Skip to main content

FEET ON THE MOON

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

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I DO CRY : SONNET 59

I cry, I do cry breathless like a baby. You notice me or not but I do cry -- Whole drown'd in tears -- be it night or day it be -- No care if you find me absurd and wry. But I can't be unfair to cry, or vague If crying can protect me from strokes of death  That nothing else on earth can, though I beg With my bowl'd palms held heavenward in good faith. Yes, I do cry (Whoe’er on earth will not With the betrayer's dagger stabb'd in heart?), But know my tears will flow all through the drought And grow new plants of love ere life does part. Maybe to kill the fatal pain the heart bears, Come out generously life-giving tears. -- N. P. SAMAL 
2 comments
Read more

TELL ME NOT

                     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 
Post a Comment
Read more

THE RETURN : RHYME 100

Infants gambol about their home With blooms and toys, But they return to mom's bosom For the real joys. Children frolic about the streams, In meads and hedges, But to their home they return for Their real flowerage. Youths do rush about crazy for World's whole treasure, But they return for real living To own life and career.  Adults get sunk into the labour With dedication, But this's the return to raise well Their own children.  The old trudge about the yard Of their nursing shed, But lastly they return for rest To their death bed. -- N. P. SAMAL 
1 comment
Read more