My Poems

                             Mahishasura                        Sonnet 169 When young, one year, I saw the Demon dying, As the Trident of the goddess Durga Into his stoney body deeply piercing: An art the 'medha' play'd on Dussehra Though, my tiny heart was cheery with Loads of relief the Devil's at last dead And gone were threats on life! But came the myth Next year, to find; as raised the Brute his head To fight the Goddess and to die again -- The repeat that happens every year, Just for few days to falsely entertain  The people's soul engulfed in inbred fear, For the Brute ain't dead behind the art, In our brutish mind and brutish heart. ©️ N P Samal 

                        The Anger Room                                  Sonnet 168 Sounds of crashing, cracking, clanking, splint'ring From the room do burst the air around As the objects one by one are lying Broken in pieces on the marble ground, Under the angryman's relishing eyes, While the avenging hands and legs run riot. At last the anger's got the vent that carries No crime, no guilt, no grief, and on the quiet Does the man appease his burning soul. Though costly is this novel deed to peace, Yet anger at the lifeless means no toll On human beings -- a bypass much to cherish. Hats off to China for this fine creation; A global fix against the vile emotion.  ©️ N P Samal 

                   Vishwakarma                                   Sonnet 167 He is the builder of the Universe  And therefore Vishwakarma is His name; He has built the Earth, her splendrous neighbours Inside the boundless Architectural Frame. And earthlings worship Him in most devotion For motors, mansions, mills, all mundane builds; But more construction goes with more destruction; To spoilage, wastes, do drain all Lordly yields. If construct does He, whoe'er destroys? Whoever brings forth cyclones, floods and quakes And hands out mortars, missiles, bombs to guys, That down each harbor, home instantly breaks? If Vishwakarma, then there's One to honor  Who will touch not Lord's resources, labor.  ©️ N P Samal  

We know not if untruth is our essence,  As we survive on certitudes of Earth; The truth of life that fills our existence Is prone to fatal lies till death from birth. Some force, for sure, reposeless day and night, Does This universe is purely an illusion, Wherein each thing is known now, then unknown.  ©️ N P Samal 

For you the doll was just a doll, none else, Made of synthetic stuff and dress'd in nylons But when I put my daughter's soul in it, The doll And I did bury deep my daughter under The rubbish of my hapless life forever.  ©️  N P Samal