My Poems

Love I defined, and me, Too, I defined beloved - By contrast, by comparison, By the literature of reason, In the light of the prospection, Through the lens of  intuition; And hard I skidded into illusion - The web perhaps our Lord had woven That I got myself caught for perdition ! All tears have roll'd out; all bloods  have dried up, And at my final breaths there's a Revelation : Connectivity elsewhere detaches us from the connected; Adaptability everywhere is  attachment nowhere; Being familiar to one is being forgetful to another; United now divided then is due to existence of fear or for the sake of  selfish gain -- Unequal minds cohabit not, Tenets of Nature dissolve not, And Condition'd Love survive not - It is Gospelic forever, Although at times Devils conquer...                             --- N P Samal

There grew the garden on  the bed of peace In it smiled happily  the blooms of love With verve of heart I moved i nto a step A bloom bent and whisper'd  in my left ear 'Are you true?' the question  I smiled back at When drifted another t o my right ear And ask'd, 'Are you pure?',  and I smiled again Taking another step  in flight of grace, Perhaps they took me in  with contentment And deep into the soul  of paradise My heart effloresced with  divine touches - No hate, no spite, no lies,  no greed, no anger, And nothing connected  me with my self But fill'd in with truth, peace,  and altruism, And stacks of all other  virtues of love Pledged in the service of  my fellow beings... In blossoming of the f loral delights In their's quiet humming of  humanness  In feelings of warmth of  their homeliness I found my being transform'd  into a bloom... Summers have spew'd blazes  wi...

Is't any more alive now--true love? Say, if not dead this treasure trove? That, the bidders, like Romeo and Juliet, Had with their sufferings ensoul'd it? Be it Majnun's turning a jungle reside, Or be it Othello's rueful suicide; Isn't buried deep each legend Under today's paraded love vend? And I shan't bring Shakespeare to mine If you got me love to define, For love today is just an outing And alters for the new like anything. Love is now ripped, love is now frayed, Love is a call away--so low-minded; So money-bent, so fragile it growingly gets Through colleagues, and exes, and dates! Wild love mushrooms everywhere, Like weeds in the polluted mere, The carnal flares burn this fleshly affair  Ere melting into smoke in the air. No violent waves, no drastic wind, No clouds to hide the North Star behind; But love is shipwreck'd or retired Unlike the unshaken bark of the Bard. Say if love today endures brief times? Say it doesn't ...

There's silence when your faith is  broken. There's silence when your guilt is  proven. There's silence when you're caught in  confusion... There's silence in the face of th e  inevitable.  There's silence on the block of the  unalterable.  There's silence in the vacuum of th e insensible... There's silence in abstinence,  tolerance,  and rigours of penance. There's silence before birth, after death, all through the existence... Silence is being selfless and pure. Silence is being blissfully secure. Silence is being absorb'd in the  sacredness of Nature... Silence is meditation. Silence is searching for the truth in the unknown. Silence is comprehending things  beyond  the text and lexicon... When I behold the sky  Incomprehensible of its boundlessness And when I run my eyes Across  solemn water's vast expanses And when I bury my visage Deep into future's fathomlessness, I do find silence settling all the dist...

Hoped I if some day my mother would well keep her promise To pluck me that welkin lily and put in my eager sleeves ! I grew to notice it a star big, bright, closer to us, Only to know later that it is just a thing like ours - No life, no air, no water, but dry grooves, bare holes only Shallow and deep - a round hard rock call'd Moon, not a lily. So I forsook my Mom's offer, and my quixotic claim; So my Mom's dead soul carries not my discontent or blame, But endless commendation for her, and others like her Who show'd us dream, raised our desire for the height to conquer... And human feet now settled in the  avuncular sweet home Let we grow air, water, flora and fauna in its bosom That before we lose love, lilies, life, and footprints on here Depart will we from this hostile home for Chandmama forever...                              --- N P Samal

When they kill'd one, deploy'd we two. Yet they kill'd two, and twenty we deploy'd. Then twenty slaughter'd, position'd we two hundred... The numbers thus went on - The numbers thus go on - Unchallenged, undeterred, unabated; Yet fed, nourish'd, revolved... All through horrors, terrors, ruination; Through cruelty, violence, depredation; On mutilated bodies and bloodbaths; In attacks, defences, and counter wraths; That we employ death for killings, That we employ death against killings; And the numbers are rising - From thousands to millions, From millions to billions... And the whole world becomes An altogether ultimate war zone Fraught with combats, crusades, war fares And 'Butchers-all-butcher'd-all' competition... Those who kill are the same humans, Those who're kill'd are the same humans - All for different causes, All by different designs... On the soil all our feet, Time bombs, landmines beneath And over...

The mother's despair rises psychotic  Her head exlodes the ground,  chest she tears at Among scatter'd pieces of son's mortals... She stands, she runs, she begs, then falls... She writhes in pains, sits up, and rends the air With heart-bursting cries, and decries Cursing the killer's mother heavenwards, 'Is this which you bore your son for?' To which replies, owefully, the other mother, 'Do curse me, do kill me, O mother,  For g iving birth to an agent of terror! I know not yet how I was robbed of son From my bosom, from my lactating urn To grow on poison of execration, Hatred, violence, with guns for 'fun', Among innocent, frail other toddlers Stolen from unfortunate other mothers, And grow them to murder, and run amok From dusk to dawn, and dawn to dusk... But I know my son will never return From the Azrael's blade of execution To see this decrepit mother dying, rotting, unattended, all alone... By quirks of fate you, O mo...

She was not loveless, she was not helpless, In care of the gilded she was careless; How could have i retain'd her and her love Being helpful, loving, caring as her reserve ? No vital of me, did she love resent, A 'maverick' she spurn'd my being pedant; And what suggest to whom rightful she thinks, Even she would defend her wrongs no winks ! Immodest, wayward, she compromised With none of things austerely humanised, And grew listless, my being critical, To anything that opposed social moral. Thus, love of unequals travelled death bound, Pleasure-and-sense bonding endless never found; The straying young hormones always ran wild, And like free radicals she broke the guild... I wonder why then God united us To share some pain, pleasure together 'cross A time and space so brief before we split - More painful than the pain of life's retreat !!                                    ...