Category Archives: February Compositions.
My poems! :)
The syndicates breathe a sigh of relief,
Drumrolls all around, air turned green,
Rain came over to cry on our hopes,
Black money funded ornaments found a new sheen.
“We are not being given equal rights,”
the people in Northern Bengal had complained.
With rubble of the broken bridge,
hundreds of fingers were grained.
“If Tata had setup their factory here,”
An aspiring entrepreneur wondered.
Slogans of “Hokkolorob” on streets,
Against the evils of the system, the students had thundered.
A girl had demanded justice in vain,
“Sajano Ghotna”, such was the tag.
The human debts had piled above the financial lows,
As the ministers in their paras continued to rag.
A tainted state made to look serene,
until the veil was removed to reveal the Sharada Scam.
Look at our map, it has been darted time and again.
For giving us a gleeful Waste Bengal, thank you ma’am.
If this catches your eye, I’ll be put behind bars,
I’ll be labelled either a Maoist or BJP activist.
But I’m more worried than fearless,
Because an already choked Bengal may have to slit its wrist.
Is our mind without fear or can the head be held high?
Bengal is far from awake, do not make it blind.
We deserve a vision, we deserve to be led forward.
Undo. Unravel. Unwind.
Preparing all what is required for Diwali
You were particular about everything till all was replete.
Everything is ready today, except you
My Diwali is incomplete.
We never burst crackers together,
But I still can hear your warning on repeat
“Pataakha dhyaan rakh ke jalaana Chetan”
Without that warning, celebrations stand incomplete.
Your constant appearance in White Kurta every year,
Together, our routine to purchase the sweets,
Your habit of buying fruits for Diwali
Everything is missed, I cannot retreat.
Thus, Incomplete the taste to whatever I eat.
I won’t light rockets, if it might hurt you
Are you celebrating? In heaven do they greet?
This Diwali will not be able to bring light.
The diyas fear darkness which they cannot defeat.
This darkness makes my Diwali incomplete.
I miss your touch and I miss your blessing,
After Puja’s done, Now I cannot touch your feet
You will shower good wishes from above,
But you wont say, “Khush Raho!”
In complete silence, Diwali stands incomplete.
I’ll save the fresh memories to tell you someday
The memories you created will never be obsolete,
But your memories cant make this Diwali complete.
So, lead us from darkness unto light. Come home this Diwali?
Come home please? We are eager to meet.
We’ll wait beyond the time when diyas go off.
By the side of faded diyas, my Diwali left incomplete.
She has a life inside her,
Two new lives began to shape that day.
From August, a countdown of nine months,
So many hopes attached to this foetus,
Rightly so, the month would be ‘may’.
She’ll grow fat but she isn’t worried.
She’ll have to forgo her favourite diet.
It will be painful, she knows;
with every month, the pain grows
But for that foetus, everything is right.
She wondered what color of eyes will she have?
Will his nose be as long as his dad?
Will her cheeks be as fluffy as her aunt?
Two pictures, a he and a she,
There’s no bias. Two pictures which make her glad.
Her first tests are done;
the baby is fit inside.
Womb, the safest place a person could be in.
She is ready to bear all, A mother growing within.
Just the 4th month, but the baby already her pride.
Different people come and tell her different things,
“How do you still maintain your health?”, ask the kitty
“How many months?”, ask the neighbours,
and her husband says, “You still look as pretty.”
She blushes on most replies,
100 days left on the countdown.
Shouldering more responsibilities in her stomach, she moves.
To name her child, she’s finding the most proper proper noun.
With tremendous pain, she could somehow move
Deemed to be natural, but she had to be admitted.
Tensed on the front, but content in the core.
The next test results were awaited.
“Doctor, this cannot happen” said her Husband
“Understand” said the doctor in-charge
Near to the nine months, all of it was a mirage.
“But what has been the problem. Can.. How…”
“Understand, we need to carry out misoprostol now”
Tears flooded the hospital corridor, she wept in bed
About the past eight months, she thought
She screamed, she begged, the curtains fell,
the play ended. Her pain did not.
She crept inside her white blanket,
White covered the dead foetus, symbolic it was,
Weaving little blankets just a day before was her mother,
The hope of being called a naani, put to pause.
“You couldn’t give us our descendant” screamed the elders
“You are infertile” shouted the other;
Treated ill in the house she called home.
The child had died, slowly dying was this mother.
While the family wanted answers.
She questioned God, questioned His unfair play.
“Why did you take away my child”, she asked
“Why did you leave my Foetus to decay?
Why God, why do you hate us?
Why God, why did you give me an incomplete foetus?”
Miscarriages or Gender are not in control of women,
Why blame the one who bared everything with grace,
Do not let her lose herself and stay with her,
Bring her heart back to the same pace.
Bring her life back to the same place.