My Friend

The morning brings with it everyday, a thousand reasons to be cheerful and gay.

All is worthwhile in a smile,

with no disguise in treachery and guile.

Everywhere around is nothing but mist,

with a fragrance of purity - I insist. Daily with her talks and occasional fight,

makes me cheerful and feel alright. 

She is a bit quarrelsome and lovelier still,

I know not her fully but thats how I feel.

She pretends to be angry but is never so,

that makes her all the more cute at one go.

Prasenjit©1997-2009 

Road to Darjeeling

Have you seen nature in glee?
With full of life and feeling free.

Each leaf holds the drop of the dew,

known by all and seen by the few.

I walk on the gravel with crackling sound,

gives an urge of joy so lovingly profound.

I feel so lonely amidst a crowd, but

with nature feel so close in her shroud.

Nature's finery in all her best, is

in the lap of greenery put to rest.

Slowly and surely the petals unfold,

feel ! just feel ! Its a joy to behold !

The sunlight through the branches peep,

the beauty is pure and precious to keep.

All around in nature that I see, will

crumble down to dust and so will it be.

Gangtok - My Love

My bike rose roaring up the hill,

The wind! Oh, so nice and chill.

In times lonely, I come here often,

that helps my cramped mind to soften.

Far from the dean and bustle,

of a city’s increasing tussle.

Every now and then is a turn,

renders a new memory to earn.

The cold kiss of the fog,

gives your memory a jog.

The leaves twirl and fall,

from trees old and tall.

Prasenjit © 2009

THE FATHER

A boy was walking with his daddy,

between warm mud and lush green paddy.

Sweat was dripping hard on the ground,

as he saw many people working all around.

His father was rich and owner of the land,

the boy saw labourers working hand-in-hand.

The boy was confused, suspicious rather,

Said he, “Is the entire land yours father?”

“Yes, yes why not it is mine, only mine,

the people here start to work from nine.”

The boy said, “Why don’t you work the same?”

The father said, “Its not everybody’s game.

They are poor you see, not at all like us,

Do not think about this, do not make a fuss.”

The reply in the mind was deeply lurking,

the conscience inside was strongly barking.

They went further near the shade of a tree,

the pleasant cold wind was blowing so free.

“Father, will not the labourers rest awhile?

they have dug so long nearly half a mile.”

“I pay them money, so they work for me.

This is the rule, this is how it should be.”

Said the boy,

“Can money buy labour, the physical pain?”

The father replied,

“Don’t think rubbish, just think of the gain.

Their daily food of stale rice and onion slice.

They will be awarded with this as their toils price!”

Said the boy,

‘Dripping from their mouth I see blood in red.

The father replied,

‘It is nothing but sweat that in skin did fade.’

Said the boy,

‘Some may even tire down dead!’

Said the father,

‘It is painful you see, this is ultimate destiny.

For just a penny, you will find labourers so many.’

Being vexed the boy said, “Daddy, this is unjust”.

Father kissed his son and said,

“I am your father, don’t you trust”

With tears in his eyes the son said,

“I love the father, but trust not the man.

It is easy to be lenient, I know you can.

Why torment them when they are willingly yours?”

“They fear me and if they leave, I will remorse.”

The father saw in his son a rebel in the making,

understood that the foot of his kingdom is shaking.

Caressing his son the father said ,

“You are small, you won’t understand rather.”

Pulling himself away said the son,

“I see a pitiless man and a loving father.”

The sun was scorching, the father was unwell.

He understood in innocents humans do dwell.

He sat in the shade of a tree,

his heart was paining and beating fast.

He knew that his end was nearing at last.

The father gave his hand and the son accepted so, 

with a smile in his face the father died with grace.

The son never before saw anyone die,

so being casual he did not even cry.

From his father’s mouth blood trickled down,

soaking the left portion of the gown.

Said a weeping labourer,

“Dripping from his mouth I see blood in red.”

The son remembered his father and replied,

“It is nothing but sweat that in skin did fade.”

While the labourers sobbed, the son said,

“Cry not for your master weep for my father,

he was after all a good man rather.”

- Prasenjit Das © 97-99

TOY TRAIN

A journey by toy train,

amidst dense fog and slight rain.

Across the face the fog sails,

it leaves water on the iron rails.

Each drop is a beauty of a lifetime,

and the next drop says the same rhyme.

The elders and children alike,

prefer train instead of bike.

Watch contently the beauties galore,

breaking silence with engine roar.

Moving between the gorge and the hill,

will compel every human to feel.

“No such place, no place as such,

I will come again, I like it very much.”

Frequent stops and occasional backs,

as it adjusts for the right tracks.

Nothing to hurry as life is not so fast,

you will reach your place surely at last.

For any person, a journey of nostalgia,

as the train slopes to Tindharia.

