Searching for Stars

I wrote this poem today morning in my mother tongue Assamese (Axomiya) and then translated to English. Original Axomiya poem is posted below the English translation.

Searching for stars,
Oblivious,
I was lost
In the expanse
Of the deep blue sky;


Unknown to me
Through the open window
You entered my heart,
And became the
Star of my sky;


If you ventured to come,
Why didn’t
Close the window
Behind you;
Who knew that
The twinkling star
Would burn so hot;


Today I am searching
For a little
Moon light,
To sooth my
Scorched heart,
Burnt by agony of loss;


Window to my heart
Is closed shut now,
I don’t search for stars
In the expanse
Of the deep blue sky
Anymore.

তৰাৰ সন্ধানত

মইতো আপোন পাহৰা হৈ
বিলীন হৈ গৈছিলো‍ঁ
নীলিম গগণত,
তৰাৰ সন্ধানত;
অজানিতে মোৰ
খোলা খিড়িকীৰে
হৃদয় আকাশত
কৰিলা প্ৰবেশ,
মোৰ কলিজাৰ
তৰা হৈ;
আহিছিলাই যদি
নিদিলা কিয়
বন্ধ কৰি
খিড়িকীখন,
কোনে জানিছিল
তিৰেবিৰাই থকা তৰাটিৰ,
উত্তাপ হ’ব ইমান তীব্ৰ,
আজি বিচাৰি ফুৰিছোঁ মই
এধানি জোনাক,
হেৰাই যোৱাৰ বেদনাত
জ্বলি পুৰি চাৰখাৰ হৈ যোৱা
হৃদয়ত
প্ৰলেপ দিবলৈ;
নকৰোঁ আৰু ম‌ই
তৰাৰ সন্ধান
অসীম নীলিমত,
বন্ধ কৰি থলো মোৰ
হৃদয়ৰ জপনাখন।

In search of the Unknown

gaze fixed on the stars,
a heart lost to the roses,
mind roaming the
realms of the unknown,
I take flight.

the light has shone,
alas, long gone,
darkness all around,
all illusion,
I seek the unknown.

what the heart felt,
the mind perceived,
eyes seek in vain,
try to comprehend,
all encompassing unknown.

from subconscious
to consciousness,
I soar,
my senses feel,
merge into the unknown.

The genie

I was sure I had bottled up
The genie,
and closed the lid shut tight,
Wary of being granted my wishes,
but always with a twist,
I promised myself I shall not ask.

Oh, how foolish was I,
she escapes every night,
the astral apparition,
comes dancing riding the clouds,
moonlight streaming from her hair,
dew drops dangling from her eye lashes,
lips soft like rose petals,
fingers like a painter’s soft brush,
she caresses.

Her breath like a soft breeze,
scented celestial, sensuous,
Softly I moan and try to embrace her,
to hold her tight to my chest,
my body burning with desire.

Gently she wiggles out and coos in my ears,
how dare you bottle up your heart,
and keep me away,
As I lament
another wasted night.

Where Words Live

beware ye all who enter here,
words lie around here,
not to soothe thy heart.


here desires are stocked,
and hunger reigns,
quench your thirst at leisure,
when the liquor flows.


open thy mind,
let the exhilaration course
through thy veins,
feel the exquisite pain,
and see thy heart bleed.


immerse thee in the beauty
but beware of the thorns,
thou will be challenged,
may sometimes be titillated,
words may sometimes bite,
but they will not curse,
they will prick, and they may poke,
but they will never incite.


violence is abhorred here,
and love dispensed freely,
so take what you like,
who knows what tomorrow brings,
the glaciers recede,
and the river dies.

Silicon Valley

in the valley of heart’s delight,
quality of life on the demise,
homelessness on the rise,
we keep shut our eyes,
as if everything is working fine,
we go on with our lives.
blessed by nature in abundance,
we take everything for granted.
reward success with stock options,
and measure success in terms of
square feet of our homes,
and latest models of cars in the driveways.
we discuss about vacation homes while many go without,
consumption is king for the haves,
for the have nots street is one pay check away.
as we go merrily through our day,
the heart, from the valley of heart’s delight
crumbles and turns to dust.
alas, in time the silicon also will slip away.

Moonbeams’ walk

Wrote this poem today morning and then translated to my mother tongue Assamese (Axomiya). Posting them in the same sequence here.

