew
Resting quite on leaves
And blooms, greet new
(The day) as it wakes up and sees
Impearling poesy carried by the breeze...

Birsa *

From Ulihatu's sand and dust
How you worked , You the beauty of this soil,
Working under scorching heat , a crop sharer,
Of that colonial Bihar,
A mere ryot ( raiyyat), grazing sheep in other hours,
A tuila in hand,
And wandered perhaps in the forest of Bohonda,
Had you been also struck
By the flowering forest in spring?
Had you played your tuila and flute too?
( as folklores around you sing)

Now after so many years, when
That colonial discriminatory rule
Is still found in our country ,
When still the tribals are thrown away
From a college or university,
When still a girl from a remote village,
Can't find a place in the admission register,
Because she is just an offspring
Of a santhal family , or a munda,

When Rohith Vemula and others

Had to face discrimination

Because they were termed ' non- bhakts',
How we are reminded, you had
To go through the same,

Had then, your revolt, all went in vain?

( * Note: today being the birthday of Birsa Munda, one of the pioneers of Santhal - munda movement)

O Thou the beauty of dusk...

Whence doth I look up at thou
O you the beauty of the dusk,
How am  I filled with the pervading sense
Of only wonder and astonishment...

~ Moinak

( my fb newsfeed is full of pictures of the sky here at kolkata today . I am sharing just two from my friends here. Two beautiful persons , keen photographers , Abhijit Roy and Mrinmoy Pratihar da. )

One music, One song

Can't recall exactly on what day or hour
Did I turnup at thy side
It must have been early days of autumn
And there must have been no high tide,

A soft pinkish glow must have been
Colored thou with a silky brush
The hour would have been  perfect too
To look at you as you blushed,

I looked at the scene quiet
And the sky so wonderous
A tranquil feel and serene sight
How turned me suddenly pious,

Was that my religious self
Or was it the irreligious one
Which found only humane heart
And a floating white so white a swan?

I did not know what was it
The rivery flow or the beauteous morn
But I felt there are ways always
To go rhyming with a soulful song,

It was such a musical rise
That I could not hold myself
I just thought and surmised
That there are songs  to delve,

Within one's heart true and synced
With whatever happening outside
Sitting at the bank of the river
I just felt more and more quiet,

And the river how kept on flowing
Murmuring, singing a form of a verse
The splendid poetic hour thus
How kept me with thy soul so merged.

The poem for birthday

Whatever happened in other births, let that not matter
This time I am born as the taper
On the day of diwali,
The little candle too
Turned myself into sparkling dots
In the hands of children,
Blew the rockets up and away
Above those seven or ten storied buildings
Even if you don't believe come to the street
You will find me there in verandahs
Or you can climb to any terrace
And find me how with me a girl
Lighting up the stars one by one ...

{ the poem is transliteration  of a poem titled ' Janmadiner kobita' (জন্মদিনের কবিতা) by Joy Goswami }

All about Hugo and Georges

All about Hugo and Georges,

'But Georges! Why can't you see?
I am only trying to find a key'
Said Hugo , gathering some courage,
( afterall Georges had that rage
In his eyes almost always)
It was one of those days
When Hugo had to go to Georges shop
To find suitable parts for that automaton prop,
It did not move a single inch the way it was left
By his dad years ago , now half buried
In dust and negligence somewhere,

 ' But Georges ! Why can't you see?
I am only trying to find a key'
Repeated Hugo with a voice pleading
And God knows what Georges found reading
In his pair of curious and innocent eyes,
' Are you telling the truth? Or is it all lies?'
Georges roared, ( like the way he did always before)
'No sir, I am saying it right!sure!'
Hugo prayed; it was almost late evening,
The breeze brought cold air quite overbearing,
'Okay! Okay! I would allow you once
If you can make that automaton dance'
Georges sounded a bit indulgent this time, ' 

'And sir, You had been such a great maker of films,
Why are you rotting here without your dreams?'
Hugo asked the man even older than his dad,
Georges couldn't believe what he heard from the lad,

 'Hey boy! You're such a cute little one!
Who gave you that knowledge? Or is it a fun?
For you to joke with someone so old?
Are you trying to pretend being bold?'
Georges danced his silvery brow
And looked straight at little Hugo,

Hugo extended his hands for a shake
With Georges did he friendship make,
And later, much later , together did they reinvent
That automaton which could conjure excellent
Stories and tales and so many other things.

' where do you want to go?'

' where do you want to go? So early in the morn as it snows?'
Asked the station warden, looking at the boy,
His eyes so cute and so blue,
' I want to go wherever the train will go'
The boy said without fumbling,
His voice did not falter, his words not stumbling, ' that's so easy, the train will go
This time to Bristol,
Will that will do?
What do you say? Little chap you?'
Asked the warden, restraining his smile,
( Looking serious ) ' But that's away quite a few miles!'
The boy looked surprised, a bit,
Standing confused on his happy feet, ' yes of course that is away far
Moreover there will you find no mother!
No father too and no brother,
No sister too and no car
To take you to the school or to the park
No granny to tell you stories after the dark...' The warden told him, appeared grave
The boy bit his lips trying to be brave, ' why not call your dad and ask him to follow
You till the train will reach that hollow
Tunnel before it enters Bristol,
There your dad and mom can arrange for all
Those things that you really miss
And sweep away those which keep you pissed'

The warden told the little boy
While handling him a toy, ' But they do not really care for me!
At home I am not given even a toffee!'
The boy exclaimed almost teary eyed, ' Oh! That's pretty bad! Now do I see!
Why a boy like you find no glee,
Chocolate should be given free
To all , I declare here,  solemnly '

The warden said and that clinched the deal, finally. ( Picture Courtesy: George W. Hailes - Railway Platform at Bristol, England, 1936. )

What can be more beautiful? Say?

What can be more beautiful say?
Than to love and pray
The world loves like we do
Catching all the different hues
That embellish life,
A sparkling drop of dew
Under the glorious sun
And so many other things
That only love can bring,
A germination of hope,
The spread of faith,
Eternalisation of beauty
That goes beyond death,

What can be more beautiful say?
Than to love and pray
The world loves as we do.