Book Seven:

Mellow Tones

DC Chambial
Published by
USA: PublishAmerica, 2009


Poetry serves as therapeutic in its nature to the poet who feels and carries the burden of his creations in his mind vis-a-vis his milieu. He seeks a synthesis between his imagination and the world in which he lives. Various socio-politico-cultural changes steadily taking place cannot escape his discerning eye and he, like an eagle, is keen to notice them minutely and meticulously and shape his thoughts drenched in these transformations for the benefit of posterity

What these poems are is best known only to the readers/critics, who happen to be the true judge of any work of art. The artist/poet unloads his burden of imagination and passes it very carefully and cautiously on to the generations to come and seeks to live with them.

The artist’s efforts bear fruit if these are taken note of and that becomes his highest reward in the real sense. With this notion, I am offering these figments of my fancy to the learned readers and critics for their true evaluation. Let me wind up with a couplet from Alexander Pope :

‘Tis with our judgements as our watches, none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.

DC Chambial


Indo-Anglian literature is an inquisitive native wave, an expression of the true and creative genius of the Indians. Indians have written – are writing – in English for reaching out one another and with the outside world, for achieving self-expression artistically, using English, if necessary, or necessarily, in an Indian way. But there are peculiarities of Indian life and experience and speech that don’t easily admit of translation into English terms. Indian English is partly conditioned by Indian family of languages, varied socio-cultural milieu and speech habits in different linguistic areas.

Mellow Tones by D C Chambial is a collection of poems where the poet treats the subjective thoughts and his soaring imagination with depth and thoroughness that only a seasoned expert can command. One of the most important theme and sub themes of Chambial is a quest for ‘self’. Chambial’s poetry is a true tool for him to be in touch with his real self, to be in commune with it, to observe it in the way of an intimate reader. There is a striking web of personal quest for identity, commitment and harmony in life that exist in the villages in the lap of the Himalayas, Himachal Pradesh, which enrich Chambial’s poetic lines. Poems like, ‘The Truth’ and ‘Sun and Shade’ record the poet’s metaphysical bend of subjectivity that is rare and strange.

Images and symbols make the reader alert, insinuate him to track the poet’s thought and derive pleasure from that. It is a basic human nature that when one gets something genuinely artistic after hard-work, one feels greater sense of joy and satisfaction than what one gets when everything comes easily. Nature symbols go down in the hill poet’s poetry as naturally as “leaves to a tree”. For Chambial, poetry is jejune without nature. In an interview with Nilanshu Agarwal, the poet says, “I live in the lap of nature and cannot estrange myself from it.” Chambial’s imagery is largely confined to the natural world in which he moves, though there are some castings-out for metaphors ranging from the topical and sociological issues like Tsunami and Earth quake.

The poet is always been optimistic in everything. Chambial is a distinct soul maker who celebrates the Himalaya tradition with fitting images and symbols of pain and pleasure of the Himalayan life. Change is the archetypal web of nature. “Old order changeth yielding place to new ….” Otherwise even good things of this physical and sensory world would of objectivity become sordid and monotonous. It is the change that keeps interest alive not only in art but also in life.

The memory of the woods, old values, folk traditions of the Himalaya and village cottages offered ‘sonorous song’ to his mind, and even affected him when he was not aware of the memory, influencing his deeds of kindness and love. He further credits the palpable memory of the scene with offering him access to that mental and spiritual state in which the burden of he world of experience is lightened, in which he prays to the ‘FLAME above’.

Chambial handles the sensitive issues like Mumbai terrorist attack with profound care and subtlety. The feeling of loneliness is palpable throughout the book. The poems are both introspective and reflective, and they are intertwined in an organic wholeness. He is primarily a poet seeking, sometimes in vain, other times unsuccessfully, a balance between an existential involvement with life and an intellectual quest for commitment.

The language of the poems is beguilingly striking for its simplicity and forthrightness; the poet is in no way concerned with ostentation. The syntax and idiom of Chambial in the poems of this anthology evoke a startling pulsation to the poetry critics. There is hardly any attempt to hide behind the jingle of mere words. The poet in him is perceptive of the deeper dimensions of being. He is instead concerned with speaking from the heart in a plainspoken manner.

