My Poems

Through shaking of my voice Out came the truth of the mind And paved the course of speech That's overtaken the eloquence Of the deceptive utterances...                                      N P SAMAL

When work frees me to  solitary gaps, Get I some liberating  aerial flaps; With clutches of desires brush'd  off my form, Supremely reigns in mind  a perfect calm. The silence mutes down all and  sundry rows Of conceit, cant, slang, slanders,  and guffaws; So shrieks of torture, or cries of  distress, The rumbles of struggles, roars  of vengeance. Then shines the firmament over  my head With messages of peace and  wishes laid; In great enthusiasm I look  at the yon, That drenches me in glow of  fascination. I see the sky expands away  and open And feel its touches deeply on me  quite often, Fervently I wish to capture the  distance And crave to hold the blue in my  embrace. The azure abode of the spatial  panache Houses the known, unknown in its e xpanse, Pervades the transcendence  thoroughly over And hang all tawdry worlds in  vacuuous inner. In tranquil spread of the cosmic  abstraction Out come the chromatic  illumination - Celestial marvels like the

They are selfie-ing. Let them do it. Let crazy fellows leave their imprint... There grows in them a self  so indomitable - Prostrate it not in veneration, Bows it not in genuflection, Nor in approval falls it at the feet of the idolised...  Behind each selfie looms the self More tall, more large, more glorified and fancier - The only soul immortal than the dead-alive others... They are selfie-ing. In hands of theirs is universe, In it are they, with them are matters - The sun, the moon, the yon above; Lands, seas, and organisms below... Absorb'd are they inside; Inside they rise , inside they fall - Their credit none other to clone, Their blemish none other to share... No matter how unnoticed go they in the wilder, No worry if the lens of fame reaches them never; Their attics they do light, Their rot 'so do they fight, And them they selfie with the time's each flight, By Nature's every low and height : On brinks of cliffs, On roofs of re

When I took the sword in my own  hand, The whole of history came  crashing on me; Many a victory glorious  and grand - In all it seem'd if winner I  would be. The sword of Sultan whereon  the legend lies : Behead would he at each wave  numberless foes, This sword of him with which  he'd terrorize And sail his flag of fame down  gory flows. The razor edge the sword  so grand it had, Across its length endless  that ran - The girth, the mass, the weight  all heavy and hard Same like the absolute clout of  the Sultan. Bright shone the sword of  custody and care, Of violence, oppression, and  revenge With tales of triumph historically r are That fill'd my being with force  all huge and strange. And proudly I lifted the c hampion sword With grit and nerve; in  Terminator's rage, I aim'd to slice the earth - its  corrupt horde For robbing poor of their own  privilege. But brandish could not I the sword  for long, The weapon lazy down the scruples 

There's me. There's always me. In my survival I am. In my existence I am. In my doing of own labour, In my living of own nature, In my earning, in my yearning, In my enjoyment of own pleasure, There's me.There's no other than me. In my self I reside. By my self I abide. To my self I am bound. In consummation of self,  The whole  of me is found. A happy me,  At peace I am w ith all around. Wishful I am fo r each one, for each thing To be subjective, bright and becoming... I find my self in loving others. I find my self in serving others.  The blood, non-blood... ones love I may, Begin yet I with me, with me end I... In my formation I am. In my construction I am. Design'd am I, develop'd am I - Unique, apart, sovereign'd by -  In flesh, in bones, in veins, in blood, In all I consume, with all I' ve grow'd : By each of me is made my self, In whole of me is safe my self... And when my self is slightly shaken, When my self g