An Ode to My Mother / মৰমৰ মা

This is "Poetry on Canvas Experiment". The water color painting, Ma aru Moi (Mom and me) is by Tirtha Bharadwaj (www.pencilandcanvas.blogspot.in) and the poem is written by me. 

A humid, horrid day in July arrived only once in your bright life.

On that day, marching sound of the students burnt our home street.

And, crowd of dark clouds cried from a revolt-spit sky.

Under the shadow of your soul, I salvaged my freedom struggle. 

I heard you cry, I heard you in pain, but, you held on.

Ah! What a confused world dawned for me.

Albeit, thank you, ma for your gift, life!

You are beautiful and you got married at eighteen.

You've always been ahead of your age enlightening our family.

Your wisdom is brighter and firmer than the bourgeoisie "morality".

As I was growing, you were, often, worried of my dissents.

You told me that I got this from a society in flames.

But, your compassion and relentless love make me who I am.

Thank you, ma for enduring me!

Many years have passed by; I haven’t seen you, ma!

I miss your exaggerated concerns as if I am still a child,

and your working hard from dawn to dusk to crown a smile;

Your stories of neighbors and others, filled with gossips.

I miss your mellifluous voice that, often, tunes me to a rainbow. 

Do the hues still curve over the promised land of Palestine? 
And, over the sighs of a million Somalia?

Now, I am afraid if I have become a machine running after; 

I wish I knew. 
Thank you, ma for bringing me up!

..........................................................................

মৰমৰ মা

নলবাৰীৰ জনপঠত অসম আন্দোলনৰ ধ্বনি,

“জয় আই অসম,

জয় আই অসম ৷”

ক’লা ডাৱৰৰ চিঞঁৰ আৰু

সদ্য পুতৃহীনা মাতৃৰ কান্দোনত একাকাৰ বতাহ ।

মোৰ স্বাধীনতাৰ যুদ্ব চলিছিল তোমাৰ গৰ্ভত ।

তোমাৰ ষ্পন্দনত আছিল আগ্নেয়গিৰিৰ লাভা ।

অৱশেষত গ্ৰীষ্মৰ এনিশা মই স্বাধীনতা ঘোঁষণা কৰিছিলো ।

মা, তুমি মোৰ জীৱনৰ বিদ্ৰোহী কবি ।

যৌৱন ঘাট নৌপাওতেই তোমাৰ বিয়া হল ।

তথাপি তোমাৰ জ্ঞানেই মোক দিশ প্ৰদৰ্শন কৰিলে-

বুৰ্জোৱা আধিপত্য আৰু সামন্তবাদী তেজপীয়াবোৰৰ বিৰুদ্ধে ৷

শৈশৱৰে পৰা মই আছিলো সংগ্ৰামী ফিৰিঙতি ৷

তুমি কৈছিলা,“তই আজিৰ সমাজৰ প্ৰতিধ্বনি,

এই আশীৰ্বাদ সাৱধানে ব্যৱহাৰ কৰিবি ।”

তুমিয়ে মোক মানুহ কৰিলা, মা ৷

ক’ত বেলি লহিয়ালে. ক’ত মাঘ বিহুৰ মেজি জ্বলিল,

কিন্তু মই অ’ত বছৰে তোমক দেখা নাই, মা ৷

তোমাৰ হাঁহি এচিকতা লাগি থকা

পাৰৰ মাংস আৰু জহা চাউলৰ ভাত খাবলৈ মন যায়,

আৰু মন যায় শইকীয়ানীহঁতৰ বদনাম শুনিব ৷

তুমিতো জানাই- মই কেৱল দৌৰিয়ে আছো ৷

আৰু পাহৰি গৈছো-

পেলেইষ্টাইনত ৰামধেনুৰ অৱসান;

ছোমালিয়াত দুৰ্ভীক্ষ শিশুৰ কৰাল লগা চকুলো ৷

মা, তোমাৰ পৰাই জীৱন শুনিম বাৰু ৷

Happy Birthday To You/ শুভ জন্মদিন

Today is your birthday, a festival of your glory and guilt.

A few years ago tonight, we walked down the Milky Way.
Then, we sat on a bench in a low lit Manhattan park.
A candle on the chocolate cake was gleaming helplessly.
Summer wind dissolved the flame before you could; Ah!
You wanted to rest your head on my laps, and,
I was under a spell of those light green eyes.
I moved close to your heart, pink was the color of your; Ah!
My fingers ran through your hair and you talked softly,
"what if we won't be together, love of my life?"
That night was your birthday.
Two months later, you left love for a journey unknown.

Today is your birthday, a festival of your glory and guilt.

There is still a part of you, waiting for my wishes,
for the life you shared with me was brief but bright.
Yet, the wound you inflicted is still glimmering beneath.
And, my pride is too big to wish you happiness.
You are, most likely, married with "love of your life", every love!
Your little boy or girl is pouring hope to your burdened past.
Do you remember your promise of a beautiful angel? Don't you?
When you gaze at the blue beaches or the white mountains,
do you miss our kisses and our touch, seldom restrained?
We will never be together and I will never sing for you,
"happy birthday to you."
.....................................................................