JAYDEEP SARANGI                                                                       May 2009

[Jaydeep Sarangi: critic, literary editor, Bi-lingual Indian English poet and short story writer who is the Head of the Department of English, Seva Bharati Mahavidyalaya (Vidyasagar University), Kapgari: 721 505, Paschim Medinipur, W.B. (India). Dr Sarangi is the author of a number of significant publications including sixteen books on issues like Postcolonial Studies, Indian writing in English, Australian Literature and Linguistics and ELT and in reputed journals/magazines in India and abroad. He is a leading critic on Indian Poetry in English.]


1.Reflections on Nature and Life, 2. Seeds of the Kind, 3-7. Tsunami Disaster,  8. Fantasmagoria, 9. Sun and Dawn, 10. Life: An Episode, 11. Sacrifice, 12. Sun in Shade, 13. Eternal Truth, 14. A Song of Life, 15. How I Wish, 16. Man – An Amalgam, 17. Gumption, 18. Liver Ever 19. Let Us Learn ... 20. Life – II, 21. I Think, 22. Death, 23. Worried, 24. First Touch, 25. Song of Soul, 26. Mind, Age, Experience; 27. You Ask I Give, 28. Birth to Death. 29. Darkness and Light, 30. Leaf, 31. A Wish for a Poem, 32. Full Moon, 33. Ice-flowers, 34. A Butterfly, 35. Warm Sun ... 36. Cat and Dove, 37. Two Kyrielles (for Krishna Srinivas) 38. Death- II, 39. The Light-house, 40. Let Us–The People, 41. Safe Harbour, 42. Eternal Fate, 43. A Different Tale, 44. Life – A Recipe.



1. Reflections on Nature and Life

Sky overcast with clouds.
It has, and still …
Unheard, unseen.
The moisture on ground
Shows it has.
The heat of clime
Slowly and slowly melts
Like ice in the morning sun;
Steadily and steadily snow
Settles on hills,
Smoke in chimneys.

Cool simply slides
Down the mount
Into the valley
Across the plains
And down the dales.

Noon spent sleeping,
Afternoon at desk.

After the sun is gone
The cold, in the dark night,
Licks the legs,
A furry, downy cat.

The heart suffers shocks,
Nose on strike:
Crippled in love-hate
Life and strife, side by side.
What beauty beyond the yonder hill,
The far end of road beyond the sill!*


2. Seeds of the Kind

The bed’s been made,
Weeds removed,
Manure blended,
Seeds sown in sevens,
In rows half a score.

Curious to see
The seeds to sprout,
Heat and moisture
From sun ‘n’ dew enough.

This morn I saw
The sandy soil
Steadily stir
And tender bud
Peep out into the sun.

Then a host of them
Stirred like warriors in sleep
In perfect rhythm
Valiantly arrayed in field.

In my fancy I find
Green buds turn red,
Full of season’s hue.
Sparkle in morning dew.
In my little dream bed
Seeking seeds of the kind.*
(sent to B-i-M)

3 – 7. Tsunami Disaster
(Five Villanelles)

Yet my fancy hadn’t matured on Florence,#
The nature conspired at the bottom of sea,
Waves rushed in search of life ashore thence.

Waves rode whirlwind wings great distance;
The life on land, in sea hadn’t time to flee,
Yet my fancy hadn’t matured on Florence.

The heads around the globe sans credence:
All mirth was lost, fled, from in awe, glee.
Waves rushed in search of life ashore thence.

Tsunami waves trespassed, knew no fence,
The waves rose higher than the tallest tree.
Yet my fancy hadn’t matured on Florence.

From off the coast, flew they in frenzy,
Those heard and saw; froze the sights to see,
Waves rushed in search of life ashore thence.

Land teemed in carcasses, washed to the sea;
Young and old, fair and strong: waves sans difference.
Yet my fancy hadn’t matured on Florence.
Waves rushed in search of life ashore thence.

#Loss caused by the flood of river Arna in Nov. 1966 in Italy


The souls who survived the Tsunami shocks
Yet had to encounter more dreadful fate
Never knew before such fury of the rocks.

A terrible sagar-manthan: waves-n-rocks;
Nothing but death, disaster written intestate
The souls who survived the Tsunami shocks.

No power on Earth powered enough to block
The dance of death achieved in scale so great.
Never knew before such fury of  the rocks.

