My Poems

             Answer Me, Please!                       Sonnet 179 Will I survive the night that's layin' the bed For me and calling me to go to sleep In her indistinct arms; "No dread... no dread..", Her cradlesinging me for falling deep? Will I be able to behold the morrow  As it unfolds its sunny splendors wide, Over the dew-fill'd medow, drifting billow, And pluck from heaven my lost peace and pride? Won't the night betray me, yielding me Into the eternal hands of death; that when My fighting mind has stray'd away from body, I will fore'er be held in darkness then? But the night does wake me up to the day. Why then the questions do return, please say. ©️ N P Samal 

           Life's Many Meanings                         Sonnet 178 I am at sixty now and life doesn't mean The same what it did mean when I was fifty, And moving farther backward, into a teen, I find each other meaning there is empty. Yet while one man is lost in the sense of toiling, As one to eke out a living joins a racket; Another murders self in a painful longing, Or kills his love in arguing over cricket: Meanings of life do grow on each experience,  Through each path of living paved before us, Which when altered brings the sense a difference, Or it continues with its given status:  Of pain or pleasure, honor or dishonor; All meanings until death don't disappear.  ©️ N P Samal 

                  Whither Is AI?                       Sonnet 177 AI's advancing... fast... and at a speed No sound or light can match; its blanket spread Is reaching every human's life -- a breed That seems to have its source from the Master's head. And turning every matter into spirit

           The Bathroom Singer                        Sonnet 176 From the bathroom comes the voice and plays Around in many a number, gently touching Each lucky soul -- from youth to elder age -- With its enchanting notes of love and longing... But the singer wishes for no credit;  No listeners he does think to entertain, But him, alone, alone to suck each beat, Each tone, each pitch, each rhythm, each refrain, As the showery bathroom's walls replay His romantic, lovey-dovey numbers In the quiet hours each morn, each day In his cube-size happy universe... I doubt the man's self-entertaining soul If to amuse him, he has none in the Whole. ©️ N P Samal 

Are You Dead? Sonnet 175 "Are you dead? -- moves the app

My friends are well ahead of me, in class, In comfort,