Saturday, August 26, 2017

THE RUINS

The palaces lie shattered,
torn in memory and fame.
Power, glory all that mattered,
hidden in cries despair and shame.

The guards would stand all along,
heat, rain, hunger or even cold.
Night and day watching the furlong,
like a statue, brave and bold.

The women in their core chambers,
had to make a world of their own.
Glowing in the light of the embers,
were their desire, love they have known.

In whispers, murmurs, moans and sobs,
they lived till eternal darkness bind.
While the glorious kings did rob,
unborn thoughts that lived in their mind.


Prasenjit©1997-2017

A ROCK

I am just a simple rock,
lying on the endless shore.
Millions of drops together flock,
and lash upon me with galore.

Centuries on end the waves mock,
as they fall and foam on me.
They couldn't on my heart knock,
how high the power of waves maybe.

Millions of grains of sand on whom I hold,
through immemorial times and ages.
Have bonded in silence, utterly bold,
against waves which pound like savages.

I have held my head high,
thru' the waves that crash on me.
Yet silently the sands, I feel with a sigh,
have hold on, and that is how it will be.


Prasenjit©1997-2017

OUR LIFE

Up at the heavens a raging storm,
and higher above a serene calm.
The blood boils like nature's norm,
just below the still palm.

It matters not how high the swell,
how dark and deep are the seas.
Fight the odds, do your part well,
even the tide will turn as you please.

Into the light we come with a scroll,
and fill it with food, help and needs.
As time flies into darkness we roll,
with happiness, smile and good deeds.


Prasenjit©1997-2017

Friday, August 25, 2017

CLOUDS TO THE SEA

From the cloud as it falls,
and runs down the valley.
Heavenly drops to all enthralls,
moving through ravines and gully.

The light dances on the water,
now here and then there.
With whisper, murmur and chatter,
the angelic drops shine everywhere.

The plains across it flourishes,
quenching the farmer's needs.
Every fern and weed it nourishes,
keeping alive the farmer that feeds.

From being child to youth and old,
it slows down its joyous pace.
Journey from heavens, a story told,
it meets its sea, ending the race.


Prasenjit©1997-2017

A GRAIN AND A DROP

Tiny drops, tiny drops,
falling gently on the crops.
Tiny drops, tiny drops,
you are so sweet to me!

Tiny grain, tiny grain,
don't worry, I'll come again.
Tiny grain, tiny grain,
you are like a child to me!

Tiny drops, lovely drops,
you shower softly on me.
Tiny grain, tiny grain,
I'm your mother and always will be!


Prasenjit©1997-2017

TIME SPEAKS NOW

There are ripples and there is a wave,
which one among them will we choose.
Frightful are many and there is a brave,
which every age upon us has let loose.

Through the ages I have walked and seen,
frightful, weeping eyes and a bowed head.
Savages, barbarians and people who are mean,
tortured, maimed and soaked the ground in red.

The ripples have rippled through the ages,
while I have seen few high waves.
I lament the silence of innocents and sages,
while there is reign of devils and knaves.

Ripples like silence faded away in vain,
I witnessed the cowards becoming slaves.
Like a fiery rebel it soothes the pain,
I am glad to have seen such high waves.

We will choose wave over a ripple,
that will slowly turn fortune's wheel.
Once slaves; Bravely turn into people,
the 'Devil' before 'Time' will surely kneel.


Prasenjit©1997-2017

AS I SEE

The air is misty, the clouds are grey,
hope it pleasantly showers, one may pray.
The earth is soft, the smell is warm,
gladly so, it has not lost its charm.

Mosses and stones together in harmony lives,
a lesson for humans that nature gives.
Some stones do roll as nature's sway,
not having moss but shining all the way.


Prasenjit©1997-2017

IT ALWAYS HAPPENS

As the golden glow in heavens rise,
bringing new hope for the day.
Each new moment, a new surprise,
will let things happen as they may.

Birds leave their nests and fly sure,
to feed their young and the others.
The spirited light to them does lure,
while the rest not at all bothers.


A grasshopper springs on a blade,
of grass while slips the golden dew.
Oh! What a vision on shiny glade,
dreamt by many, seen by the few.

The snails crawl on the soft earth,
with warmth on the brown shells.
Feeling sheltered in warm hearth,
in its coiled home it happily dwells.

Prasenjit©1997-2017