শুভ জন্মদিন

আজি জন্মদিন, তোমাৰ পাপ-পূণ্যৰ শোভাযাত্ৰা ।
দুবছৰ হ’ল, তোমাৰ প্ৰেমত পৰা ৷
ফৰিংফুটা জোনাকৰ তলত আমি আছিলো উত্তাল ঢৌ ৷
মনত আছেনে তোমাৰ,
কেকত গুজিথোৱা ম’মডালৰ অস্তিত্বৰ যুদ্ধ?
মাজনিশা তাৰ মৃত্যু, গ্ৰীষ্মৰ নিষ্ঠুৰ বতাহত ৷
তুমি মোৰ উস্মতাত বিলিন হৈ যাব বিচাৰিছিলা,
আৰু কৈছিলা, “অসীমত হেৰাই যাওঁ ব’লা ৷”
মই মদিৰা পান কৰিছিলো;
আঃ৷ কিযে উন্মাদ চকু তোমাৰ ৷
আঙুঁলিবোৰে তৰা গুঠিছিল সুগন্ধি চুলিত ৷
দুমাহ পিছত, হেৰাই গৈছিলা তুমি
অসীমত
অকলে ৷

আজি জন্মদিন, তোমাৰ পাপ-পূণ্যৰ শোভাযাত্ৰা ৷
তুমি ব্যাকুল হৈ আছা ছাগে,
ভাবিছা, মৰম বাকি দিম মই তোমাৰ হৃদয়ত,
কবিতা লিখিম, 
নহলে তুমি কিনি দিয়া চোলাতো পিন্ধিম ৷
কিন্তু, তুমি আজি প্ৰেমৰ এলান্ধু মাত্ৰ
আৰু ক্ষত-বিক্ষত নিশাবোৰৰ ভগ্নাৱশেষ ৷
হয়তো নতুনকৈ প্ৰেমত পৰিছা তুমি-
এবাৰ নহয় বাৰে-বাৰে পৰিছা ৷
মাতৃত্বই বোধহয় তোমাক মহিসয়ী কৰিছে ৷
আৰু লাহে লাহে পাহৰি গৈছা,
আমাৰ ভালপোৱাৰ চিৎকাৰবোৰ ৷

মেঘাছন্ন পাহাৰ আৰু নীলা সাগৰৰ সংগমত
মই এতিয়াও কেৱল তোমাকেই সোঁৱৰো ৷
কিন্তু কেতিয়াও উলাহত চিঞঁৰি নুঠো,
“শুভ জন্মদিন৷”

Finally, It Is Raining/ উন্মুক্ত বৰষা

A photography-poetry project called "Finally, It Is Raining" is completed in a day after a burst of frenzy photography and writing. This project won the first place pair and best original poem in a poetry-photography contest in celebration of Utah's Water Week May 5-11, 2013. The amazing photography is by Vijay Varma Indukuri, a young photographer from Kansas State University.

Ah! What a benevolent mélange of a spring morning!

when craving earth meets water, its eternal darling.

Rousing sounds bring life to our earth endearing.

Rain pearls dazzle on the crimson horizon yearning.

Now, the sun adorns a veil of dark clouds drifting over a river.

It’s been months since the fertile sky brought so much water!

The river below has grown in a flash of lush;

as the river flows, sights, smells and sounds gush.

A few glittering away is the home of my sweetheart.

She must have been joy-struck by the renewed mother earth.

The bridge over boundless water will take me to her;

and, we will listen to the symphony of nature’s laughter.

Rain will wash away our weary months that were less keen,

just by watching those trees transformed into dark green.

Then, we will run hastily to the big rock by the riverside.

It may be under water by now; but anyway, we will ride.

We will swim from the crimson side defying revitalized river.

As we go under, some fish and turtle will dreamily loiter!

(Photography by Vijay Varma Indukuri)

http://thesponge.eng.utah.edu/issues
.................................................................

The Assamese version of the above poem is my first Assamese poem in ten years.

উন্মুক্ত বৰষা

কিযে মায়া এই বসন্তৰ পুৱাবেলা!

তৃষাতুৰ ধৰণী নীৰতৃপ্ত আজি।

জাক জাক শব্দত জীৱন্ত জননী আপোন।

ছোৱাচোন, হেঙুলীয়া দিগবলয়ত কিদৰে বৰষা জিলিকিছে।

বেলি, এতিয়া, নদীৰ ওপৰত ওপঙি থকা ক'লা ডাৱৰত লুকাইছে।

শুনিছো, উৰ্বৰ আকাশত আৰ্তনাদৰ বন্যা!

