ON HIS LIFE

Nearby a rocky cliff he lives,
happily in the sand and dust.
Others on his loneliness grieves,
he never felt that idea is a must.

Cloudy skies seems gloomy to some,
and he wonders on the shades of grey.
While others babble, he keeps mum,
and is firm when others sought to pray.

Like demon's anger the rocks feel hot,
while he cherishes the warmth of it.
He enjoys his life as he was taught,
and is happy with nothing to forfeit.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

HYPOCRISY

Why does the night seem endless,
and the daytime quickly fleeting?
The 'Gods' even in dark do bless,
and spoil the Devil's evil meeting.

They who dip in the 'Holy Water',
and yet not be kind to the weak!
They before 'God' do not matter,
and get no peace where they seek.

Not only pray with folded hands,
but also wipe the endless tears.
Divine light dawn on lucky bands,
who take trouble to remove all fears.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

ALONE

When I'm with memories all alone,
fragrances of bliss fill my paradise.
Sweetness of lips are to me known,
and is heavenly with your closed eyes.

When I'm in dreams all alone,
your angelic voice echoes in my ears.
The trees of love we have sown,
gives us shade and removes all fears.

When I'm with you all alone,
deep in the night beneath stars.
Walked mile together, darkness forlorn,
made us smile and heal all scars.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

MY MOTHER

Did she want to see me,
just before she died?
Alone in silence could not see,
her 'maker' to her maybe lied.

Was there anything to say,
before she closed her eyes?
We won't know now, no way,
I couldn't hear her sobs 'n' cries.

A night that will always,
grow darker as time pass.
Towards the ceiling her gaze,
perhaps had questions - alas....

Maybe some drops of tear,
could have filled her eyes.
Fear of the unknown, a great fear,
that her only son is now not near.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

THE FAMILY

In a land beyond the hills,
there lived a family of three.
A pond that in the rain fills,
and they lived a life carefree.

In morn the light would fall,
on blue lakes and valleys green.
The beauty in fog does enthrall,
and silence glorify nature serene.

In the tender lap of the valleys,
they lived a good and simple life.
Amidst a charming pond of lilies,
lived a happy and caring wife.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

THE SHEPHERD

The shepherd is tending his flocks,
a stick in hand and shoulders bare.
He watches them from the rocks,
vigilant eyes and with utmost care.

They wander on pastures green,
and huddle together as one.
Out in the countryside so serene,
on sparkling water swims the swan.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

ONLY IF...

Only if in the turmoil of life,
would one stick to their roots.
When deadly storms cut like a knife,
as young buds spring into shoots.

Only if in the roads of the past,
would one find the memories sweet.
When deadly sorrows erase our last,
and the destined souls do meet.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

FROM HOTEL WINDOW

Back again almost in the crowd,
faces rapidly fleeting like ghosts.
Their looks nevertheless so proud,
in a strange city play like hosts.

Trams, cars and buses daily ply,
on the roads heated in the sun.
While far above the iron birds fly,
and behind the clouds we see none.

'Trrp', 'Trrp', echoes of falling rain,
musically on the tin window shed.
In grief, many tears flowed in vain,
while I sat on a white linen bed.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

ON HER PYRE

I have put her on sacred fire,
as she was resting on the pyre.
Before the flames devoured her,
I never felt she journeyed so far.

Touched and felt my mother dear,
who is far and yet felt so near.
I touched her - felt like ice,
yet in life her warmth was nice.

I called out to her many times,
thinking when she told nursery rhymes.
She was in slumber, put to rest,
I shook her to wake - I tried my best.

What stood between mother and me,
was fearsome and ill-fated destiny.
She was still resting on the pyre,
waiting for her son to put her on fire.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

LONELY CORNER

She was therein grim silence,
in a lonely world of her own.
She smiled, she cried and hence,
reaped the fruits she had sown.

She sobbed inwardly, silent tears,
drenched her soul, washed her fears.
What she lost thru' the ages,
is now found in her diary pages.

Endless nights she remained awake,
which she did for her son's sake.
Many sleepless nights taught her,
that there is none at mother's par.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

HAPPY ROBIN

In rains along the iron rail,
sat a robin wagging its tail.
A crow watched with curious mind,
sheltered under roof - a safe find.

The grey skies in backdrop stood,
the wet crow was in pensive mood.
But the robin was lively still,
grooming feathers after morning meal.