Cutting across roads, in front of homes,

with slight visibility of the temple domes.

A heritage journey as it would seem,

to today’s diesel from yesterday’s steam.

- Prasenjit Das © 97-99

THE RIVER OF HOPE

The river will meander soon,

from one path to another.

Bring out the old soft earth,

drown a different one on the other.

 

Lives submerged on one hand,

and given birth to another.

A balance of good and bad,

a greenery that we once had.

 

With the crops the hope dies,

echoing the sky with farmers’ cries

Some die while others go on,

with hope in heart from night till morn.

 

The day is yet to come,

when in summer time it will rain!

The huge money they piled as treasure,

will give back to the poor again!

 

Before you throw this paper in a heap,

remember there are promises to keep.

We have seen poverty in pen & paper,

and forgot, we could have made the world,…

     just a little better…

- Prasenjit Das © 97-99

SEVOKE

The forest stretching far and wide,

reaching in a short bumpy ride.
The place so near and clear,
the view in front and even in rear.

The dry leaves continuously fall,
from trees so wide and tall.
Sunshine and shade side by side,
Natures' rule so closely reside.

Hills on the left, river on the right,

just tread on with guts and might.
Sound of insects, gurgling of water,
gives the feeling nature is better.

Trekking along the frequent curves,
relaxes the mind and the nerves.
Mist in the morning, Sun at noon,
a gift to mankind, it is God's boon.

From the bridge you can see the train,
any time of day even in heavy rain.
The strong smell of raw earth,
from where the trees took birth.

The water fills all the drains,
after frequent heavy rains.
Total dead and eerie silence,
just our journey by foot commence.

The stone chips crackle under feet,
with sharp edges and burning heat.
The birds fly around, the wind does so,
with mountains on top and river below.

- Prasenjit Das © 97-99

A WALK BY SEASIDE

Autumn will go,
the spring will flow.
Love will be strong,
let it be so.

As the sun goes down,
to wear the evening gown.
So nice a weather,
silken like a feather.

The weather is chilly cold,
as the waves unfold.
A moment to cherish,
as evening quickly perish.

Walking together hand-in-hand,
with naked feet on hot sand.
Our desire to come close,
not a theme of poetry or prose.

The water splashing our feet,
lookin' at you the eyes do meet.
Neither do you speak nor do I,
as time simply pass by.

Holding you on my chest,
seems like an eternal rest.
As you breathe a heavy sigh,
the moon behind clouds pass by.

Let love be a high waterfall,
to be seen by me, you and all.
Each water drops has a meaning,
shows path of a new beginning.

- Prasenjit Das © 97-99

KASHMIR

In the valley Lives lost

at a very high cost.

Blood soaked in the gown,

the story of every town.

Eyes filled with tears,

mind filled with fears.

Sounds of only wailing

where people are dwelling.

No food, water, help or care

but still they live to dare.

Their mental resolve of steel

is a subject of political deal.

The enemy no one knows,

this is how the story goes.

Still O' God there is a fight,

round the clock; day and night.

From days to weeks; year after year,

these are the hardships they bear.

Often do seen in videotapes,

mass killings, encounters and rapes.

How nicely they lived together,

collectively like a birds' feather.

So nice a story to tell,

before everything apart did fell.

Hardened stones and molten hearts,

such are the people in these parts.

Among eucalyptus, juniper and fir,

lies the beautiful land of Kashmir.

PRASENJIT©1999

WHILE WALKING

While walking…

In the road I saw a blind lame man,

crying and begging as he could.

He was as loud as he can,

expecting money or food.

 

Alas…

No one looked,

the people were in a hurry.

He was rolling from side to side,

it was perhaps life’s roughest ride.

 

Then I saw…

A stray dog was by his side,

making moves just the same.

Imitating him in every stride,

as if it was no mean game.

 

A little later…

A person passed by,

heaving a deep sigh.

Threw a loaf in the plate,

with a thought that he is great.

 

Suddenly…

The beggar gave a lone smile,

as if he was seeing all the while.

It was God in the beggar’s shape…

saw His own creation going futile.

 

God turned…

And said sadly to the dog,

you are so good and yet so small.

You know, I can not trust these people,

they are “humans” after all.

- Prasenjit Das © 97-99

PROSTITUTE'S STORY

"My darling, my lovely, my lovely sweet maid"

This is perhaps she heard as the men always said.

The hands would lovingly caress her glossy hair;

And get stuck in jewels dangling in her ear.

They enjoyed her in just an animal's way;

Her soul from the right path never did sway.

The women of ours are always there to blame;

Tragic! Heinous! Society of men are so lame!!

She left the world quietly, quietly one day;

No complaint, nothing, just nothing for her to say.

She now rests quietly, forever with the Heavenly sages;

She belonged to the world, and is now in history pages.

