My Poems

See th' ant-eater's body being eaten by ants. If get no hints, do look around and see : In platter of rebellions lie tyrrants, And Venus trap to eat the robber bee. Yet see the falcon's vice to feed her chicks, And more, the hungry hippo's brutal twist - Endo's or exo's, all are cannibal freaks  Down the dinos and Neanderthals' list... Life, mine or yours, is sweetly eatable Each being a consumer, 'so goods and wares; Birds, animals, plants, humans - all dependable Do live on others and, too, die to others, For life means eating as well as being eaten : Preys, predators are all, overt or hidden. - N P SAMAL

As a child had I seen how hare hunters Bomb'd all jackals in aid of our villagers; One to nourish the stomach, One to protect the livestock - They kill'd all with gestating canine mothers. E'er since, I have been witnessing deeds Of our cruelty on all living breeds; Be it butcher's block, Be it deity's dock, Our cruel heart does revel in carnal funs and feeds. And today, the pregnant elephant's murder shows How barbaric we're underneath glows Of our progressive feats - With more violent instincts To maim others with smart bombs and their blows! As is Corona fear fast dissolving, The restrained monster is up-rising  To revenge himself on those Who have dried his bloody jaws; For what he lost will make up in killing... -- N P SAMAL

Where is the end of humanity's race Our parents have made us run for, and what Will we depict the future for the chase  That our children will take up for their lot ? Look down and see : D'you find a base beneath Your feet - the base legendary strides of greats  Had aim'd ? Ain't their footmarks entomb'd in filth Of beastly vices and inhuman traits ? All hopes the past nurtured are gone in perils O'the present, be it bombs, bugs, crimes, or climates. Whither the present life ? is what it grills While caught are we by modern syndicates. Ahead we see there's many a puzzling bend; How can we promise us a heaven at the end ? - N P SAMAL

The lonesome soul does restless run in search Of nest whose build incomplete yet then when A stormy wind did blow it off its perch, And since, has years gone by, it writhes in pain, The wretched soul, in tears that run not dry. Can crying over spilt milk be redeemed? Yet cries the soul, cries its abortive outcry. It knows the ravaged nest can't be retrieved, And that sans nest never can it exist. Yet, till its death, shan't cease the quest for love Though thrown down hard, wings broken, its tryst It knows still nowhere in the tree above-- Rich, luxuriant and beautiful yet more,  Its boughs with other nests and souls yet stronger. - N P SAMAL

Pain of bones, of muscles, of organs, And pain of mind from losses, woes, or wants - We bear some, from some we get no riddance, Some heal, yet some bring back more malignants. Pain of penance still on ourselves inflict We, or pain wreak'd on by the force of foes: All pains do cleave to the life from birth to crypt Their roars being heard from human cries and lows. The life that's pleasure-bent, suffers from pain, For pleasure is fatal that has mortal pact; And pain does ever spare no one insane With body's lasting as an absolute fact. Let's get relief from painful sufferings; Let's anoint us with the balm of we-feelings. -- N P SAMAL