A child 'shooed' the crow away,
but the timid robin didn't sway.
Flickered its eyes, wagged its tail,
throwing drops of rain that fell.

Drops of water that filled a pail,
now bathed the robin wagging its tail.
Drops that fell from the iron rail,
made the robin happy, wagging its tail.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

SHE THOUGHT SO...

Like the dew she was here,
silent, sober with utmost care.
Many things she wanted to say,
which she kept for another day.

Some of them she often told,
and now etched in memoirs of gold.
Some she thought, some she wrote,
now in her diary stay as quote.

Of the thoughts that she have felt,
when before her 'Maker' she did knelt.
Such in her character was the art,
she remained a child always at heart.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

NOW NO MORE

She went away in distant realm,
far beyond the mystery clouds.
Throughout my life at the helm,
now playing in hidden shrouds.

The sun was always shiny then,
and even now brightly shines.
The breeze was cool during rain,
is silent now in tears and whines.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

THE POTTER

Have you observed an earthen pot,
out in the shiny sun so hot?
It teaches to value what we got,
and give to those who have not.

Out of soft clay it is made,
the potter's hand smells of it.
Shaped as the Maker did bade,
with imagination and scorching heat.

Like all minds innocent and true,
the clay also takes its form.
Some with love, some with rue,
shapes a human in society's norm.

Some crack, some pots break,
while rest with use carry on.
Some humans are a mental wreck,
and rest leave a mark and move on.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

THE FLUTIST

After the months of spring,
here in my busy hometown.
Joy that colourful fairs bring,
enveloping every trade of town.

I saw a hawker amongst many,
selling flutes of various tune.
Some cost less than a penny,
right in the start of june.

Flute is now a thing of the past,
with bright toys on the show.
The despaired trader knew at last,
it won't be sold as others know.

The music out of bamboo holes,
took birth thru' nimble fingers.
We who strayed apart in poles,
did cast away the peace bringers.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

ONE LIFE

We all have one life to live,
and not spoil in silly fights.
Not to take but also to give,
and be happy within our mights.

Some complain while having plenty,
while some in scarcity spend a life.
Wasting a lifetime searching bounty,
spoiling happiness on edge of a knife.

A lifetime of hoarded wealth,
is no match for a honest life.
They themselves rob their health,
and kill the soul before ending life.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

RAIN AND CLOUDS

Looking at the clouds I felt,
high above they peacefully dwelt.
Clouds in different shades of grey,
rains on earth when farmers pray.

Slowly the grey turns to white,
allowing the sun to pass its light.
Like easing grief, the grey lightens,
as above the blue sky brightens.

Some clouds will kiss the earth,
while some will surely sail by.
Rain that in clouds took birth,
to ease farmers will have a try.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

POSITIVITY

Towards the mountains of passion,
climb so many persons blind.
defeat and despair in succession,
only the tough does never mind!

In the dark valleys of despair,
live persons who are lonely within.
The good and daring - a lovely pair,
live life as it should have been!

Prasenjit©1997-2012

MERRY CLAP

Come together and let us clap,
on merry-go-round take a lap.
The grief of a sobbing chap,
will vanish with our merry clap.

Come together and let us clap,
to erode miseries that fall in trap.
The hope of a sobbing chap,
will emerge from our merry clap.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

REVENGE

There can be weaknesses many,
of all qualities within a man.
If, of them he does use any,
to show his true self, if he can.

Revenge is a sign of the weak,
destroying the quality of a man.
Forgive others and be meek,
to show power within, if he can.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

REFLECTIONS

From day to night time unfurls,
as the sun behind horizon curls.
Circles once and comes again,
and proves nothing goes in vain.

The beating of drums tell,
that a war is raging on.
Some with times stood or fell,
and some in tides forever gone.

Now remains - a deserted stream,
that marks track in only sands.
The enlightened travel with a dream,
on the way making faithful bands.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

THEY TOIL

In roar, red hot furnaces burn,
they fight with fire and earn.
The stones melt and not men,
and they labour alone in pain.

With coal and tar, pitch they make,
paving easy roads for people's sake.
The smoothen the path we tread,
drain their sweat for daily bread.

Through centuries their hopes foiled,
yet with honesty they always toiled.
Grief, betrayal and shattered hope,
a revolt is in making with no scope!