She is no more! Lay her gently on the ground;

May with these golden lines 'Her Tomb' be reknowned.
"Here now with pride and forever a divine body is laid;

Who lived like an angel, but never like men betrayed."

- Prasenjit Das © 97-99

ODE TO VALENTINE

Oh dear! What a lovely face, enamored by your grace.

Your glance does tell it all, tale of a lover's rise and fall.

Beauty beams from head to toe, tell it all before you go.

Smart the way you walk, enchanting the way you talk.

The feelings of my heart tells you, from me not to part.

Your finger's tender touch, it means to me so much.

Oh dear! That killing smile, captivated me for a while.

The praise for your looks, not a word found in the books.

Your face has a glow, just like the gentle river flow.

Now its my turn, to let the hearts of the selfish burn.

This is not a moment to miss, cherishing your first kiss.

Swear me that you are mine, on this day of Valentine.

Oh Dear! No one does dare to tell me that you are fair.

Your lips for a while do part, it is a great feminine art.

Your eyes cast on me a spell, in a way I cannot tell.

Your arms around does bring, the freshness of spring.

If only I could see, what the near future would be.

When the body dies, I'll see the world with your eyes.

When death does embrace, and snatch me without a trace.

Not a tear or fear, do I expect from your eyes my dear.

Hold me close and fast, when on your lap I breathe my last.

- Prasenjit Das © 97-99

THE FLAME IS ON

Life may not be a green leaf,

the dews are tears in grief.

Life for many maybe cruel,

give me the guts for the duel.

The good times passed by me,

like a humming bird in destiny.

If not in life then maybe after,

let life be a pleasant chapter.

No, I will never give up,...never,

be an example for all, forever...

- Prasenjit Das © 97-99

MY FRIEND'S DEATH

Give me the tomorrow,
for I may never see.
The glories of today,
that belong to history.

Call me mad or insane,
when I will be no more,
you will weep, yes
every now and then...

Let with every tear,
my memory be always near.
The story will thus end,
for losing a nice friend.

- Prasenjit Das © 97-99

FEELINGS

Don't ever shed a tear,

you are only mine dear.

Your heart gives a cry,

I may not know why.

Feeling your warm lips,

and hand around your hips.

Let love not be for a day,

I want you along the way.

The touch of the dew,

reminds me of you.

Love spreads like rays,

in all sorts of ways.

As the wind moves dune,

so does love to its tune.

The heart may not hurt,

pray the souls do not part.

All wishes will come true,

I am there only for you.

Love is but emotional ties,

gazing at your blue eyes.

Not a pair made in heaven,

relation that you have given.

Let those promises be my touch,

remember, I loved you very much.

- Prasenjit Das © 97-99

POLITICAL GAME

Give food, water and help to the poor,

so they do not beg from door to door.

Money of the rich knows no end,

whereas the poor have no money to expend.

No food, no clothes, no sympathy for them,

and used as baits in political game.

Our leaders are telling a very old tale,

and have made this world a living hell.

Thanks! Thanks for what they have done;

they show their power by holding a gun.

Not really so an ironical fact,

the politicians have their back intact.

Politicians! Not a single honest man!

Are there really? Show me if you can...

Poor's bodies are stairs of success,

and they are vanished without a trace.

A pity this is not what it should have been,

their hands are soaked in blood and sin.

Fine leather bags if you have seen,

made from the poor man's skin.

- Prasenjit Das © 97-99

A ROUGH JOURNEY

On the way let not your head turn,

let the fire within your heart burn.

Let not to you your tired feet say,

I can't walk with you along the way.

Let not your hope come to an end,

for the fear of evil doers never do bend.

The poor among us are also human,

why not do a bit, do whatever we can.

We give our lovers an expensive card,

but to help the poor we find it very hard.

Let life be a short poem of good deed,

men will remember the hand that did feed.

Let life be a soundless smooth river flow,

eroding all the pebbles that lie below.

Why to lament for things that belong to all?

Give all you have and let pride stand tall.

Let life be a fight with nothing to gain,

just to give the pleasure and take the pain.

Nothing is ours all belong to the Earth,

which ends in death and started at birth.

- Prasenjit Das © 97-99

WOMEN'S STATUS

Woman gives birth, to new life on earth.

Sold throught the ages, in society of savages.

Born as a daughter, lived as a mother.

Caring like a sister, beautiful like a lover.

Never loved as a wife, a man's friend for life.

She will not cry, nor will she ever try.

To burst in protest, against all the rest.

Brought up by the father, cared by the brother.

Neglected by the lad, tortured by the dad.

Such is the way, nevertheless to say.

A tale untold, of a mind so kind and bold.

The pride and glory, of a woman's story.

- Prasenjit Das © 97-99