101. Night Song




O Cuckoo, thrown destitute,

Singst thou now nigritude :

The beautiful rhymed song,—

For whom? Wait who hung

In adopted nest and parents deceived;

Mistook as nestlings conceived.

O singer of conceited bravery,

On this night dreary,

Drive they competers out

To eat whole food; become stout.



O foolish songy mother,

I blame thee not; migratory, wind flown,

Spring abandoned thou either,

Summer gusts left thee alone,

Now, like nightingale thou singst

A long song for night :

Feel I thy Florence nurst;

The rhymed heal over distruct,—

A day's war we swampt,

Thou now wander with lyrical lamp.



How unmotherly thou art!

Not to pour ditty whole

Upon thy eggs waiting hatch,

Like black Goddess, thou dart

The blackness as mother sole,

Lulling lolly thine match,

The life song over night's camp,

Thou keep life's lamp

Burning with thy awake,

Please, keep singing for our stake.

Always there are easiest of routes to the toughest of destinations. Every hard situation has the softest of a solution. So there is no hard problem in the real sense. Our solutions make them so. When in the face of a tough situation blame your solution not the situation. Isn’t life all about taking smart short-cuts to beat the puzzling array of problems randomly cropping around us? So be the solution provider. Behind most complex of a phenomenon there is amazing simplicity. Read that. Those cute fundamentals will tell you that every situation is a living being. It has a soft and sympathetic message for you only. Listen to these delicate murmurs and it will help you in breaking hardest of superficial, outer cores.

Just try to do one good deed per day. Hey, don’t worry; it’s not that classical preaching and all that. It’s just about one of the commonest thing coming your day on a daily basis. It can be just a coin given to a really deserving old beggar. Please forget about those stylish naysayers who will spew out millions of anti-beggary words and won’t do even a single deed to justify their theories. Forget whether your one coin will change the life of that person or not. All you need is a big heart and genuine sympathy. A coin given with respect to a fellow human being is far-far more valuable than a hundred rupee bill given we some inhibitions. The lesser fortunate will feel the humanism behind your gesture and reciprocate in equal measure.


Your daily good deed might even include sincere sympathy for someone in emotional turmoil. Just look around and you will find so many ways to fulfill your daily quota of a good deed. Believe me it will require so little from your financial, physical and emotional pockets. Just imagine billions of such little stars of goodness being lit in the lives of countless unfortunates. Don’t you think it will remove so many darker shades from the nooks and corners left out of the mainstream of progress? Give it a thought. Please forget about the larger perspectives. These are simply tiny means to escapism. If you are a real miser and are plainly helpless to dole out anything out of your daily scheme of things, still you can at least give a genuinely good thought. Some say thoughts are things. For the real misers even thoughts will do. But as it can be safely assumed, if you can’t act honestly, how can you think with a pure heart. So be on the safe side and do a tiny Good Deed Per DAY.

Anyhow, a political talk always rejuvenates. It might be a fact that our kitty of woes at the hands of our chosen governments just piles up like never before; still political discussions are taken so seriously by the people as if Indian democracy will crumble to pieces without their tongue-tiring part in it. So the smoggy, polluted wintery bride in Delhi is being welcomed by so many political bickerings. The man on the street is afraid of an impending living-cost disaster. Most are convinced that if things are not controlled, the already polluted air in Delhi will become plainly suffocating.

Go anywhere in Delhi and you will find people muttering. Yes, the common man is just groaning with the pain of almost unprecedentedly sky-high cost of living. Bus fare is high enough now to give this pinching feeling to any laborer that he/she is contributing to infrastructural growth of Delhi just for free. The same people, the people on the street and roads—almost antagonized against the capitalist class, the class of well-to-do families supporting the BJP—are now just rubbing their hands with helplessness. Just six months ago they had come out so proactively to give the new iron lady another five years to further consolidate the first political family’s roots. Common man just wanted to define Indian democracy within the strictly defined loyalties to the Nehru family. Well, is it a real democracy? I have serious doubts. Anyway, the acceptance by the masses of the undisputed axial status of the First Family in Indian democracy meant the Prime Minister in waiting was not allowed to change his status. Now, after so much of polluted sewage has gone down the drains to merge the holy waters, the illusions are giving way to harsh realities. I can see a pleasant smirkness on the faces of rich people from the safe confines of big cars. ‘It’s your government buddies!’ seems to be the message from their side. In a suffering a tone laborer was muttering, ‘Only if there would have been elections as of now!!!’ ‘Spare your voter fury for the next five years!’ a portly fellow mused. Evidently the latter one appeared hit to a lesser degree.