Prasenjit©1997-2012

BENGALI NEW YEAR

All the days of the year,
is going to pass away soon.
For every smile and a tear,
is nothing but Almighty's boon.

Year garlanded like flowers,
to make up beautiful days.
We work, we suffer - all ours,
He listens to all who prays.

Twelve months and the seasons,
will pass and again come by.
This flavour is full of reasons,
a 'failure' will have another try!.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

AGAINST WAVES

Most of us walk in the crowd,
in an uprising or protest any.
Handful of them who are proud,
go against atrocities of many.

They wade against the rough,
and face the storms alone.
In time they are proven tough,
thus stand out and get known.

Most of us bask in winter sun,
while 'few' take heat of July.
While many cowards hide and run,
it is the 'few' that we always rely.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

MATCHES

There in the matchbox lay,
some matches ready to use.
Would burn into ashes gray,
when they would themselves fuse.

One tiny spark and a flare,
would be a message big enough.
A revolt coming through prayer,
will be greater than smoky puff.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

I FELT

A child is born today,
saying something in his cries.
It was on the first of May,
saw revolt in innocent eyes.

Feeble though was his voice,
strongly clenched was his fist.
In birth he had no choice,
except hue and cry in gist.

Soft, sweet whispers today,
will tomorrow ring the bell.
This child in afternoon of May,
in future will be a 'story-to-tell'.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

THOUGHTS

It is a story of one fine day,

nearing eve the semi red sun.

Was just on homeward way,

and kids in park having fun.

Shy whispers and drooping arms,

was all that I could then see.

Stolen glances and lovely charms,

is what teenage seems to be.

Of the drooping arms I told,

have wrinkled faces as of now.

They are now, not so bold,

one day in dusk they would bow.

This is how the time goes,

as if from dawn to dusk.

Smell fading like wilting rose,

and a man changes in the mask!

Prasenjit©2012

THE KIDS

It will be springtime soon,
and tulips will be in bloom.
Fragrant roses in late noon,
will cast away the gloom.

Some kids play on streets,
while their mothers keep calling.
Fun and joy to them greets,
while dry leaves are falling.

In midday the sun on the rise,
and they in despair do retreat.
Some protest with hue 'n' cries,
and keep playing on the street.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

IN DIARY

In diary folds you will find,
one letter each for you a day.
That would tell how my mind,
choked on feelings I desired to say.

Feelings painted on true canvas,
with brush of love and faith.
With colours and tears alas,
made so the painting sayeth.

Some castles are built in air,
while some on love so very pure.
The letters are fading, so unfair,
and a broken heart has no cure.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

LEARNING

Life is playful like a child,
wanting to go up just higher.
With free thoughts running wild,
and lively spirits put on fire.

Joyous like colourful valleys,
mind hovering like a butterfly.
While enjoying childish follies,
a matured mind thus comply.

Learning from the mistakes made,
with time made mistakes new.
Doing what elders did bade,
in future stood among unique few.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

REFLECTING BACK

Back in the seasons of youth,
I see and fondly remember.
The days of love did soothe,
embedded in my heart forever.

We picked up coloured pebbles,
and etched our names on it.
Threw it back in rubbles,
and doing so fondly repeat.

Rivers with colours of its own,
become one with nature's doing.
Now they to each other known,
destined to meet even before knowing.

Now embark on a journey new,
together with a renewed force.
Lucky are those so very few,
who define life to take its course.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

TRYING

An uphill road he took,
a tiring journey all along.
Spraining spine at every nook,
while merrily he sang a song.

Thus the lad upon his way,
knew goal was close to him.
He can rest, as he may,
but his heart did not seem.

The sun burning on his face,
and his soul was warmed up.
He reached his goal with grace,
and victory filled his life's cup.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

TIDES OF TIME

Through the tides of time,
as we have come to know.
That once a king in his prime,
will have an end to say so.

Great ideas and lofty thoughts,
and actions loftier them all.
Raging war of have and have nots,
in times they have stood tall.

Even today thru' the pages,
we come to know of days old.
Endless war those kings wages,
is etched in history we are told.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

FOR PEACE

Monks in the far off hills,
go in search of solace there.
One with nature, one feels,
bliss profound and joy so rare.

The lap of Mother Nature,
is wild, mild and yet free.
That teaches us like a preacher,
amidst beauty dangling from tree.

