My Poems

Can't I describe old age as the ultimate curse, That falls unsparing, on each, as no human Has, by muscle or magic, got life reverse Its fatal course of baneful condemnation? Has voice of Nightingale or Nelson's valiance? Can either Bachchan's show, Mukesh' Antilia, E'er stop conviction of the Nature's sentence  Or, say, the inborn divine anathema? Yes, I do know, you've steer'd your life around,  To credit, many crashes, bugs, and battles, But whither do you travel if not bound To cradle of death of rotting bones and muscles? By chance, pass we may by vast casualty; But can we jump the Geras' finality?                                                           -- N P SAMAL 

You fool me, I fool you; We all do fool each other; And go on fooling 'round, Till God does fool us all Out of the Earth forever... And we can't be cooperative, For we are competitive; And we can't be selfless, For we are selfish; And we can't be loving,  For we are aggressive; And we can't be God of ourselves, A stronger God than the God of myth. So we are what we are, And will forever be, Definitely mortal, In the fools' paradise. (To be edited, improved, and recomposed) --N P Samal

D'you see the moon -- that snowy bloom -- like I, Her beautiful face, her beaming smile of fun, As she hangs herself up from nightly sky, Pouring down balminess from loving urn? D'you feel her teasing you with her mischief, As more you love her, farther yet she goes -- Smaller -- each passing night, till out of sight, if Some stronger human wrap'd her in his boughs? D'you 'so exult when suddenly ere your drab eyes She does appear, on evening pool's dark water? And 'so distress'd you feel when for the prize, You bend, but she does break and disappear? If you do, she's not yours, nor is she mine; For, humans are deprived of the Divine. -- N P Samal

They search for own life after Mama's death, That under rubble of their love to salvage,  What their daughter did to them bequeath,  Save sole remains of death in shrouded baggage. Their swearing arms beseech -- in tight embrace  Of their deceased child, dead as stone, and still, And dead are her doe eyes, angelic face,  Her labial bud that mirthfully did giggle -- As they do gather up soul of their daughter In her belongings -- toys, toons, cares and clothings... And ages gone, they fondle these matchless treasure  That world will fail to buy at whole of things; What else to inherit from cache of the gravestone When children die and live the parents on!? - N P SAMAL