The Prisoner

Let him look from his little cell-window

Let once allow him to look at the vast open sky

And the floating eagles there.

Let him once feel the free

Free spreading of wings

Feel the stormy wind blowing through the feathers…

The man, tired and bent with the burden of age,

Coiled on his wooden cot, 
Fully wrapped by the torn old blanket, 
Now leaves only a face…
Crushed and unshaven.

The face… 
Where once emotion and expressions abodes,

Now only shows a stiff-embarrassing-permanence.

Secluded and rejected by the universe out

The man, with a heart vulnerable 
Even to the slightest sympathetic touch,

Now looks down the prison-yard with eyes

Eager, still expressionless…

Let him peep through his prison-window

Let him see the fragile bud of roses near the well

Let him once feel the colour…

And imagine the fragrance through the air…

Let his mind gather some cold soft dews,

The winter spread pearl-drops over the leaves of grass,

Let him once rest his feet on the wet field,

And soft rays of sun fall on his face…

Let him once, O you, 
The duty bound merciless prison guards, 

Allow, to move down the field

And feel free…

Free as the Eagle…
Soft as the Dew drops…

Colourful as the Rose…
And warm as the Sunshine.

For God’s sake, 
Turn your eyes blind for a while

And let the Prisoner feel

Yet there are a few things for him…

He is not all that desolate…

He has the Rose for him…

And the Sunshine still embraces him 
With eternal affection…

Deserted from the rest of the relations,

Yet he has one handful of Sun 
And a Rose, 
A red Rose

To offer him smell with unquestionable dedication.

Colouring The Christmas!!!

A Humble Approach 
To Add Some Extra Colour 
To Your Jubilant Festive Spirit....

Merry Christmas 
To 
All of You... 

A Look Into You

Whenever I look at you full
'Tis not you I look at.
I look deep inside you
Inside your flesh and skin,
There, inside, hidden in some
Deepest corner of your decaying rotten flesh
Lies the heart, the touch and the feel;
That only the deities can possess
And only Heaven can dream to have;
When I look at you,
'Tis that I look at...


When I thrush my face
Between the stinking rotten set of meat
I search for that Heavenly Touch...


I only wanted that...wanted that to be mine,
Mine alone....all mine.


The Heart, the Touch and Feel....
You are all that....


And nothing but that!






(A Tribute to a friend, may be whose abode is in some other universe....Far..Far From This Madding Crowd)

Jamaica Farewell...

by

 Erving Burgess

and 

Harry Belafonte 

"Down the way where the nights are gay

And the sun shines daily on the mountain top

I took a trip on a sailing ship

And when I reached Jamaica I made a stop...

But I'm sad to say, I'm on my way

Won't be back for many a day

My heart is down, my head is turning around

I had to leave a little girl in Kingston town...

Sounds of laughter everywhere

And the dancing girls swaying to and fro

I must declare that my heart is there

Though I've been from Maine to Mexico....

But I'm sad to say, I'm om my way...

And won't be back for many a day...

My heart is down, my head is turning around

I had to leave a little girl in Kingston town..."

The Flowering Jacaranda

The gigantic Jacaranda stood in the middle of the campus… underneath which, the little kids of the locality stand queued up every morning with their hands drawn to their breasts to perform the praying ritual.

Usually they sung the famous patriotic song of D. L. Roy “Dhana Dhannye Pushpe Bhora, Amader Ei Basundhora” (Our mother Earth is full of rich wealthy grains). The early morning air was enchanted by the immature voices of some two hundred children of various ages; sometimes some mature ones from the Teachers were also participated.

They were such a delightful crowd to watch! With dark blue and white uniform…blue trousers for the boys and blue skirts for the girls…they really look marvelous under the Jacaranda overloaded with pinkish violet flowers.

It was a noted kindergarten school of the town, entering where all the visitors were first welcomed by the South American origin Jacaranda with its waving boughs and the spray of soft pinkish-violet petals. The Jacaranda always smiled and offered the most memorable reception someone ever possibly had.

It was even the favourite most resort of the kids during the Tiffin recess. Some run through the campus… some sat under the flowering Jacaranda and ate tiffin … some collected the pink flowers scattered on the ground, trying desperately to string a garland for themselves…and some were found joyous while tossing the gathered flowers high above the sky and then letting them fall once again as if having a rain of flowers!

At one corner of the field, rather apart from the rest of the crowd, there stood two little children—one small boy, and the other, a “lady” of almost the same age.

They were completely uninterested about the playfulness of the others, and preferred it much better to spend the entire tiffin recess gazing at the flowering Jacaranda. The gigantic shape of the tree and the beautifully coloured flowers always were a cause of their wonderment. In their hearts they always nourished an unfailing love for the beautiful smiling Jacaranda.

They usually sat side by side, all speechless, just gazing at the lovely flowering tree amidst the campus of their beloved school.

It was really a marvelous sight…with no leaves seen…only the pinkish-violet petals!

It is just a memory of yesteryears now….the merciless time has snatched away all the “old familiar faces”…our memory is now dumped with some strenuous calculations of material “loss and profit”…..and we have almost forgotten that the Balance Sheet of the trivial emotions of childhood fantasies still remains unattended! The Trial Balance regarding that Gigantic Jacaranda and the heroic adoration it got from two similar aged class-mates is yet to be put up on a prescribed format, invented by the loss and profit seeker commercial-wits!            

Unaware of all these commercial and technological terminologies, please, allow a little privacy to the two infants, sitting underneath the spreading boughs; and let them look for some times at their loveliest of trees….let them gather softly a skirt-full of violet petals….and then, silently watch them moving away…….

Let them move away to the farthest corner of the garden …

 

Let them make a heap of stones there…….

And then, let them scatter the petals on that newly made churchyard……….

The eternal grave of their dearest Jacaranda……

And while they bend on their knees and pray, you, the band of Judas’ can power on your huge electric teeth to tear the violet boughs apart….and calculate some equation of loss and profit….

But…Please, Bite softly; and suppress the metallic engine sound a little…..look, the young lovers are crying profusely……..and to all the ages of Humanity, it is more sweet a sound than your machine-made one! 

• A salutation to my first school “Sishu Shiksha Kendra” of Purulia, and the lovely Jacaranda (Jacaranda mimosifolia) I met there.
• Photo Courtesy: Internet (Google Photo Search)          

A Lonesome Death

And, upon that desert of lonesome seclusion

I die, die a lonesome death.

The sun has long been past,

A soft shade of loony darkness

Covers the earth, and covers me now.

Rich is this dark, mysterious night,

But a faint beam, some ethereal light from unknown distance

Covers over my mental head.

The beam, too faint to reveal and explain

Even the simplest mysteries of human-life,

The much it reveals, it hides even more!

And, among that light and shade of deserted darkness

I die.

Die a lonesome death.

THE WAVE OF ILLUSION