The land and air ripe with horrend’us horror
Not saved parent, child; not mate the mate.
The souls who survived the Tsunami shocks.

Death the eyes met as far as they’d flocks
All life lost in wink of an eye, all smoke,
Never knew before such fury of  the rocks.

No respite for any heard and flocks
Whether one dressed in napkin or cloak
The souls who survived the Tsunami shocks.
Never knew before such fury of  the rocks.


Life was lost, lost matter and the dreams gold.
Water washed away what’s fair and strong.
Young cried, cried old; death had all in his fold.

The flush so strong: none could against it hold;
Eyes frozen, tongues couldn’t talk for long.
Life was lost, lost matter and the dreams gold.

Air, earth, water plotted as one and sold
Death and loss; love and life left late a fold;
Young cried, cried old; death had all in his fold.

Air rumbled an oracle of death so cold;
Water rushed ahead of time to chime the gong.
Life was lost, lost matter and the dreams gold.

Those rushed to rescue, wondered where to plod.
Life lay littered: spread around breathless bold,
Young cried, cried old; death had all in his fold.

Life is dear, dear always the drapes of mould.
Ha! Ha! It was a tale never e’er told!
Life was lost, lost matter and the dreams gold.
Young cried, cried old; death had all in his fold.


Slowly, slowly life limped back to rhyme,
Helping hands budded forth from world wide,
Bread, clothes and home the dire need of the time.

Feeling hearts get to set disjointed time,
Travelled, to soothe the sighing, distance wide,
Slowly, slowly life limped back to rhyme.

Patient, plodding, plucky faced the rough rime,
Those who lived stroke of fate, nothing to hide,
Bread, clothes, home the dire need of the time.

Tried hard to take out thorn from heart and mind,
Hard did plod discordant note to avoid,
Slowly, slowly life limped back to rhyme.

Stunned eyes begin to brim with water brine,
Frozen hearts found cadence jolt; could not hide,
Bread, clothes, home the dire need of the time.

The waves and rocks in rage realized their crime,
Compassion, love not lost from hearts deep and wide,
Slowly, slowly life limped back to rhyme.
Bread, clothes, home the dire need of the time.

Tsunami spelled disaster for Asia South.
The monster stirred from his slumber
Down in the deeps of the silent sea.

The waves created awe all around
To demonstrate doom for the lives.
Tsunami spelled disaster for Asia South.

The brag-man was shown his place –
A helpless spec of dust flying around
Down in the deeps of the silent sea.

Down went trees tall, down, the domes high
Water broke into like the barbarians
Tsunami spelled disaster for Asia South.

Those whose breaths were not done
Struck to solitary tree afloat on the sea
Lost not the hope; lured not the life.

Nature never deserts those, faith that hold
Who approach her for compassion and love,
Things of old, though brave and bold, yet too cold;
Ask the ones who bore the brunt hitherto untold.

The century-old ghost of nineteen-o-five2
Woke up one dark, cold, tearing night;
Swung to next-door neighbour  in deep sleep:
‘Wake-up, wake-up! I’m to visit
Tonight!’ and Lo! The neighbour –
In his goodwill, without taxing brain,
Let not any moment go down the drain –
Spent full many hours and
Many rupees of hard earned money
Calling his relations, friends:
Warning them like a guarding angel;
Angel he was to those in sound sleep!
The phones rang far and wide in the dark of night,
The doors did bang; many an innocent baby
Stirred from their sleep and hurried
Into the open: the mercury already nose-dived,
The sky overcast with clouds dark;
Lightening ferociously flashed,
Clouds thundered to frighten the daughty hearts;
Young and old all shivered in the freezing chill
Awaited the Mother Earth to shiver, quake.
But, she did not: all turned out to be a hoax.

1The present poem is about the same kind of fear when rumours were rife in April 2005. People along with their children spent many rainy, cold nights in the open.
2The earthquake of April 1905, in Kangra district of Himachal Pradesh, that had killed thousands of people and destroyed property worth lakhs.


Sun in head:
Yearned to be one
With the wild
There in the woods;
All sprung
From the same soil,
Why this inequity?

Little time to vortex;
A sudden flash
In the cool, clear, placid pool.
An empire of
Deep dense darkness;
A spark of hope
Kindles in the unfazed mind –
A new dawn, a new hope.


