amaranth

The Ailing One

2009-04-04T17:46:00.002+05:30

The old woman shifts in her bed
The curtains fly, the birds twitter.

Sun had never wished to trade,
Gold spill on every pauper's feet.

The old woman cries
Pain ties her to the bedsheets
The son's care,
The granddaughter's touch
Effaced by fate's wipe.

Death in its usual outcast's ways,
Her tears track moments suffered
In wait of the cloaked nomad.

2008-09-20T18:50:00.002+05:30

Nitin's Kite(part 3)

The clouds were a herd of huge grey elephants trampling down the sky, making loud noises. The thunder crashed as two or three of them struck their tusks together. As he was looking at the sky he fell headlong into the water. Now no one could save his kite from total destruction. After a few minutes a grown up picked up the half crying, half coughing wet Nitin in his arms. This was his elder brother. Seeing a queer shape under Nitin's shirt he took it out and threw it into the water. Nitin was brought home in another few minutes.
The next day was the Viswakarma puja. Due to continuous rainfall there was not a single kite in the sky much to the relief of Nitin who now had nothing to envy. He sat gladly at the door of his house catching fish from the still flooded field by dipping his towel.

2008-09-13T15:35:00.004+05:30

Part-2

He ran with all his might. Tiny dried leaves and mud got stuck to his feet. His face and hands were all wet. The wind troubled him by making his unruly hair fall on his face. The rain drew wet patterns on his clothes.
At the edge of the field the clump of mango trees started. He had spent many happy hours there in the summer. But now in the rain he did not like it at all. The leaves were like rough licking tongues, the wet stems of the creepers seemed like slimy snakes. The narrow continuous stretch of sky above the clump was like a long grey snake spitting out venom from every inch of its body. The drops pierced Nitin.
As if to hide the absent minded patterns on Nitin's shirt the rain started painting his entire shirt with its wetness.
As the clump came to an end he got a hazy view of the old temple. He ran towards it only to find it closed. There was not even a little shade near it.
When he came to the last field it was flooded. His hut was a small island on the other side of it. Swimming through the water would take him faster across it.The kite was already wet but he wanted to save it as much as he could. So he waded through the flooded field.
It seemed to him as though the field would never end. It was the very old field where he had played so many times with other village boys. But now it looked like a sea of murky grey water. He could not see the hut anymore. He did not even know whether he was in the right direction.
The water was rising. At first it was up to his thighs, now it touched the tail of the kite, that was at his waist. Something slimy touched his feet. It was a snake from the pond. As the pond had got mixed with the flood water snakes were moving everywhere. With anger, disgust and sorrow Nitin moved on.
(The rest of the story will appear next week)

2008-09-07T11:31:00.002+05:30

This is a children's story I wrote when I was 15 years old.

NITIN'S KITE (part 1)

Nitin was returning from the village school . The sky looked as though it had just come from under a cart that had crossed muddy grey paths. It worried him not just because his home was faraway but because his home was faraway and he had a kite in his hand. His slate and slate pencil were pushed into a tiny bag stitched from various pieces of cloth by his mother. The kite was too large to fit in it and even if it did the cloth bag would not be able to protect it from rain.
Now for the kite. It had the depiction of a black lion with golden mane on it. He got it from an older boy in his school. Not that he gave it to Nitin out of generosity. Nitin had to give away his entire tiffin in exchange.
So Nitin was hungry. Still he was happy. He thought about flying the kite at Viswakarma Puja which was on the next day. He could not participate in the fight of kites since he had only one kite and he did not want to lose it. Besides he was too young to have the skill to cut the strings of others' kites without cutting his own. He would just let the kite go higher and higher towards the autumnal cumulus clouds.
He walked as fast as he could to reach his house before the rains started.
But it had to happen. As he was walking through a field and had still to cross the mango tree clump, the old temple and another field big drops started falling from the sky. He quickly put the kite inside his clothes. His figured must have appeared strange with the rhombus object kept across his thin body. In no time the rain started falling even more heavily. He hoped that the old temple would be open where he could take shelter.
(to be continued next week)

Reactions

2008-08-30T16:17:00.003+05:30

A cold wind passed,
My expanding thoughts-
Solidifying water
Cracked my skull.

Thorns prick,
Penetrate
Deeper
And deeper.
They crowd
On all sides.

The fire
Sadistic
Licks my flesh.

The waves push me to mock
As I sink slowly.

I struggle to take another breathe,
Can I....

(This poem was written by me many years ago but I recently made some changes to it.)

THE WRONG SUSPECT

2008-08-24T15:10:00.002+05:30

"I've never heard of the gang"
He screamed as pins pricked
His finger tips.
Shutting his eyes so hard
The eyeballs might've been pushed
To the back of his brain,
But how could he sedate his nerves?

They left him, locked
To bring back monstrous
Relics from Cretaceous times.

His nerves just stopped squirming
Like the eel fished out of the sea
Released to a puddle,
Soon to resume the death pain.