Out in serenity they chase,
the search of peace within.
Pondering thru' an unsolved maze,
a little better it cud' hav' been!.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

CHOOSE RIGHT

In the garden of Almighty,
are colours of different hue.
To smell and adore the beauty,
made with His power for you.

Colours that change with light,
like that of night and day.
Heavenly aroma seems so right,
that holds our beats in sway.

The white lilies grow in mud,
and red roses have thorns.
So pick beauty from the bud,
and leave aside rue and scorns.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

DARK TIMES

The dark times are here,
to put a test to us.
The grey clouds here and there,
to frighten and make a fuss.

Light that flashes and brightens,
and the spark hits the ground.
Struggle, glory, pride thus heightens,
which makes our world go round.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

THE GYPSY

A gypsy sings a ballad true,
out in the hot desert sands.
Of the past full of rue,
with joyous and happy bands.

He plucks the melancholy strings,
and the feelings flow on dunes.
Past is now alive as he sings,
touches the soul with his tunes.

His robe flutters like his mind,
as moon rises in the heavens high.
The song with his soul does bind,
as moon on the horizon passes by.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

IN RAIN

Those who cry in rain,
will know it for sure.
Eyes with tears of pain,
does not have a cure.

Those who with wet eyes,
in a mirror saw their face.
The sun will one day rise,
wash their tears with grace.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

JOURNEY

I think, I have been moving,
for centuries on these roads.
The road is not forgiving,
for sinners burdened with loads.

They who do not bend,
while on their goal's way.
Will surely get to the end,
though like a bough they sway.

In each step, I discard a sin,
made through follies of mind.
In memories, I have been,
visiting childhood as I unwind.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

CHILD LABOUR

She draws a pail of water,
her golden locks shine in sun.
No time for her kiddish loiter,
unlike others, she has none.

She does the chores daily,
while gets the usual scorn.
Though it is undeserving really,
as she works from night to morn.

She wipes and sweeps the floor,
with her innocent tender hands.
Bonded to work door to door,
as is the fate of miserable bands.

She neither laments nor wails,
as she does not play her pranks.
Till today fetches water in pails,
and remains neglected in all ranks.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

HONEY BEE

Oh! How I saw the bees,
dances and together sings.
Joy of being at ease,
is what happiness brings.

Those wings speak of joy,
and eyes the desire to share.
Caress like a prized toy,
and exist in harmony there.

Nectar of thousand flowers,
they together bring back home.
Team struggle they term as 'ours',
thus unending miles they roam.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

THE PAST

We often think of the past,
and lose the present so good.
Collecting betrayed memories - at last,
spoiling present in useless brood.

The past is a fountain dry,
of which no love springs forth.
The present is not to lament or cry,
which in future is of no worth.

The past like old stones,
crumble down to the earth.
Like the futile sobs and moans,
which die readily after birth.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

CHARACTER

Our dear ones does leave,
all in this one life alone.
We unveil what life give,
and remains of what we own.

Like the petals that unfurl,
one mask opens after another.
We do into ourselves curl,
and keep our souls closed rather.

Let new ideas water the soul,
and give birth to happy flowers.
That should be our life's goal,
so that we get what is ours.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

THE VENDOR BOY

Once in a village far away,
there lived a family of three.
The boy worked during day,
their house near a banyan tree.

He lived with his old mother,
and his sister very small.
As a kid lost his father,
his sister was not like rest of all.

The sun, rain, wind or moon,
didn’t at all stop the boy.
Happy days are nearby soon,
his dreamy eyes filled with joy.

Across roads, field and lake,
he gave news everywhere.
Even before people would wake,
found the news at doorstep there.

One day while he was late,
in hurry took paper from racks.
He unaware, crossed the rail gate,
and was running on the tracks.

Along the route he whistled,
from far, the train did the same.
While crossing, the rails rattled,
ending a life with unknown name.

Even today, the mother weeps,
whose girl is unlike rest of all.
In her heart, the hope she keeps,
till today with every tear fall...

Prasenjit©1997-2012

NAMELESS ECHOES

Thru' the passages so dark,
I kept on walking still.
One day to leave my mark,
on 'the time to come' - I feel.

When after many springs,
a youth laden with dreams.
In freshness of youth brings,
caskets of hope, with golden rims.

Maybe he would walk like me,
and in darkness trod the same.
Listen to echoes, that there be,
that I have left with no name.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

FINDING LOVE

Flowers that bloom today,
in future will not be here.
Bees that will hover in day,
hum and buzz beyond compare.