10. LIFE : An Episode

A stone left its place on the hills,
Fell on the head of the one who below walked
Lost in his land on flowering fancy,
As though fate ordained hit his head:

To hit his head and dig a hole, did fly,
To make a fountain of blood from head sprout,
To send his senses soaring in the sky,
To search for berth beauteous, above the Earth.

Above the stunning Earth, in the hollow void
Freed from the Earth’s chains, cares and concern,
The breath wafted away into the void
In heaven awaiting its wonted turn.

Life - an episode so short, the Earth so lovely!
One knows little why the veil is drawn so early.



the devils of ego,
desire, and greed
on the altar of
humble humanity;

a Heaven rises,
like a phoenix,
from the fire of Hell
on the gasps of Earth.



This land –
the home of
Raman, Chandrashekhar, Ramanujam,
Bose  and Lala Hardyal
is yet no less
than a forest
full of intellectual flora and fauna;
ignorance and gloom of throne
(they roll in murky morass)
spells disaster for the spiritual leader
of yore.

Many a blossom 
rich in hue and aroma
when discarded and derided
in desperation
say good-bye to mother
and look for food
beyond the bound,
beyond the seas.

This land is rich and kind
but the lords
have made it stink
their shadow and smell
spoil the sheen.

The grass will be up
and fight the sickle
that seeks to shear
the tender heads,
the cloud obdurate
to veil the beam,
the dismal dark
that deprives detail
of sun and shine
of shade and line.



uSua fNUnfUr 'kkL+=kf.k] uSua ngfr ikod%A
upSua dysn;UR;kiks] u 'kks"k;fr ek:r%AA
 (The Gita % II, 23)

Some years hence
to go through the door,
some more couple of years
the door will open for exit
out of the beauties of the world.

The wheel goes on
up and down
like a merry-go-round.
The innings is over,
the part played on the stage.

Will it all be over
with exit?
What about the bird
that sits in the tree and sings;
the harper
who silently strikes the strings;
the charioteer
who, without heeding
for the sonorous sounds around,
without caring for
the rainbow beauties
that try to magnetize and delude,
goes on steering the wheels,
leads to the Beyond?

Beyond to Beyond –
Void to Void –
the Home of
all Truth,
all Beauty:
one strives to know,
one needs to know;
the rest
a mist;
all alike
at the dead of night,
at the prime of day.
I am! I am! I am!

TkkrL; fg /zkzqoks e`R;q --- 
This world – a short sojourn
to do good,
to look for
Satyam, Shivam, Sundram
(the True, the Good, the Beautiful –)
without being attached to
this or that
for, all:
you, he, and I
in HIM,
HE metamorphosizes into he,
he into HE;
an endless cycle.
Graciously gravid…
vk’p;Zor Ik’;fr df’pnsuek’Pk;Zor onfr rFkSo pkU;%A
When that moment
of leave-taking comes
becomes a tortoise
to enter the HOME
in full effulgence.



Life is a lovely fair
Enjoy its merry-go-rounds
With its varied colors
With its sonorous sounds.

Life is a beautiful flower
Let its sheen silently spread
Let its fragrance freely flow
To the horizons far ahead.

Life is a meandering river
Partake its rhythmic footfalls
Through the vales, through the dales
In the plains, down the ’falls.

Life is a sonorous song
Sing it as a natural air
To lilt the lily hearts
To stir the stony stares.

From door to door, life is a journey
Undertake it as a pious pilgrim
Offer love at the altar of man
Help the week and help the hungry.

Life is a tricky game
Play with passion, sans any chill
Falter not till the game is won
And until mounted up the hill.

Life is a deep and dark sea
Full of corals, full of pearls
Dive below and yourself see
An endless treasures there twirls.



How I wish your home
The spring of HEALTH & JOY
Full of Queen Sheba’s wealth,
Wisdom of King Solomon,
Full of the sun of Man’s ken,
Peace – the most loved dictum!



Angel anchors the heart
Man loves Man as Self;
Satan silently slithers in
Man loves not Man, Self.

Satan, the Archenemy,
When dared to dim
The kind and merciful, He
Dispelled ever the dark
With His stick stark.


