THE WILL

Had not quite collected all
That life had offered me,
No accounts were kept
Of pleasures…..
Of illegitimate achievements…..
I counted them,
The retreating waves,
The moonlight lost in thoughts,
The blue sea foam
Surrendering to those timed waves,
The silence of the deep nights..
Broken dreams under eyelids
Criss-crossing lines on palms
The brown course of dried tears
The sky filled with stars of disillusion.

Many a times have I fixed,
The already-worn jewel of infamity.
Many a times have I set foot
In the infernal fire of sin.
The joy of getting burnt
Is an art in itself….
The untold pain of losing oozing blood
Is an art in itself….
The helplessness when each cry
Refuses to be a word ..
Hearts shattered as sand-castles
Plight of barren Casuarina groves
Painting pictures with gentle yellow hues
Sourced from the bouquet of all failures
Is an art in itself…..

P.S. : 12th August-the anniversary of the dearest lady of my life.....Also the first anniversary of this blog.

Words fail me...all I can say is, I love you Mamma...

A BIRD'S LIFE - 29

One day I’ll not be here.
My breath will mingle with the winds.
Arrival and departure is a ritual here.
My footprints will be lost
On these trodden paths….

My dreams would sleep on this earth.
My teardrops will flow down the stream.
The petal of memories will fade in the wet dewdrops.
The lust of life will be lost
In the light mists…

O Bird !
I would lay as soil or ashes
Till the rain of love
Reincarnates me as a shady tree….

Note: This is the translation of one of the poems in the anthology "PAKHEE JANMA" (published in Oriya,meaning "A Bird's Life"). The book is a collection of 41 poems penned by my mother.

The above poem is the 29th piece of the collection.