34. Ode to the Early-Winter




Autumn thus goes for the early-winter,

Coolness now starts to tinker

Topsy-turvily; like an anchor

It takes hold through its lazy days,

When the sun with its cooling-grey-rays,

Sprays a musing-tender-maze.



A new canvas on easel for painting :

Farmers go working as if hunting,

Paddy’s brown-sweep vanish to nothing,

And the barren fields get new beds,

Such a soft soil for the numerous heads

Of wheatlings, to prop up for breads!



Look autumn’s leaves brown!

Finally, foliage gets them thrown

From the deciduous with a shivery frown,

While the winter sings a lullaby,

As if to sleep a baby :

‘Too much thou played with summer’s gaiety’.



Winter flowers blossom bold,

Lo the dahlia, pentunia and marigold!

Wonder, soft petals fear not cold!

And feathered friends from distant arrive,

As if only here life thrive,

Ducks fly V-shaped to nature’s drive.



Rosy paster, tailor bird and wagtails,

Painted stork, painted duck and common quails,

Because those wintery hails

In mountains force their sojourn here,

And same winter will take care

Of the visitors; whom season’s scold not dare.



Mynah, drongo and ecstatic barbler,

Depict they cool-spirited farmer,

The air now bother not above ‘warmer’,

Its sulphureous ebriety doth sweep

The hairy-velvety-grass and keep

The intoxication perpetuated to the deep.



The egrets fly drollingly,

In the air blowing genteely,

The air! As if its spring coming courteously

With its flowery shiver,

Yes! It is airy-fairy’s spring here,

While, ebriated birdies fly as its flowers.



Such are the days of early-winter;–

Fog, mist, dew, cold quietly enter,

Robustness, meanwhile, makes a small banter,

Vow, the invigorating Goddess smiles!

Blessing of wellbeing for miles,

While, the autumn goes for annual exiles.

35. Ode to an Early-Winter Afternoon



The early-winter afternoon singths

A rosy-song for the balmy day,

The lyricist with littlest lines,

Whose beauty shines with silvery-sunny rays.



Stoic storks having spanish-siesta,

While her cooings voice floral-pink,

Oh, the snaily standstill fiesta!

The sages, guess what they think?



The sky’s muse from above,

With fancy-lorn eyes,

Bless-lorn it doth bow,

Vow! Small-sashaying-misty blessings.



And the evening all fancy-free!

Because whatever we can imagine

Becometh real with a glee,

With luxuriating steps she doth begin.



Spread out emotional landscape,

Protruding paw in friendship,

Its wild instinct nobody can escape,

And congratulating passes fresh air’s whiff.



The softy with its soft words

To her–the love lorn farmer girl,

Whose fun and frolicity buds

Open like a robust hued pearl.



What a delicate weather it is!

As if clime is opening its taste buds,

Bravo be the beauty’s bliss!

Petal power smiles above muds.



Oh the evening like a chubby child;

Eye-catcher and pleasantly-plump,

Half-listens to the sun’s mild

Request for the reddish slump.



The evening with such rhythm

As the feministic ease of a belly dancer,–

The soul-stifler to its fathom;

Wheezing metre by the curvey winker.



Therupatic it seems

To the day’s bumps and bruises,

The day which wailed thinly, now beams

Gossiply; leisure-lorn it cruises.



Too quiet like serenest shower;

The fair hussy without fussy,

Like Chrysanthemums for Christmas

Show no heed to the bee’s hurry.



Everything as if meditation-brained,

And heart with all its waters coloured,

While foxey logic all drained,

As if a cradle from heaven gets lowered.



And when the night starts to fall,

Vanishing paradise doth it seem, aye!

While, the paradise giving a call,

‘Say me not a weepy-eyed bye’.

33. Ode to the Winter




The winter pouts its fishy full,

Shiver as we beneath clothy wool,

It jerks its foggy locks,

Fed up with chilly love, ye agrestic folks.



The mornings, with Silver-Goddess

Spraying silver amidst the greens,

Feathering-furs get drenched,

Veer as birds across tiniest droplets.



And the trees seem so stoic ;

Immortal shades from His brush,

Whom misty-mortality fail to crush,

Vow, as if inspiring spirit from the gothic !



