CUPID'S ARROW

They talk of cupid's arrow - of love
which seems to have missed its mark.
They have killed the white dove
and is now crawling in the dark.

They who talk of Nations big, and
squash the people they think small.
They who belong to the soulless band
stood on heaped bodies to appear tall.

They who dug diamonds from the pit
never saw sunshine for many ages.
Those beaten are now crawling bit by bit,
the Hon'ble now rests in history pages.

Prasenjit©1997-2021

SONS OF THE SOIL

With pride they brought the martyr
who traded his life for countrymen.
It did never to anyone occur,
how the widow would live in pain.

Flowers strewn all over, he laid still

the lifeless face still bore a smile.

His last moments - its hard to feel

his sacrifices made it worthwhile.

Both the mothers with thieir frozen looks

one of his son, the other of his own.

The sacrifices will be in their books,

while emotions on their faces haven't shone.

The son would never know his father

while both women with their eternal void.

The acts of bravery, the son 'd hear rather,

those who stayed would be of life devoid.

Wrapped in flag, salute and gunfire

together they stand in pride and tears.

Committed to flames on sacred pyre,

a brave soul who overcame all fears.

The widow forgotten, the son 'd grow up

to follow steps as a son of the soil.

They who drank full from life's cup,

a life to give, one more enemy's plan to foil.

Once lost her life, now maybe her lap,

one brave at borders, the other without a frown.

For generations they have filled the gap

and have adorned grief like gems on a crown.

Prasenjit©1997-2021

THE REBEL'S CALL

This is a call to all the commoners

to gather around truly as one.

Few fiery lines for the silent doers

who below wheels should already have won.

You who toiled and slaved in the sun

drenched the earth with blood and sweat,

take your rights now, halt your run

putting  stop to centuries of wait.

Push aside your yoke and stand

and hold the hand that has the whip.

Look eye to eye, join as a band

be a rebel - that is for you to keep.

Your drooping shoulders speak of shame,

you never had the sun on your face.

How could you live with no name?

Strengthen your spine, be up in grace.

If not taken what was always yours

all will be lost like rain on sea.

Do not let them close the doors,

as they fear unity between you and me.

All along you have been on your knees.

Get up now, make your stride.

Stop! Stop doing as they please,

Look up and regain your pride.

Prasenjit©1997-2021

MY MOTHER'S CLOSET

The closet that was long closed
nearly a decade to say so,
with parting of doors - it posed
with all her memories as I know.

Her handbags, her attire - neatly kept

after her departing from worldly ties.

The fragrance of her presence - I wept

reminded me how I believed in lies.

I opened her handbag to see

some memories and coins of the past.

Her 'being' that was around me

proved to be worthier at last.

Sadly, the memories linger on

in those who are still here to stay.

The bond of a mother and her son

is something one cannot weigh.

Her blanket with velvet frill

reminds me of the winter cold.

The warmth of the hug and thrill

and how I felt, remains untold.

Struggles, care, memories and tears

all locked up like a bounty so rare.

The highs and lows, the fights and fears

the peace I miss, one cannot compare.

 


Prasenjit©1997-2021