Déjà vu

Resting beneath

I see him often – a grey jerkin, blue shirt
Unshaven beard for a few days,
Worried – is he?
Economic landslides, crimes or poverty
World has enough worries, for say

While walking along the night
A woman stopped him,
“Do you have a spare pound?
Would you do business?
I want to~”
She asked; shivering in search of some warmth
He gave her a coin and ran away
Why didn’t he do business with her?
She was pretty-

He sometimes looks happy
Not shining happy,
But glowing from inside
Did he get that bonus he was waiting for?
Or, his sister got engaged
Wait – he had a sister?
A sister that rarely calls him
Or he calls her,
That’s not so sibling like

Sometimes he looks old
Youthful vigor, but old
Poignant eyes
Give it away, do they?
Age will take its toll
But not as nearly as sadness;
Would it?

He dances cheek to cheek
With his little princess
Her standing on a table,
Reaching his height;
Dancing to the beat
His eyes
Pensive of suffering women go through
Reflects clouds of fright
For his princess,
Who just dances to the beat-
Time will tell if those clouds will disperse.

I see him naked
Is that pride what he wears then
Abating allegiance-
He never speaks out,
Silence is how we commune
I see him on the rainy days mostly
Mild water clogging,
Oh! Yes – and I see him in the mirror too,

Tonight on Dversepoets Meeting the Bar, Brian wants us to write about character development in poetry. So here is my entry to the theme. Hope you like it. You can read all the great posts on this prompt here.

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Kings’ speech!


Do you know what failure can drive?
Potentially open a very wild side.

So! why not sink into sins of night?
And be a monarch who always lied?

People live on happiness and wage-
What about the moral principles saved?

Simple, don’t reconcile promises made
Smothered subjects are hardly a face!

Oh! you lost faith in the healing nurse?
My loyalty always live in the church.

End of rule might go wrong or worse!
Ah! people’s rule isn’t nourishing purse.

If you lose, there’s no coming back
Kingdom chooses the king, I tell you that.

This is a late entry to Dversepoets Meeting the bar prompt last week. I wrote this somewhere in my office laptop and missed it to post in time. However, I couldn’t resist myself from posting this late – because it was a great challenge for me to work upon. Read more on Tony’s post to know about the great history. We have to write a poem with the following set of rhymes:

drive, side, night, lied, wage, saved, made, face, nurse, church, worse, purse, back, that.

Here is my entry a modern day political satire.

Image Source: Chessonline

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Samuel has an interesting thought about prose poetry here – A prose poem is a piece that appears to be prose – with no line breaks or verses – but which reads as if it were poetry. Prose poetry pieces maintain poetic qualities and utilize poetic techniques – such as symbolism, imagery, alliteration, rhyme. Here, I write about my country, my nation – India and try to find some simple answers. I am sharing a video that I made sometime back – to go with my poem and probably give my readers an idea why I wrote this.

I have seen frost outside my window, sometimes rain for days, sometimes heat wave knocking on the glass. Sometimes a roaring ocean, sometimes a peaceful spring, sometimes the silence of forest or cacophonies of a city – I have seen it all.
Have you, now?
Yes – all you have to do is take a train.
A train – why?
A train will give you a feel of the real vastness of the nation – an ethereal network of people, a train will take you on – a journey among them – their lives, their language, their rituals, their contentment, their festivals and their predicament. Every tiny little trait that makes them individuals, that makes their world.
All that you can read in a book, can you not?
There is no one book that tells the entire story. It can’t. A book of life it would be – if one could ever write it. All we can do is read – at least part of it, as much as we can. Unless we know people, how can we stand up for them?
What are you after?
Truth – beauty – truth.
Isn’t truth ugly – Opulent and grandiose? Isn’t that a country where animus rules?
Nothing is ugly – aghast; sad – yes. Then a nation is people. It lives through us. If I can live a day making it a better place, then I live my destiny. If I live mine, am sure will inspire others to live theirs. If we all live up to our destiny, we leave a better tomorrow for all.
Wasn’t that the idea, always?

Photo Credits: Reetam Banerjee

* Floccinaucinihilipilification – Longest unchallenged non-technical word in English, stands for “The act or habit of describing or regarding something as unimportant”, in this case the importance of understanding people.

This post has been written as part of the WIN ’14 Activity at BlogAdda.

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The man in red coat and blue pants

I am sharing this poem to DVersePoets OpenLinkNight. where we have a new poet, Anthony, greeting us all. Following his suggestion, I wanted to write about some common objects in my bedroom. Once you read through, you will find how they are so special. Join OpenLinkNight to read some amazing poetry from poets all over the world here.


A red octopus
At peace with the duck that sings lullaby
Or a green tortoise,
A grey elephant
– Quite a colony together
Friendly neighborhood
They are

The ambulance, the white cooper
A man on a unicycle
Donald duck
Hide, jump crash into one other
The man lost a leg,
– The ambulance a wheel
Once a table clock, now
Lost its second hand

A lot of making and breaking
Tiny little fun
Balloon throwing
In a tiny red throne
– The queen takes up rein of her kingdom
A lot go into hiding,
Under bed, cupboard

I watch my child at play
And part of me
Sport a false moustache
And ride the unicycle in red coat and blue pants,
A white hair or two, underneath the hat
Age is a beautiful watch that never stops
– Yet going back in time is possible,
As a father, I like to believe.

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Tonight at dVersepoets Poetics, Mary wants us to write about two sides of the same coin. Please join to read some wonderful poetry from across the world.

Can we go there, brother?

A fine roof on your head, strong walls
When there is a storm,
Howling outside.

A soft blanket and fire
Warm, soothing
Beautiful snow,
At the window.

Good food on plate,
Waiting rose wine
In the glass,
Appetite – savour.

Take pleasure in life
Ignore the blatant signs –
Poverty, hunger, illiteracy, malnutrition
Are foul words, that
Live in a different world.

Enjoy freedom as long as you can,
Have-nots live
Beyond what you’re told
Are boundaries-

Sink into the wavy bed of luxury,
Whether to stand up for them
Or not
Is really a question,
How long we’ll pretend to be free.

During a photo walk, we took this snap within a narrow lane of Kolkata. Incidentally, this is Jorasanko, the birthplace of the great Indian poet, Rabindranath Tagore. I just couldn’t help mentioning it as a note.

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Where is my verse?


From Mondays PubTalk, Brian got me thinking – “We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race.” I asked myself – where is my verse? I didn’t have an answer. I searched for an answer for almost two days. The answer was hidden in the clue given on the same post. Now I am linking this poem to Dversepoets OpenLinkNight. You can read about all the other wonderful poetry from this link.

The bread I earn?
– Engineering
A noble profession? – yes
Pays bills, debts.

Conspiracy lives in my skin
Pays in a time of
Shrewdness, the king
Wins success, apt.

A gentle lover and father at home,
Has a tear at the corner of eyes
Easy for the mirror to miss
Yet, as real as morning dew.

Read about inequalities, in leisure
Fancy a revolution, sometimes
Dream about a perfect world, in a couch
Is not real enough.

Life of a bubble, in shell of mollusc
We live thousand verses everyday
Very few gets penned; We wear
As eternal, proud, tears of pearl

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