My Poems

                     Tell Me Not Tell me not I was once a lad; An open sky that I once had, That offered me untold delight And lit my spirit day and night. Remind me not the days and nights That told me tales and flew my kites; Many a game that I did play With heart and soul unleashed and gay. Jog not my memory I once sailed Alone for miles and there beheld On either side, along the inlet, Many a willow and flowery thicket. Bring me not back the rights all lost,  All things that came by free of cost; Affection, love, all poured on me, Even when I was wilful, naughty. I'm in my time, leave me to suffer From weakness, bloating, bugs, whatever: Let me be in my dying yard; But tell not I was once a lad.   -- N P Samal 

Girl: Paint me not with your mischievous hue.  Boy: I spray not hue but love that's true.  Girl: Love me not, for untruthful is your soul.  Boy: No, to blot your skin is not my goal. Girl: But you can't reach my soul, however, within.  Boy: Least, let me pour on you my color bin! Girl: Your color on me will soon be re-colored.  Boy: Will be the last to erase if that occurred.  Girl: . ...................................... Boy: .. ....................................... By N P Samal 

THE PROWLER It looks to be that I will die today; And it did yesterday, the day ere that: I have been dying -- day-to-day replay -- Long since my life demurely doff'd its hat Before the all bemusing doubt of living,  That however I contrive my faith, It gives in to the doubt that's so imposing,  To be abandon'd at the mercy of death. Which route can I, however, hope to carve out? The siege by shortfalls, sharks, ill health, affliction  Is standing strong and age in early rout, And they have held me tight to life's decision... But know not why the prowler does not prowl,  As life does stagger on, bereft of soul. -- N P Samal 

            Wayanad's Shruti Unlucky Shruti lived on a hillside Along with her beloved family And one day fast the hill did slide All o'er and, barring her, did bury Her parents, siblings, others own; That the disaster left her lone And she could see as sun next shone. Is it her triumph over tragedy? Unlucky Shruti cried lifeless -- A single woman aged twenty -- A good young man felt her distress And gave her solemn oath to marry. He went to town for things of wedlock, But to be kill'd by a speeding truck... At last a govt. job in her luck. Is it her triumph over tragedy?                                                      ©️ N P Samal 

LOVE DAYS Each day of love would break with balmy light, As sun would rise upraising my libido, Among the bows of hemlocks' perching height Would render babblers, koels, as the shadow  O'the intersecting night would vanish over Roses and strawberries and her in my embrace. And I would see her face on the golden water O'the lazy river, smiling with my face, And hear her giggles sizzling pheromones All over me, and love would we till sun Went home... But gone has she and gone has aeons; Sun comes, but comes not she; those days are gone! But lost though old, here I relish, by all ways, The new beloved and many-hued new love days. ©️ N P Samal