My Poems

Life is what culture does make it to be-- For any born a human on this planet--  That, how life grows from mother's lullaby, From breast milk, purees, crib or bassinet. By system, standard, rituals, rules and lores, In blend of scriptures, sermons and religion, As we do grow among kin, kith, kindred others,  That life's cultured with obstinate construction. And when two lives do meet, they hold to oneness, Midst difference in ranks, roles, means or callings, Or do collide with battles, wars, violences,  Based on if they're one or by culture varying.  Hence, till the traits are one and one is culture,  Human beings on the earth can't live together.  -- N P Samal 

A beggar's smile is writ big on the face Over the drop of a note in the bowl And bigger does it grow with more, but fades All smile if at the day-end the bowl isn't full. The same are we all-- from a have to a pauper-- That, smile does bloom on the face on a gain, But for a while, as mind desires for more, And through desires and gains does fade, remain, And bloom as big or small and long or short Between one gain achieved and one more wanted, But till the gains haven't filled the fancied pot, The smiler sits not happy, satisfied.  Smile is a flower, happiness its source, But our desires do ruin its permanent course.  -- N P Samal   

I know well what a smile does mean to you, That, for an ailing soul it's the best medicine And best it makes us up, best it lifts face value, And stronger than a balm and bright as sunshine. You also mean a smile as a solution  To every problem, and of peace a language,  And further, it is matchless as a fashion, 'So beauty of the lips of any age. And many other meanings you do know From quotes, from lips you yourself have observed, But no smile, whoe'er does smile, is so Meaningful as the smile of your beloved. Yet, there're two smiles which mean yet greater. Those smiles are of your father and your mother. - - N P Samal 

Weeds do grow in us-- in everyone, 'Mong trees all beauteous, heavenly, and enriched With all things that have made the vast Creation And by the Creator being constantly tended. But weeds, which grow in opposition to trees, With no nutrient, fruit or flower to foster Life or to offer shade no boughs or branches  Have with their growth frustrated the Creator. And weeds do grow undaunted and destroy The creational force of trees to free us From pains, diseases and even mortality, Against His wish, Who tends us, worried, helpless. And grow do weeds in us in pride and ego, And anger, lust, greed, spite are some to know.   -- N P Samal 

What meaning can be given to life bet'n birth And death, if there's no life beyond the two, For you, for me, for all the humans on Earth,  If life doesn't mean else than howe'er to grow? But grow do we, all diverse from each other, If meaning does lie in diversity; And grow do we-- one short, one long; one poor, One rich; one sick, one hale; one crying, one happy-- Estranged being meanings, mine to yours, yours to mine, 'So mortal, as we will die, for sure, with ours; And meaningless fore'er will we remain,  Sans truth of life created by universe. Whoever, caught deep in the whirl of living, Will seek to know what's life and what's its meaning?                                                              -- N P Samal 

Are you digging a hole to take revenge? Just hold on, do remember Confucius  And dig another, for it's a challenge You give no one but you, for your own loss. Listen what history's ceaseless voice does tell: Revenge hasn't yet produced a happy story; Like a double-edged sword, it may your foe fell, But it no fail does fetch you your own tragedy.  O, yes! revenge can otherwise be sweet, If it grew on the tree of poise and patience, And history too has always proven it; A legend stands on bearing the offense. So dump your tool of violence, o avenger, And let the tree grow you the immortal victor! - - N P Samal 

Who knows not what love is? For life its worth? For, life is love and love is life and none Sans love has e'er been birthed on this earth,  Or has for any bit of time e'er lived on. Recall how you were playing happy, soulful, With love, in comfort of your mother's womb  And how you cried as out of the womb you fell, And how then you did love your mother's bosom. Then father, toys, each one, each thing that fill'd Your life with love. Thus you with love have grown. Thus each, whoe'er one is, with love has lived And so will live till death does down the curtain.  Even if on deathbed there's none to love for life, One dies not loveless, but with love for afterlife. -- N P SAMAL