17. Gumption

In the present play of fire and flame
Let us pray to the FLAME above
To light the flame of love
In our hearts and bid farewell
To the game of blood and swell
Not on hatred but gumption well.


Lived ever together,
like the banks of a river
side by side,
never oblivious
of each other’s floods and nudity,
in harmony
through the crystal clear water.

How come that blood
flows for water
and banks drift apart
leaving a deep chasm?

Will no fish
jump in water
and no ripple sing
to the wearied heart
in wait?


Let’s learn from rainbow
to spread colours
in the world
to make it colorful;

From a dew drop
to be humble, soft
and soothing to comfort
the sorrowful hearts;

From the river
to flow undeterred
and unyielding
to reach the goal ;

From the mountain
to be patient, serious, and staid
and stick to one point
to succeed in life.

20. LIFE – II

from door to door,
a wonderful experience,
no regrets whatsoever,
all mirthful moments –
tears of joy and sorrow;
no turning back
like the proverbial Time;
the flowing river rushing down the hills
sallying through the plains;
snow on the mountain:
cold yet lovely;
a tall tree waving furiously in storm:
horrible yet true and sublime;
a rainbow in sky
after the rain
that bestows life
and also disburses death.
Crimson to crimson
In the day’s journey.
Darkness envelops all,
To darkness we go back.



I think –
I’m a Tower
yet find myself
buried in the rubble
of the Tower.

A horrendous cry
escapes my lips
like the betaal
with one more question.

Vainly I try
to flow
like a swamp in the hope
of a new flood.



Death, not annihilator,
invigorates life to act;

rids life
of all sorrows, sufferings, shackles;

a boon
to the denizens of Earth;
even gods denied, yearn
and crave;

an end,
a guide, a beloved, a boon,
the best friend.
A state of mind!



Worried about my ice-flowers.

The sky is darkly clouded,
the wind wintry.

Flowers, famished patients,
find hard to turn sides,
open varied-hued lips to smile,
scatter joy around.

Worried –
they won’t smile
no gala of gaiety.



grand-child in arms,
in the kitchen-garden
and beyond to show her
the mango plant in bloom,
pluck a leaf,
place it in her little hand.

Happy with the first touch
with out-door life
she cries for more.
One more leaf in hand,
her joy knows no bounds –
smile spreads across the face
enough to make the world happy.

The world – a heaven
light gleams through the eyes,
flows down the doors of dusk …



I hope You’ll guide me now.
Through the yugas, You’ve shown;
Unknown sea I slide now
Boat  is broken, sails worn.

The oars lost in the storm
That blew on wide, wide sea.
To be with Light I long
From shore that signals me.

Many a river, sea
Have I sailed. Weight of years
On my shoulders sits heavy.
I seem to sink in fears.

The Light on shore, hopeful I look for dole.
My heart enfeebled, steadily seeks soul.



Man matures with graying of hair
and pines for helping the humanity
like the ripe Amla

Mind and experience of ripening years
not to be benefited lest humanity
should benefit for some short leap.

Mind is thrown out in consonance with the rule
laid down  like a used stone to roll down the hill
to the mill down there beyond the caves.



You ask I give

You ask I give

You ask I give

Between you and me
asking and giving .



Birth to death,
A space like a point
In the expanse of Eternity.

One enters with birth
From dark deeps;
Goes again into the dark deeps
With death.

Life, between two doors,
A beautiful flower
Like a lotus in a lake vast;
Fragrance and hue blend
To present a pointillism
Outside this dark deep
Wherein shines the ONE
Brighter than the Sun.


Darkness and Light –
Two spaces
Wherein we live.

Darkness –
Wider one
Wherefrom we come
To play our part on this stage;
Where we go
After the game is over.

Light –
The zone
Where we crave,
Love and lust,
Weep and laugh.

It’s Time
To lit fire for light,
To brighten darkness
Where we fear to tread.
That always hangs heavy
On consciousness.

Let the fear be left behind,
March into the Darkness
With Light dispelling
The demon of Darkness;
Our gaze fixed
At the serene, scintillating
All embracing Light.


30. LEAF

I am a leaf:
Budded forth,
Swayed in the hay day,
Burnt in hearth.
Wait for the wind
To be one
With my other BEING.



A wish for a poem
Where I stand now
About the colours,
The colours of the Sun
From the lap of Aurora.

