My Poems

In boughs of chakunda, in grassy hillock,  Sometimes, amidst the herd of grazing goats, Nestled is he, the poet, if his prize stock Designs his verses with brilliant quaint notes, As sounds and sights of pastoral elegance  Become vibrant with moral blooms and beauties Of sinless rural folk with pure conscience  And life with arts of nature-made luxuries. And he, from height of fame as 'Goat-herd Poet', Observes his playful goats in wonderment How they've put on his head the crown of a laureate, 'So fill'd up his once poor life with enrichment... Herd grows, wealth grows, grows soulful poetic number, But none has notes on goats being slain by the butcher. - N P Samal

The mind has seen the noose as 'Great Escape'-- Can anything be merrier, than suicide,  And more assuring a success to dupe The selfish world of hatred, cant and greed? Should earth's all mundane forces gather up Will founder to frustrate the speed and force, Neither can charm the mind the whole gift of The planet's inestimable resource. For, heaven is on the other side of the noose -- The doorway to the blissful othering, With smile it greets with its door open and loose; Once tight, will fool each shoddy, sinful earthling.  And, suicide, by the time, begets many a winner, Over betrayal, untruth, and trauma and torture. ©️ N P Samal

The sighs of love flow from your heart betray'd -- For her who slapp'd hard on your deaden'd face -- And loving words from mind broken and dead, With wishes for her of the Almighty's grace: How beautifully you do own these two, That, God would put virtues of His on bargain! A human, you, unlike the rest, do flow Your rotting body for the selfish canine! Your handsomeness, that many Eves did drool o'er, And bones and muscles of a famous myth, Who could have thousand hearts and minds to conquer,  Have fail'd ere own, though stung hard by betrayed faith: My love and respect for your heart and mind -- The key signature of the humankind.  -- N P Samal

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

Whose Is The Moon? Sonnet 102 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