He cupped his hands,
Boring his fingers into the face
That resembled the criminal's
His neat life shredded apart,
He attires himself in chill
To bring back escaping vapours.

( This poem is from my book 'One Hundred Poems' published by Writers Workshop. Next Sunday I will post one of my unpublished works)

2008-08-16T15:27:00.003+05:30

EVENTS

They gave you a silver bowl
They forgot you have
No food to keep in it.

They gave you a necklace
They didn't notice
Your collarbone would subdue it.

You've got chandelier
But where's the ceiling?

They gave you gold pitchers
But the river has dried,
The wells lidded and taps
Releasing blood.

Talking of blood,
New fuel when the earth
Fails to leak the old one?

( another of my poems from my book of poetry One Hundred Poems published by Writers Workshop.)

THE PAINTING

2008-07-13T15:08:00.004+05:30

Serpentine shapes-
Are they what they seem
Or they're streets or rivers
Or winding life of mine?

Dark stretching curves
Are they clouds or stylised
Hair, or shadow remnants
Of my most heart felt dreams?

Multihued dots
Sprinkled to add colours?
Or buds or little beads
Perhaps, specks of my hopes.

Artist,
Through papers, net, journals
I know you, famous one
How is it you know me?

(Another poem from my book of poetry One Hundred Poems published by Writers Workshop)

ASSIMILATION

2008-05-25T15:47:00.002+05:30

Villagers carry grains and straw,
Golden oriole among green leaves,
A stir in water of the pond -
In sky's colour for a moment
Marigold's many petal layers.

All mine.

Deceived by dividing scratches
Raw red from many caustic blades
crisscrossing over th' Absolute.

Segragated ones now belong
To me for I belong to them.

( This poem is from my book One Hundred Poems)

Graceful Might

2008-02-01T17:56:00.000+05:30

Elephant in water,
Its raised curved trunk
A lagoon, sending out
Fountain from its tip -
Actually relieving
Congestion in musth gland.

Ground shakes, stars will descend
On earth, trees lean away
To make space, actually
Elephant has just walked.

Spring

2008-01-20T18:04:00.000+05:30

Few leaves at first
On a narrow branch tip -
A green crest on slender
Brown bird neck.
Snow reborn as bud,
Haste to come back
Among leaves on a leave.

THE MUGGER

2007-12-26T19:10:00.000+05:30

Resting mugger
Cuddling a rock,
Slightly curved tail
With upright scales -
Lower jaw of
A shark's mouth.

Sunlight to bathe,
Lightning feast.

Winter

2007-12-14T20:17:00.000+05:30

Sloping snow land
Down to ice stream
Like gentle slope
Of a white forhead,
Sun in ice crack
An eye of it.

Photos

2007-10-17T20:03:00.000+05:30

A gulmohar tree in my neighborhood.

A rock pool in the beach of Chandipur, Orissa, India.

Himalayan foothill.

These photographs have been taken by me ( all the other photographs in this site have been downloaded from the net). I will be away from home for work and I do not know when I will be able to make the next post at this blog. In the meantime enjoy the present posts.

RAIN ON THE WATER

2007-10-15T06:28:00.000+05:30

Rain lines, close, slanting
Upon the pond
Like tail bones of fish.
They prick the water
Ovals surround dots,
Breaking, pairs of curves
Like ear rims they form.

Who's prancing on roof
The fishes wonder,
Who's stained its mirror
Guesses peeping sky.

A POEM

2007-10-08T09:46:00.000+05:30

BUTTERFLY

The butterfly
Sitting pretty
On flower top
Both wings raised
Colourful crest
On a bird's head.
softly it flies
To buds, flowers
Carrying colours
To more colours
Gently caress
Gentler petals
On each visit
On each bright day.

I've never seen a ribbon lake but I've written this poem from imagination

2007-10-01T09:18:00.000+05:30

RIBBON LAKE

From the corrie lakes
Narrow streams flow down
Into ribbon lake
Like many mothers
Bound by umbilical
Cords to single child.

Chillness of glaciers
Its water speaks of,
Grey blue its colour,
Just a green shadow
On its bed and banks.

A Poem

2007-09-24T09:34:00.000+05:30

FOREST STORM

Leaves shake, water rise
Once sleepy mirror
The pond - turbulent!
The swimming serpent's
Slithering slim self -
Shifting enhanced waves.

Last gulp of water
Last deer quickly takes,
Hurries deep in green
Along with its mates.
Proud tiger raises
His furious face
Who has roared louder
In his dwelling place?

I poem I wrote after coming back from a trip to the Sunderbans.

2007-09-17T09:55:00.000+05:30

Sunderbans is the name given to the mangrove forests of the largest delta region of the world. It is the home of the royal Bengal tigers. It is partly in Bangladesh and partly in India.

A RIVER THROUGH FOREST ISLANDS

At far island edge, bit
Of the bending river
Visible - slight crest
Of redwinged bush lark's head ,
Or seed's curved radicle.

