Timing Matters

I kept silent

To buy peace

I kept silent

To get my

Wants fulfilled

I kept silent

For safety and security

I kept silent

For homogeneity

Now silenced

Neither did I

Buy peace

Nor freedom

For perceived safety

Bartered freedom

Forgetting history

And the millions

Who paid the price

Of my silence

With their lives

Taking shelter

Behind God’s will

To justify silence

As the powerful

Cavorted

And now chained

I suffer

Feeding the ego

Of a narcissist

And sleeping with

A cobra

Exciting but deadly

Pound of flesh

Will be extracted

Foolish to think

God created the

Gas chambers

Time to remain silent

Long past

Timing matters

Flight of the caged bird

Open blue sky calls
Trimmed wings flutter, flight futile
Freedom a sad dream

Lush green forest lost
Berries, colorful, beckon 
Greed leads to bondage

Inside gilded cage
Slowly fading freedom dream  
Wings weakened, useless 

Sad songbird mimics
Nature’s music stifled harsh
Captor rejoices 

Wings spread one last time
Freedom calls, break the prison
Caged bird, dead, takes flight

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Featured image from Pixabay

Education

First published on http://www.fleetingmuse.wordpress.com on March 15, 2018

Existence mundane

Constant indoctrination

Where is freedom

From this exploitation

Education

Existence mundane

Constant indoctrination

Where is freedom

From this exploitation

Price of Lost Freedom

There is truth
Then there is absolute truth
In between is the murky world
Where science is harangued by charlatans
Evolution battles with creation
News gets bombarded by fake news
Power trumps common sense
And more often than not
Cream that rises to the top
Is nothing but scum that floats
Facts get tortured out of shape
Decency hides behind veils of political correctness
Courage gives way to party lines
Patriotism becomes a game
Humanity slaughtered at the altar of ambition
And somewhere the lies illude us all
When truth becomes the victim
Chaos and mayhem not far behind
Those who prefer to forget history
Will pay the price of lost freedom

Verandas Surrounded by Iron Grille

I grew up in a small town that was also the largest town in the state.  The town still had a rural feeling with everyone in a locality known to each other.  Houses were mainly single-storey with tin roofs or thatched roofs with a front veranda and bamboo fencing. The front verandas were ubiquitous and were places where neighbors gathered throughout the day.  It was a place for neighborhood information processing much before social media invasion. As the town grew changes started happening, at first slowly and then at a rapid pace.  First to go were the bamboo fencings, replaced by concrete walls and gates.  Single-storey houses gave way to concrete building. Of late many had handed over their lands to developers to make multi-storey flats or apartment buildings.  Influx of people from all around has transformed the sleepy little town into a mega city, with all the trappings and issues that crop up with unplanned development.  One of the victims of the rapid growth has been the loss of neighborhood feeling.  Whatever single family homes that may still be present in a redeveloped neighborhood tend to barricade themselves in within the confines of iron grilled locked doors for (perceived) security.  Those open, inviting verandas of yore are long gone, replaced by iron grilled entries.  In the poem below, I try to capture my feelings regarding the loss of a lifestyle that I grew up with.  I wrote the poem first in my mother tongue, Assamese, and then translated to English.  Presenting the English version here first followed by the original Assamese version.

Verandas Surrounded by Iron Grille

The small town
Is a mega city now
Burgeoning flow of humanity
Swept away old social bonds
Worshippers of individuality
We pushed society away
At our own peril, we
Bargained our freedom
For security
Once our homes
Adorned with
Open verandas in front
Inviting
Now those
Wrapped in iron grilles
Locked
Providing false sense of security
Verandas are no longer visible
From the roads any more
No one sits
On the verandas now
Locks on the grilles
Uninviting
Detering neighbors from dropping in
Do we know our
Neighbors any more
Helping hands during emergencies
Extended unselfishly
Wonder where they have gone
How will unknown neighbors know
When emergency strikes
Behind the locked grille doors
Prisoners of security
We have been condemned
To a life without parole
In a prison
We made
For our own

লোহাৰ জালিৰে আৱৰা বাৰাণ্ডাবোৰ

সৰু চহৰখন
মহানগৰ হল
অজস্ৰ জনতাৰ স্ৰোতত
ভাহি গল তাহানিৰ
সামাজিক বন্ধন
সমাজখন দূৰলৈ থেলি
গাইগুটীয়া আমি
নিৰাপত্তাবিহীন
ঘৰৰ সন্মুখৰ বাৰাণ্ডা বোৰ
লোহাৰ জালিৰে ঘেৰি
ভুৱা নিৰাপত্তা লওঁ আকোৱালি
মহানগৰীত আলিবাটৰ পৰা
আজি আৰু কাৰো
খোলা বাৰাণ্ডা নাযায় দেখা
সন্মুখৰ খোলা বাৰাণ্ডা
আজি লোহাৰ জালিৰে আৱৰা
তাত কোনো নবহে
প্ৰকাণ্ড তলা ওলমি থকা লোহাৰ জালিয়ে
ওচৰ চুবুৰীয়াক সোমাই আহিবলৈ
নজনায় আমন্ত্ৰণ
ওচৰ চুবুৰীয়া হল অচিনাকী
কোনো আকস্মিক বিপদত আজি
ওচৰ চুবুৰীয়া নাহে আগবাঢ়ি
লোহাৰ জালিৰ বন্ধ দুৱাৰৰ ভিতৰত
বিপদৰ খবৰ পাবই বা কেনেকৈ
নিৰাপত্তাৰ সন্ধানত মহানগৰীত
লোহাৰ জালিৰে আৱৰা বাৰাণ্ডাৰ
স্বনিৰ্মিত বন্দীশালত
আমি আজি
নিৰাপত্তাৰ কয়েদী
যাৱজ্জীৱন কাৰাদণ্ডৰে দণ্ডিত
কাৰাৰুদ্ধ

