My Poems

If you haven't seen her, you don't know what's beauty; You're wrong if you believe it's beauteous spring, Or if you have the best bet on Urvashi Or beauty's any known celestial thing. No, Aphrodite won't stimulate so much, Or romantic autumn's passionate kiss, As little of her mysterious beauty's touch. Oh-oh! She's an embodiment of Blessedness! And not made for the erotic exploitation,  And greatest chisels, brushes, pens will fail To recreate her with their entire description, For her beauty's nameless, transcendental.  And if some day you chance to sight her charm,  Each else will look unsightly, irksome, loathsome.  -- N P Samal 

A girl, as young as twelve, was raped by brutes, Away from home, in a town where none knew her, And none came out, if all were in cahoots, To help her, as her screams did bang each door. The sinless girl, and reasonless to think, But those were not her parents, brothers, sisters  To nurse her wound and give her food and drink, But, say, nonhumans sole, sans rue or remorse. And she was wailing, bleeding, naked mostly,  And begg'd for help, from street to street, for long, Till fell dead, yet none came to show her mercy, Here, happy move those  who on her did wrong! What else could in this country be expected,  Where prostitutes, porn stars are celebrated?  -- N P Samal 

A long life and that's healthy and happy as well, Will it e'er be for you a dream come true? Let's take it to where the Blue-Zoners dwell, But, beware, their 'yes' will hammer you, Harder than your enkindled pessimism,  For it's a force to cause no mean destruction To the hyped life of the modern organism-- The life that celebrates diseased consumption, Jogging and gym and money and night club... O yes! to switch to theirs does hard appear, But simple: give your kin time and love, You vegetables, fruits, lentils for the wonder; Eat not full, smoke not, to your faith belong, Do rituals, pray, keep moving, sleep to live long. -- N P Samal   

Will Mama be immortal with each sonnet That I do write with deep devotion to her? Why not if Mona Lisa's with the portrait, And David with Renaissance marble sculpture? And Mama's no less absolute and marvelous  Than those artistic beauties of fiction; Say if the beauty of fact away will pass Because the legends have not been reborn? And I am not a legend, to agree, To immortalize Nature's this wondrous art; Or, instead, much like Shakespeare's Dark Lady, If Mama'll fame my sonneteering craft. My soul thus for Mama's long liveness longs, Through the creation of my little songs. -- N P Samal 

You may pick her for the Vinci's famous frame, But crave won't she to being a Mona Lisa; Neither will she for Michel's arty acclaim Love if returns the sculptor of the Renaissance. For she is Mama, and not like any other. O yes, so rare is she by brain and beauty And by perfection does from damsels differ,  But not for the lustful world to hear or see.  The world is fill'd with magnificent beauties, What if appears not she for men to notice? And Nature's ceaseless with pleasant melodies, What if silent is her mellifluous voice? Let her grow in her divine concealment Till our character's cleaned off defilement.  -- N P Samal 

Who knows why Universe gestated long-- For billions of years since her own creation-- To deliver Earth, sole live birth, 'mong Her numerous siblings all lifeless, barren? Thence, gone still billions of years and the mother Has yet not birth'd another Earth, if whole Of the Creation's made sole for this daughter  And 'lone for her destined Creational Goal. And Earth's been growing, children in her lap-- Animals, birds, plants and, above all, humans, As mother gives her Nature's brilliant makeup  And with foods, water, air each day sustains. But why's Earth fatal? Why do her children die? What does microbes-to-humans signify?   -- N P Samal 

Dead are countless humans, till today, Since the Creator began their evolution,  With brief extant of life if bright or gray; They haven't return'd, will haply ne'er return. And they did live how we are living now, With dreams and acts, so with same pains and pleasure,  For them, for blood, or for some other fellows; Some gain'd, some fail'd, and some were granted neither. But all did fall to lie fore'er beneath,  Throwing at us the question: Will we be dying? We know we will, to swell the belly of death-- The ultimate to which does float our living. Do you say we've no might to change the course? Then you can't see in us the Creational Force.   -- N P Samal 

Love that is true dies not in any condition, Through sacrifices, shocks and pains, it lives on.