Narrower gets river
Quivering forms of trees
Darkening deep water
Through the shady layers
Muffled voices, not yet
The royal stripes.

A poem I wrote during autumn , last year

2007-09-10T11:36:00.001+05:30

BITS OF AUTUMN

Clouds wispy edged -
Silk emanating
From a puffed silkworm.
The stream has no haste
It flows at leisure.

Lake at peace with self ,
For all land creatures
The windows opened
To world within it.

Dews glad to be out
For long in the green
Before being called
Back to sun bright home.

A poem I wrote in summer (2005), a time when we look forward to rain

2007-09-03T13:44:00.000+05:30

MONSOON

Nimbo-stratus clouds
Spread across the sky
Like wing of a bird
Each feather of it -
The clouds' each layer.

Softens soil, from seeds
Spring saplings, forests
Back in green, mountain
Rivers regain roar.

Barrier free breathe,
Earth in strange new lights.

Semicircular
Rainbow's seven strips -
Orbits of planet
Partial to eyes.

Nature and Culture

2007-09-03T13:20:00.000+05:30

On last Friday I went to visit an exhibition of nature and wildlife photography at The Academy Of Fine Arts. Well known Bengali actor Sabyasachi Chakraborty was among the photographers whose work were being displayed. The exhibition ends today. I also saw some very innovative paintings and sculptures that were being displayed in the adjoining halls.
Yesterday I attended a cultural program held at Sishir Mancha in memory of late Bengali poet Birendra Chattopadhya. The function started with a speech and recitation of his poems. This was followed by poets reading out their own poems in Bengali. Shaoli Mitra Recited poems of Rabindranath Tagore. It was the first time I got the opportunity to hear her recitation and I was enthralled. The event ended with songs sung by Pratul Mukhopadhya who had composed their tunes himself. Some of the songs were based on poet Birendra Chattopadhya's poetry. They were meaningful and unique.

A poem I wrote on August, 2005

2007-08-27T08:59:00.001+05:30

A FLOCK OF BIRDS

Evening not faraway,
Long legged birds at water
Edge, in haste with wings stretched
They bend necks, in moments
Two leafed saplings have sprung
Upon river bank place.

Quickly flapping their wings
Masses of them soar high,
White currents in the sky
Can the sea up be met?
Wondering, river looks.

The word amaranth

2007-08-23T11:12:00.000+05:30

Amaranth means a flower which never dries. My father's friend asked for the Bengali word for amaranth. My mother seached in the dictionary and the Bengali word happens to be 'parijat'.

A poem I wrote during last year's rainy season

2007-08-20T11:36:00.000+05:30

RAIN IN THE COUNTRYSIDE

Grass rise to merge with long
Lines of rain - stalagmites
Of remote cloud dark cave.

Marigold dear to pond
Water as hyacinth,
Birds in forced rest from flight.

2007-08-18T18:39:00.000+05:30

This is what Mrs. Sati Chatterjee,retired professor of English of Jadavpur University e-mail-ed to me-

Lahari,
I read your poems.The poems read well, and along with the pictures they evoke the ambience.
I do not wholly accept your comment that poems
appreciating the beauties of nature have gone out of
fashion; I would modify and add that beauties of
nature are now integrated into the other responses in
man's life -- obviously growing in complexity. As a
result nature poetry keeps changing its face, and its
position in our life. Yet nature remains the backdrop,
provides the scaffolding; and our emotion intertwine.
So, do write nature poems, undeterred by changes in
fashion. Fashions wear off, style remains.
.... sati dida

I poem I wrote on a visit to the Himalayan foothills in November, 2004

2007-08-17T10:44:00.000+05:30

PEAKS AND SUN

Behind the hard solid
Triangular dark hills
The peaks of snow creamy-
Fins of sharks in the sea
Against foam crested waves.

First rays of rising sun
Soften the jutting rocks
Purple turns the rock brown,
Moving down,glowing red
On sunlit cragginess
Lava gushing,only touch
Can tell they are, but snow.

2007-08-17T10:37:00.000+05:30

These photos have been downloaded from

Hello

2007-08-16T10:36:00.000+05:30

Though the main objective of this blog will remain unchanged, you can also discuss books, movies, music ,food and intersting places over here.
If anyone is interested in publishing my poems he/she must ask for my permission. I declare that I do not own any of the photographs that will be displayed at this blog. I just browse through the net and download them but I will mention the name of the owner if I know it.

2007-08-16T10:20:00.000+05:30

I start with a poem I wrote when I was 15

2007-08-15T10:44:00.000+05:30

AS A FLOWER

Cheer you day long with my bright face
My colour bold,name merigold.
My petals nice like folds of lace,
My petals -they are so many
In layers like a stair flight
For climbing down of sunrays.
In first few moments of drizzle
Raindrop trickles down my petals
Like an ideal river in course
Through unevenness and even.
I glow brightly all through the day.
Before I grow dim in the night
I spread my orange to twilight.