Cursed forever to a life wronged

‘Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam,
And Usna’s children died.’  – W.B. Yeats

Thou shalt bear the fruit of love
Thous shalt bear the fruit of passion
Thou shalt bear the fruit of lust
Thou shalt bear the fruit of the demon
Thou shalt bear the fruit of rape
Thou shalt bear the fruit of incest
Gave her the boon of motherhood
And the strength to bear the pain
Took away her freedom, freedom of choice
One that cursed her forever to a life wronged
Must be the One created by man

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This poem is in response to Jane Dougherty’s A Month (November) with Yeats Challenge day Nine

 

 

Alternate Facts

Accessible not affordable

What a Machiavellian choice

Affordable for those who have

Moon is accessible, travel affordable not

If one goes higher, let’s go lower

And hit below the belt

Respect women,sure, though won’t mind

Assaulting their privates

Freedom of speech do protects

Locker room talks

Boys will be boys, you know

Trickle down defies gravity

Wealth flows up, one percents make more

Balancing budget on the back of the next generation
Dynamic scoring is the name of the game

News not facts,  make it up as you go

Shouted loudly enough, fake will become facts

If our own tells a lie, does it matter

Challenged by media, deny it in twitter

Living in an alternate universe

Graduates of Goebbels University

Must be making the master propagandist proud

As Herr Goebbels withered bones turn in his grave

Jealous of his students’ fabulous skill

In presenting alternate facts

Weapons:Week Forty Six of My Fifty Two Weeks Journey with the Letter ” W”

Those who defends the freedom of possessing guns are fond of reminding people that guns don’t kill people, people do.  Really?  From mythological time to present, it is weapons that has been killing people.  In modern times, weapons are big business.  States are major players in selling arms and weapons.  Everywhere around the globe we can see the devastation and mayhems that’s been created by weapons.  Stockpiles of weapons of mass destruction  can wipe civilization as we know of few times over.  Just imagine if all the resources that are being spent on weapons would have been utilized on development programs, this world of ours would have been a paradise.  But because of proliferation of weapons, all around the globe we have warlike situations prevailing.

All throughout recorded history, wars fought in the name of religion resulted in deaths to millions.  Followers of religions that preach peace and love did not and do not hesitate to kill non believers in the name of religion.  If there would have been no weapons, we would not have seen such devastation.  All God’s creation have been given inherent weapons to defend and feed themselves but no weapons to kill unnecessarily.  We humans call ourselves to be God’s best creation.  God has not given us weapons to kill others.  Alas, we are given a brain that we misused to invent weapons to kill and dominate others.  If we really would have utilized our brains properly, we would have invented weapons to spread love and peace, not death and destruction.

It may be a wishful  thinking, but we can always hope.  Maybe one day we will see the light and will find mythological arrows of Cupid to spread universal love. With that hope in mind, on week forty six of my fifty two weeks journey with the letter “W”, I start my poem with the word “Weapons”.

Peace and love to all my dear readers in this season of joy.

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This post is in response to Write Anything Wednesday-Dec-14-2016 sponsored by Writerish Ramblings

Why I Write:Week Twenty Nine of My Fifty Two Weeks Journey with the Letter ” W”

Of late I have questioned myself why do I write. I have seen a few other bloggers asking similar question. I first started writing when I was in high school, in my ninth and tenth grades.  Then for long time, except writing class notes and exams and occasional letters ( yes, we used to write letters by hand) to family members, I did not write anything else. All those applications and resumes for job interviews do not count.  I did not even write a single letter to the editor of the local newspapers.  Oh, that other kind of letters that some of us used to write in fancy pink papers in their youth, I never had the good fortune to write any of those.

What motivated me to write after a long hiatus, I cannot exactly pin point. Most probably the urge was always there, dormant. Once I started, I am finding it difficult to stop.  Technology helped.  The ability to access WordPress and Evernote apps on mobile phones definitely helped. It still does not explain why do I write.  Certainly it is not for fame, nor for money.  I have no illusion that I am going to earn any from my writing. So why do I write?

I think writing gives me a freedom that I have not experienced before.  It has given me a freedom to express myself without shouting, without disturbing others.  Words and ideas that normally would have been fermenting inside now have a medium to express themselves freely.  Online blogger friends that I have made are icing on the cake. If my writing makes even one person smile a day, I feel myself fortunate. What more can I ask.

So for today, on week twenty nine of my fifty two weeks journey with the letter “W”, I dedicate my poem to “Writing”.  Dear readers, I hope you would be able to figure out from the poem why I write.

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This post is in response to Write Anything Wednesday-Aug-17-2016 sponsored by Writerish Ramblings