LETTER  FROM  BHANJAVIHAR

Tell me dear who here

Is so complete, so full ?

Why are we so bound together

in words as well as in empty spaces

even in the absence of a fixed rule ?

When each one seems lost in a quest—

Like, like…

the wounds of the Earth in search

of a balm from rain;

hurtled winds in search of an intimate sojourn

between the scented breasts of a sky;

the mad  moon in search of  the  lover Sun

who promised to fulfill dreams with lots of fun ;

the river in quest of a warm embrace

at the mouth 

from the recently-grown- inattentive sea;

in the womb of the flower, the blinded bee;

and the day light, beneath the dark fragrant

locks of  the night

 in search of rainbow and long lost heat;

flow of blood and tears  

in search of the touch

of the saree soaked in longings;

half-burnt mind in search of the palm

of green leaves where  pores

write long histories of lost love;

and storms of the day bury heads

in the lap of jasmines of dewy night

like simple, harmless doves

shrinking deeper  into holes of big fright.

You appear tonight in moon beams rushing

thro’ hyphens and dashes between leaves

who are busy knotting the locks of the sweet night

with aeriel roots from excited boughs

flung to both sides to sway before to a sleep deep

they softly the limbs of this boby they douse.

Words crack and crumble

as waves of agony rise to merge miles

of poor population camping outside,

caught in the fury of ceaseless rain

and  hunger’s merciless pain.

Silence these impatient cries dear

with a simple, soft look from the corner of your eyes,

with a small curve at the edge of your lips

as the moon into a yawning , blue abyss slowly dies.

Comp. n copy right : saroj k. padhi

10/09/14

RIVERSIDE

Here the heaths incessantly hum your name,

reeds sing of the white blossoms in your dark braid

catching moon light in their palms unfolded

in a trance with eyes blindfolded,

knotting  the mad night to the aroma

from your arm-pits soaked in the sweat of a soft drizzle;

buds in half-lit bushes bloom into big desires

flaming stars to beam  with strange fires;

muddy waters in the marshes smear your growing image

across the vast moist moor merging into a jungle

where farmers collect spiny gourds from creepers

dangling from boughs  of big trees

as  snakes hiding there jump and play

and I move like a wisp of cloud

across your wet body in a desire to kiss

your  dark brows still holding on

to the streaks of a rainbow already gone.

Comp. n copy right : saroj k. padhi

09/09/14

SONG OF RIVER

I asked the river ‘Why this muddy water?’
She smiled and said ‘This is not just ‘muddy water,
It’s my melted heart in its million quiver
mixed with the slime of agony
from the walls of my sick lever’

With tears of soft dew in her  eyes
she hummed ahead to sing of moon beams--
in the heat of a rain-soaked Sky’s
passionate kiss

on the face of a vast 
layer of madly murky water,
overtaken by heart’s thousand desires,
sounding their suppressed aches
in the womb of night in endless murmurs.

I’m a wonder in the eyes of innocence
picking pearls of happiness 
from the drying, drooping petals of life;

on her thorny bank,
in the jungle of  cloudy night,
caught in the ceaseless battle for new life
every moment of my sturdy strife.

The river goes on singing 
my timorous life song 
to the heart of the night
seeking consent to each syllable
of the story told by sand and pebble
about love’s poor and pitiable plight.

*****

RISING FROM RUINS

Days’ and nights’ of fall have puffed

your body with fill of stale rain

letting  moisture of anxiety

explode in the air like some bio- bomb

scaring people of  some imminent collapses--

of walls or old roofs or of relationships

built on the base of selfish enjoyments.

Skeletons drop from the community’s cupboard

when girl children are treated as witches in womb;

words scripted in male hands

whip women into a strange silence;

and we, the timid folks  squirm

into a corner of our old  houses in fresh ruins

smelling of damp love where we huddle

 under  leaking polythene roof,

not knowing in our tiredness

 when love was thrust upon us

under the cruel  gaze of some ominous stars

until the blood-red moon revealed some pathetic  wounds

between   our injured and stained thighs

and a ghastly  horror in our estranged eyes.

Failing to hold my  fragile breath

in the midst of noises from the street

mocking my painful retreat,

I turn into a hibernating toad under the ruins

that think of my better days in the offing

therefore, of hope do I  so firmly sing.

Comp. n copy right:

Saroj k. padhi,06/09/14

PRETENSE

I pretend so successfully

to be without you

wherever I go

when actually the buds of your smiles

burst  silently into blossoms

in the bower of my  heart;

so invisible to the world

spreading the aroma

over miles of misty hearts

lost in spells of birds chanting

about beauty deceiving love.

You are so kind dear to have

flung  your priceless baby smile

into  a catch in the woods of my heart

lending  curves of bliss to star-flowers

in conference with flirty breezes

ambling  from  wet corners of night;

wherever I go

it’s only you that comes to  my sight !

COMP. N COPY RIGHT:

Saroj k. padhi07/09/14

A REQUEST

Why hesitate to accept
the past with its rainbow moment
of glowing happiness
that turned us
into prisoners of a strange sweetness?

You flaunt a prettier face now
with your jewels burning bright
against the half-lit forest of our past
with its dying hazy night.


Drops of passion swell
to flow into a stream
of dark misty delight
away from gaze of public,
for a union the souls cry
in the fold of this night.


The rose in your palm
trembles in an eager expectation
as pearls of desire
fall from dreamy lips,
come out of the outer skin
of the petals dear
in your usual pretty drips.


Do not for God’s sake
play false with own self
for the sake of false vanity
don’t lie to self or this other
in the name of empty purity !

BARABATI  FORT IN RUINS

Looking from here,

this  blind alley

seems to stagger out

into  unending chaos;

biting the ancient earth

under burden of dead leaves, cow-dung

fish-scales, flowers and filth;

blotches of spittle on its hardened  face

hide clots of blood under the surface.

Look how it claws at

senseless wheels of civilization

to assume a modern face;

with shameless cracks all over

lolls out its cancerous tongue

to nip the tips

of the dying aspirations of our day.

They say long back

the princess walked on

its bare subconscious layer

storming the waters

of a placid river

flaming the moon

to jealous cries

maddening the rose

to break head

in lovers’ half-shut drunken eyes;

drawing swords from flanks

to clank and spell

the tragedy of true love

in syllables of metallic sighs.

Tonight as I look at

the spectre of the princess’s hair

dangling from the moon’s bruised face

with clouds propping her aged body

see how her half-crazed smile

mocks our broken love;

in the whispers of these muted

stones of Barabati

sound but the suicidal wind’s

cry of a trampled dove;

and on the ebony of this sad night

the dead telephone wires

woo the splinters of beams

in a hot ecstasy of hasty love

only to end up in simmering screams.

The street’s darkening body

tries to hide the contours

of our sad love

under the blanket of a whorish night

when hard cash

decides hours for skin’s  over-valued fight

buying false hearts

on way to a short labyrinthine flight.

The street bleeds here

in the shadows of a late moonless night

in its wounds of betrayed breath

echoing in its secret cave

the hollow whispers of false men

wedded to the clang of coins

thrown by  hands aloof

to beggars at noon.

Dogs howl here

in the shadows of spiritless love,

cuckoos  repeat sad refrains

for still-born mangoes

that drop at the death-touch

of the last super cyclone

that killed many

and still kill many more

with its oft-repeated

sounds of fright

from the bay’s near shore.

Comp. n copy right:

Saroj k. padhi

01/09/14