Poinsettia

In your eyes

I see the world everyday

many stories unfolding completely

and the game being played every moment.

I weave the golden web of

mystery and silence and suffering.

You stand a distance away and smile.

You spread your dreams of silver togetherness

and hold her hands close and warm.

The poinsettias blossom passionately

and drive the wildernesses crazy.

Her eyes live in yours and stories intermingle.

I look around and see colours in riot.

Celebration of intense comforts. So deep....

Red large passionate poinsettias engross

my fiery imagination and promise me

a walk fired with love lost and dreamt.

I transform into a scarlet fairy and shower

your path with flaming leafy velvets,

as you kiss her into a day unfolding within.

I don a silver tiara and wear my red dreams

and become a poinsettia princess.

Bochhor -- years of existence

Pathorey rokto lege thake.

Hoyto nishith raate karo hridoy bhengeche,

othoba kono kishorir rugno deho

chhire gache unmotto ashurik kamonae.

Othoba pishe diye gache kono lorry-r chaka

kono sranto ghum k.

Hoyto bhenge gache karo shanto protichhobi

ba mod-er botol.

Tolte thake rokto makha paa.

Dhulo mishe jae lojjae

Manush o manobotar itihash

mukh lukiye kandey ...

Calendar-r pata bodlae shudhu,

bochhorer gae lege thake dhongsher ashfalon.

sinduk bhenge kanna churi gache,

aynae tari awaj shona jae,

fele dawa mati te jodi jonmae kono gachh,

upre niye jabe tara eshe.

beej bopon korbe re? ato boro sahosh kar?

matha kete tar fele debe pukurer jole,

jonmabar aj karo nei odhikar

A morning message

I wake up early in the morning

with an essential sense of purpose --

that I have to say something to someone.

I dont know what it is,

I dont know how it is,

but I desperately need to say it.

Things kept locked away in the corners,

weep alone and reach out helplessly.

One word or two, one smile, one gesture ...

and nothing ... to weave stories by.

So John Denver sings to me

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy

Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry ...

Golden droplets throw their embrace on me

through the windows and kiss my wet cheeks.

No hands reach out through finicky distances.

Maybe you will walk by one day

and not know me from discarded memories.

And still I wait, for who knows what?

Life threatens and promises unforgiving wounds,

and yet I hope, I wish, I dream, I empty out my hours,

for you, who perhaps would not even think that a

young, raw, unkempt elf like me would ever dare

to smile at your heights and be so proud of you

and protective, unnecessarily ...

And others keep on telling me that I should just forget

and move on, and leave you because you belong

to someone else in silent hours and starlit evenings ...

I turn on them and walk away, as if I matter, to them or you ....

I turn pages after pages, to read and wonder

what face am I looking into? Whose?

Do they know something that I dont?

I was always a bit stupid, I know.

But your eyes tell me a different story every moment ....

Blues. And songs. And images we share. And words scattered ....

It was so essential to know, to let know. I'm scared.

Of what? I dont know. I really dont ....

Maybe I dont deserve to know. Its you after all.

Someone I have known only through my gut feelings.

I hope ....

Before I get old and die ....

If I could give you the best gift, what would it be?

If I had a tale that I could tell you

I'd tell a tale sure to make you smile

If I had a wish that I could wish for you

I'd make a wish for sunshine all the while.

Sunshine ....

Emptiness engulfs me as I look inside

and try to find you.

Somewhere I find you gone, and I am

left alone, as usual.

Have you deserted me too?

Have I done something wrong?

Why then tears fill my eyes?

And I reach out around me

and find the empty air gasping for breath.

I dont find you now, where have you gone?

Have you left me all alone?

I find me no sweet words to write a poem

No embellishments to decor and adorn emotions.

I dont know why I am so much in pain

and tears flow uncontrollably.

I dont know so many things, so much ...

On Christmas

The winter morning embraces us with her white muslin fogs as we stand in the golden sunlight, and listen to the sounds in the air. Beats,music,children's voices and laughter. Fathers and mothers walking by, taking children with them, to the church. A rustic church which adorns itself with candles,bells,glittering papers,balloons,stars and balls. Hawkers sit on their temporary stalls and sell cakes. Big cakes, small cakes, burnt cakes, plum cakes, thick cakes, thin cakes, fruit cakes, branded cakes -- cakes of all creed, all breed, all shapes, all size. Oranges, joy-nogorer moa and picnic people screaming their lungs out. Joy flushes the morning air as sweaters, monkey-caps, chadars, mufflers, gloves and socks all walk by, run, tease, laugh, smile and smile and smile. Sorrows and sufferings cringe their existence all through the year, but one day, one winter morning becomes so different. Tell me, do you see their faces, their simple joy at spending quality time with family and friends? Do you really think that they are the sinners suffering for a sin they have been tied to? The sin lies at their feet and redemption laughs. Yet I see some slimy presences that would again rise their monstrosities and gulp down such simple pleasures.

The baby is born. We look at his face, his chubby baby face, his tiny fingers and wonder .... His sacrifice hasn't gone waste, the rebeller, the man who created a movement of Love, like Sri Chaitanya did. His Love exists in the happy faces that laugh on a Christmas morning. The baby smiles in his cradle as others look on.

Come, let us close our eyes and make some wishes.