Look how the rural damsel goes!

As if dew diamonds a perfect rose,

Her salad gyration at misty dawn,

Anklets jingle to her music own.



Birds fly in the foggily-low-sky,

Earlier they took autumnly sigh,

For, too high seemed the teasing blue,

Now the flight without any rue.



The noon with a milky smile,

Like a bride after first night

Comes out dreamy and royal,

Others, while, enjoy her facial delight.



Aha the light breeze!

Stoles dewed-diamonds from leaves,

The airy-fairy, it doth tease,

Frees as it the beauty from a seize.



How wonderfully day weds its night!

The crimson setting behind the mist,

Intoxicated gets the light,

Worries not lostness, as the couple kisst.



Night fog veils the stars, –

Millions shy beauties

Cajole the dark-misty-lover below,

Whose stoic-chill gives a look of neglect harsh.



And how lonely the night feels,

As everything takes a shelter,

Orphanely it tries to enter

A homely warmth in some corner.



How sleep robusts under quilt!

The sleep fed by bodily warmth;

Humanity energising itself,

As myriad dreams get built.



But, also the merciless cold

For the calf and the old,

Both cold-preyed and hold

Their souls inside life’s fold.

31. To the Solitude




The jungle and its solitude,

As if a destitute;

Alone and forlorn,

Still-silent, but happy to be born!



Silence rustle through twigs,

While, wilderness wispily digs

The deepest grave for its opposite,

And peace doth invest in windfallen deposit.



Away, away it seems,

Far away! Thus dreams

Here smile like a reality,

Same dreams, which suffocate in a city.



Like a mystic gone serene,

Environment here had been

Meditating from the yore,

While, rain poured with heavenly lore.



Like a lass too shy,

It doth try

To preserve its chaste privacy,–

Shrink away from any gaze lacy.



Wonder if everything here goes

On awake or enjoy perpetual sleepy dose!?

Perhaps, both enjoy synchronism,

Aha! The heaven without any antagonism.



Love oozes here without paired chemistry;

The love purest in history,

As everything here is a born lover,

And will remain such forever.

15. Deep, Deep! Water Exists Somewhere




He went on digging a well,

With his spirit valorous,

Deep, deep! For success smell,

His battle-song like divine chorus

Waxed the belief to most solid-state,

Only to such heroes, God’s emblem relate.



The water at unfathomable depth,

Still, hardest effort’s divine force,

Kept him going and he never dejectedly slept,

Far, far! soft-light’s mild source

Kept up this cloud-light’s thunderous spark,

Vow, puritan at war with the dark!



Fighting he was from God’s side,

Against devil trying belief’s downfall,

On his brave back Godhood ride,

Like an awful radiant ball,

To reach the goal, piercing earth,

And play with deepest water in mirth.



Volcanically he went,

Cleansing earth almost spiritually,

Digging, digging with back bent,

To reach water, somewhere gushing fully,

O thou free roaming soul,

For how long could escape thy goal?





16. The Music in Solitude



He just went on a long journey,

Which the soul lighted upon,

While, matter’s stern pride

Trying to stave off the fighter.



With his great heart glowing;

The living fountain of light,

Went on fighting the darkness,–

Heavenly luminary kindled this lamp!



Sacred mystry giving him safe passage,

From that bottom of appearance;

The sorrow-stricken bearance,

Aha, nobler destiny awaits somewhere!



The musical journey!

Music of word, heart and nature,

For that fountain of splendour,

Gushing heavenly at infinity’s fringe.



Traveller himself amuser and the amusee,

Such is the inward symmetry,

His rhythmic footsteps with a song,

While, divinity sways to his tune.





17. Processing of Greatness



A fluety-wail from the well of woe,

With angels playing harp softly above,

Dumb music from this most tragic tragedy,

Go on, Go on! Crown of mercy too greedy.



The tragic-saddened heart,

Where the lamp of longest pain burnt,

Its light reaching transcendental eye,

And the oil of fallacy saying smoky bye.



Aah the ways of destiny!

Who can understand its allegory?

Why doth purest affection of human soul,

Gets crushed for purest emblem of whole?



Too far is heaven’s corbel!

There sanctified souls dwell,

They sing, go to tragedy’s depth,

For, without pain’s awake, no one ever slept



Perhaps, too vivid is pleasure after a long pain;

Golden glow of morning after night’s rain,

The pure star in clearest sky,

After worst elements, now shining high.