তলৰ নদীখনো কোবাল গতিত বাঢ়িব ধৰিছে;

কিযে দৃশ্য, গোন্ধ আৰু শব্দৰ শোভাযাত্ৰা।

কিছু চিকমিকনিৰ সিপাৰে, মোৰ প্ৰেয়সীৰ ঘৰ।

এই অবাৰ্চীন আকাশ-বতাহে তাইক ৰাঙলী কৰি তুলিছে চাগে।

অন্তহিন জলৰাশিৰ ওপৰৰ সাঁকোইদি মই তাইৰ ওছৰলৈ যাম,

আমি নিসৰ্গৰ হাঁহিৰ সমলয় শুনিম।

যোৱা কেইমাহৰ বিচ্ছেদৰ বেদনা বৰষাত বিধৌত হব,

সদ্য-সেউজীয়া পল্লৱীত আপোনপাহৰা হম আমি;

নৈৰ কাষৰ প্রস্তৰ খন্ডলৈ দৌৰি যাম।

এতিয়া কিজানি সি পানীৰ প্রস্ত মাত্ৰ৷ 

তথাপি,আমি তাক চুই চাম।

পানীৰ ধল নেওছি, 

আমি হেঙুলীয়া দিগবলয়লৈ সাঁতুৰিম।

গভীৰত হয়তো, আমাৰ সপোনৰ সমদল বান্ধিব!

It's Midnight in Salt Lake City

A deer transforms into a flying monster;
then, it flies and it flies over the vain mountains,
chasing me to the side of an odorous lake.
I am exhausted; I am decaying.
Haunted by hideous dream, I wake up.
It's midnight in Salt Lake City.

Last night, I plotted to violate.
After harrowing battle with agony of inertia,
horror fell upon me; betrayed.
I was the vicious, libidinous demon,
who permeated through my own core.
I found myself on the edge of darkness,
sweat, semen and saliva, wrapped.

Two nights ago, my mom was crying
by the side of terminally ill dad.
He did not even remember her.
What a conspiracy of debilitating brain!
I was an invalid watching the dance of trauma.
Mom, your tears left my eyes dry.

I cannot sleep now, I would rather be awake.
And, celebrate every fossil of my love's murmur.
My love, a heartless whore!
She would enjoy my morbid metamorphosis,
and paint every wound with color, pale red.
She would drink to my torture in these endless nights.

A Temple and Its Kids

Mama told me that uncle built a temple

on the west bank of a river evil;

There, I see half-naked kids play all day.
They struggle to keep their pants on waist bones.
Beside them, stray dogs hang out with shameless moans.

Mama told me that people were happy
and they found peace amid light and lily.
There, I see half-naked kids play all day.
Far and wide, villagers walk for pilgrimage
in wrinkled clothes and skin; what a nature's pillage!

A rumor is circulating that wishes are done,

if they offer their withered hearts open.
There, I see half-naked kids play all day.
Mothers complain about price of onions and rice.
Then, they pour more oil in dimming light to entice.

I Spit On You, Bitch!

United States of America, 2014

One in five of every one of those young women 
who is dropped off for that first day of school,
before they finish school, will be assaulted 
in her college years.
                              Joe Biden, Vice President, US

I play it nice first.
She gives me her trust
and I know how to break her spirit.
I take her out for a date night.
At midnight, I add a few drugs in sangria. 
She asks me to take her home.
I become a demon and she is my slave.
Spit on you, bitch!

Swat Valley, Pakistan, 2012

I want every girl, every child to be educated.
                                            Malala Yousafzai

I proudly declare fatwa against women's education;
neither can they leave their homes alone.
How dare a fifteen years old dishonor my diktat?
Your brain-washing others deserve torturous demise.
We need to clean you up and your schools.
We need to bring back the will of Allah.
We shoot you; if you survive, we will burn you.
Spit on you, bitch! 

New Delhi, India, 2012

They are dented and painted women
chasing two minutes of fame, giving interviews on TV.
                 Abhijit Mukherjee, Son of the President of India

I prey on young girls at late night,
waiting inside a SUV or a bus, driving in the city light.
My friends and I glorify her relentlessly till dawn.
Then, we throw her conquered body by the roadside,
where filth of civilization flourishes.
We will celebrate our culture tonight.
Spit on you, bitch!

Tahrir Square, Egypt, 2011

Women who join protests are asking to get raped.
                  Ahmed Mahmoud Abdulla, Egyptian Salafi Preacher

As Arab spring hits Cairo,
I see more and more women marching and shouting in unison,
"the people wants to bring down the regime."
My blood boils over the smells of tear gas,
I grope her in the dark corner of revolution.
I force her to naked; next, I dance over her body.
Women, you are just slaves.
Spit on you, bitch!        

Galway, Ireland, 2012

Before I formed you in the womb I knew you,
before you were born I set you apart;
I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.
                                              Jeremiah 1:5

Wipe off those tears.
What have you said?
You will die? You better die.
Damn you for asking for abortion.
I am the state that protects the sanctity of life.
I am the caretaker of the unborn at your cost.
As if those tears will save you.
Spit on you, bitch!

Wish You Were Here

Rows of sunflowers and spaces between them-
wide as much as my vision reaches.
How I adore those smiling faces with a little bend!
Blue sky, started to fill with blood red
and a flock of birds flies close to this meadow;
makes some pattern and then, breaks it.
I start to follow and distract again.
Homeward festive or thrill of unknown?
May be an unknown land of ever joy and calm.
Its getting more and more crimson now.
Soon, this imagery will leave me.
Only a flicker of light will remain;
and some musings will linger.
Now, I wish, I wish and I wish
you were here!