Coloured pollen on its legs,
roam from here to there.
As if nature for love begs,
asking for its soulful pair.


Prasenjit©1997-2012

A LESSON

Once a bird so free,

flew into an open cage.
It was dangling on a tree,
nearby a holy sage.

The bird stepped in,
looked thru' the iron ribs.
Saw the rays beamin',
spreading joy as one gives.

Out came the hermit's son,
rushing towards the cage.
Shut the lid and was gone,
playing a prank of his age.

The bird was filled with fear,
and tweets were thus shrill.
In agony, the boy came near,
and he lost all his thrill.

He knew it to be his own,
and caged it all day long.
He loved it dearly, unknown
the bird saw people throng.

With time it turned weak,
remembering the blue skies.
A playful love now meek,
sick and sore with silent cries.

"Set it free from bond",
said the hermit to his son.
The boy couldn't say beyond,
and eyes talked of forlon.

Through the open gate,
away flew the bird.
With no sign of soulmate,
his life became so hard.

Endless wait with time and age,
from dawn till dusk.
He waits beside the open cage,
with a question to ask.

"If it does not come back,
once again into your fold.
Love was false and lost track."
The sage to his son, thus told.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

SHE FLIES

Now she came sailing down,

with her wings spread out.
Through clouds that frown,
and icy flakes that sprout.

Gliding in the vast open,
out from wilderness free.
She sweeps now and then,
below clouds, above the tree.

Scent of the distant lands,
she carries the charm of it.
She placed herself on my hands,
with love in sight and no retreat.


Prasenjit©1997-2012

QUESTIONS

How can we ever hear,
the words of the lonely?
That arise from shy fear,
with beats of the heart only.

How can we ever see,
the music of deep silence?
That arise from depths, in me,
for which I waited, ages hence.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

ADVICE

A father said to his only son,

“Listen dear son, look at me,
One day, I will be dead and gone,
and a fine father you would be.
Not only a child’s dear father,
or a father for a dear son.
You will be his world rather,
before you leave to be gone.”

With a glint of pride in his eyes,

the son looked thru’ his heart.
Like phoenix be reborn and rise,
the father and the son did their part.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

THE NAKED KINGS

Days of wait, endless wait,

they hopefully keep up hope.
Centuries of endless sweat,
toil endlessly with no scope.

They who with zeal, worked on,
and got no return for it.
Will now move up and be gone,
the ‘naked kings’ will then retreat.


Prasenjit©1997-2012

THE GUITARIST

The guitarist plays his strings,

to fade loneliness and gloom.
Joy is what his melody brings,
and helps happiness to bloom.

Each eve he sings and plays,
to soften every lover’s heart.
He taps his feet and head sways,
and so he timely does his part.

The chairs, tables and lights,
with time always remain same.
Unhappy with occasional fights,
his marriage was no happy game.

New lovers, now with a new voice,
and his heart, no longer brave.
The helpless strings had no choice,
and he is now silent in his grave.


Prasenjit©1997-2012

PROTEST

Fire that turns ash from coal,
also does keep us warm.
Zeal that shows us the goal,
also does keep up the charm.

With ages, turned sand into stone,
and suppressed in lower layers.
The working men were left alone,
with despair and hopeless prayers.

As lava spurts, molten and hot,
with raging fury and force.
They will rise in protest and trot,
thus the rebels will take its course.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

WITH TIME

The flowers that wither away,
once bloomed in colours bright.
Now in breeze do not sway,
and does not feel alright.

Bees sat on it once,
sucking those nectar sweet.
Now no luck, now no chance,
now remains nothing to greet.

Prasenjit©1997-2012

MY VALENTINE

She told, she loves me so,
not with words that greet.
her eyes did the talking though,
those glances, an absolute treat!

Felt it like a ripple from far,
though distances apart maybe.
She heals the eluding scar,
such is my beloved for me!

Prasenjit©1997-2012

CONFUSIONS

Why is it an empty void,

our life do often seem?

Tussles we wanted to avoid,

and acts we hoped to redeem.

Why is it an endless wait,

we long to reach the end?

Most follow life like a bait,

and forget joy at each bend.

Our life, is a journey sweet,

and not a madding chase.

Be gleeful, like a bird's tweet,

and clear away the haze.

Prasenjit©1997-2012