Have you seen
the moonbeams walk?
sometimes they
light your paths,
sometimes they
cast shadows,
sometimes they fill
your heart with joy,
sometimes they make
it bleed raw,
sometimes they get lost
in the glitter of city lights.
but when the moonbeams
walk into your heart,
keep it safe,
because on the darkest night
of your life,
you will need the moonbeams
to navigate,
and light your path
with fireflies.

জোনাকৰ খোজ

দেখিছানে কেতিয়াবা
জোনাকে তোমাৰ লগত
কৰা বিচৰণ?
কেতিয়াবা আলোকিত
কৰি তোমাৰ পথ,
কেতিয়াবা ছাঁয়াৰ বোলেৰে
আকে পট,
কেতিয়াবা আনন্দৰে
উজলাই হিয়া,
কেতিয়াবা হৃদয় কৰে
বিষাদে ভৰা,
আৰু কেতিয়াবা জোনাক
হেৰাই যায় চহৰৰ
ৰঙচঙীয়া সন্ধিয়াত।
কিন্তু কেতিয়াবা জোনাক
যদি সোমাই তোমাৰ অন্তৰত,
সাঁচি থবা আলফুলকৈ,
জীৱনৰ ঘনঘোৰ
অন্ধকাৰ দিনটোত,
উজলাব তোমাৰ পথ,
জোনাকী পৰুৱা হৈ।

Time Not A Healer: A set of Haiku

Gently flows the creek

Time flies like arrow forward

Lonely lover waits

*****

Meandering trail

Rushing creek sings lullabies

Jilted lover cried

******

Summer heat rises

Languorous mid-day slumbers

Wounded heart drips slow

******

Creek just a trickle

Time marches on relentless

Bleeding heart searches

******

Dry creek lost it’s way

Cruel time not a healer

Lover’s broken heart

Wild Jasmine : A Ghazal

Couple of days back I posted a poem in Assamese (Axomiya) in my Facebook timeline ” খৰিকাজাইঃ এটি অসমীয়া গজল” with a brief forward. My daughter tried to do a Facebook translation of the piece and the result, to say the least, was hilarious. Suffice is to say that if it was permissible to sue for loss in translation, then it would have been OK to do that for murdering the language. It is our fault that though my kids understand Assamese and can speak, at least the oldest and the youngest,they can’t write or read the language. So it is for their benefit that I translated the piece along with the brief forward.

I like to listen to ghazals. To tell the truth, as I don’t understand many Urdu words, sometimes I miss out in understanding the real meaning of many ghazals. I still listen. Whether correct or not, I do hum the tunes in the bathroom. Sometimes while working in the kitchen, I do whistle over the ridicules of my better half. As per her, there is no one in the world who is a worse off-tune singer than me. Oh well, I am not aspiring to be a Jagjit Singh*. Anyway, till about four years ago this was my only relationship with ghazal. About four years ago, on my blog I read an English ghazal written by my fellow blogger, Jane Dougherty( Jane Dougherty Writes ) whose blog I follow. I had no inkling that ghazals were also written in English. In short, it was through Jane that I made my entry to the world of writing ghazals. I first started writing in English and then translating to Assamese and now I write sometimes in both language. I do not have any formal training in writing ghazals and so traditionalists may say that my writings are not ghazals at all. Well, I have not stopped humming even though my better half insists that I sing off tune, so why stop writing even if someone says it is not traditional. I am not dreaming about becoming a Ghalib.
The original Assamese ghazal was written a couple of days back.

Wild Jasmine : A Ghazal

Opened the window, wafted in with the breeze your fragrance,
Memories of a rosebud of spring bygone with your fragrance.

Remember the parched earth caressed by the first rain, that subtle sweet fragrance,
Scented wild jasmines bathed by the rain smelled of your fragrance.

Wind is blowing strong scattering the books on the table all around,
Shrivelled petals of wild jasmine inside the open pages, I smell your fragrance.

Closed the book gently, lest the jasmine blew away
Futile attempt, heart filled with jasmines saturated with your fragrance.

I shut the window or the storm may cleanse my heart,
How shall I live a lonely life if wild jasmines lose your fragrance?

You are long gone, address unknown, do not know where you are now,
Poet’s heart is empty and like a madman searching in jasmines your fragrance.

July 24, 2020
San Jose, CA


*Jagjit Singh, the “King of Ghazals” was an Indian ghazal singer who passed away in 2011