The sun didn’t rise as usual.
The sky
Instead of light grey,
A thick grey,
Feigning black.

Chilly wind blows
From the Dhauladhar.
Birds out of nests
On daily errands.

Night-quiet step by step
Turns into life’s ado.

Dark to light
Life moves
Through amorous valleys,
Ditches of hate,
Searching His bliss!



A hungry child
saw full moon
in the sky,
crying asked mother:
That is Roti!
fetch it, please!

Mother knows –
Winter’s full moon
can’t satiate belly’s fire,
neither can it stop
the shivering cold.
She knows –
The night has to be lived
in this shivering cold;
empty stomach.
She knows –
this moon is a mirage
of Roti,
of sun-shine;
she knows
the truth.





How beautiful the ice-flowers!
Shine like gems in flower-beds,
Those pink and white – beauty towers.

How beautiful the ice-flowers!
Dear to blossom lovers
Those pink and white – beauty towers.*


34        A BUTTERFLY

Dark clouds above the mountain high
On the mount’s head shines sheeny snow
The Sun slowly slides down the sky.

Dark clouds above the mountain high
Like the hawks, dark and fast they fly
Silently swims a butterfly.
Dark clouds above the mountain high
The Sun slowly slides down the sky.


(A Kyrielle)

In the warm sun of soothing summer

After the chilly wind of winter
A bee begins to hum its beat
Spun on the wheel of music sweet.

My eyes wander far beyond
In search of cozy wind and sound
Over the hills, over the deep
Churned on the wheel of music sweet.


The hungry saw munches the wood.
How I wish to stop, if I could!
Flows this hour with eerie heat
Satiated on the wheel of music sweet.

Flowers laugh bright at my ennui
The joy is let out high of heart my
Sweet soul wishes to drown in this treat
Won on the wheel of music sweet.



A dove came down
from its perch to peck at seeds
scattered on the ground.

A cunning cat, sly as it is,
saw it pecking
unaware of the marauder around.

It pounced with shocking speed,
caught the dove in jaws
which fluttered wings in vain.

With the wink of an eye
the harmless dove was done to death,
happy the wily cat.

Hunger satiated,
licked the lips and whiskers,
vanished into the bushes.*


37. Two Kyrielles
in honour of

He was born on this land
To welcome the world with warm hand
Warm hand of friendship he extended
With childlike innocence, un-pretended.

In the East he blazed the fire
Of poetry and beyond the Tyre
Sailed around, joy un-ended
With childlike innocence un-pretended.

He crossed the countries, scaled heights
In search of serene Hyperion delights
In world’s religions, lands well complimented
With childlike innocence un-pretended.

Around the world he sailed,
Religions, seers of world he hailed.
Crossed the spatial spheres scented
With childlike innocence un-pretended.



Gone is the seer, gone is he
Gone into the rock’s lea
Gone to blaze the flame there
The peers with open heart welcome where.

Went he on his last voyage
Having kindled the hearts of his Age;
All of his poetic clan did stare
The peers with open heart welcome where.

He left behind the world forlorn
To wonder at his life so soon shorn;
In his life soft souls he did care
The peers with open heart welcome where.

The world is left to bewail
His laurels with moist eyes to hail.
Ah! Gone is he, gone beyond the blare
The peers with open heart welcome where.



Invigorates life
with an urge to excel.

Rids life
of sorrows and sufferings.

Boon to the denizens of Earth,
earnestly crave the natives of Heaven.

Boon for which
Tithonus craved without any avail.

Guide, beloved, boon, best friend  -
All in one.

Death is best of all
Redeemer of mundane misery and torment.



Full of sun
I longed
For shower.

Shower duped
For long.
When it did,
The sun had
Set in search
Of new sun.

Sun and shower
In chase since


What do you think?
Who do you deceive?

The synthetics,
even plastics and perfumes
won’t stand by you.

Accountant ever
Vigilant; book errorless.
He keeps an eye
on works and days.

His men ever ready
to carry out the command,
already on their errand
they enroute…

The sun has marched
horizon to horizon,
crimson to crimson.

Let your eye be on the Light-
House to cross the sea safely.


Let us, the people,
join hands and be one
against our oppressors and exploiters.

They call us their strength,
the power lies in their hands,
they call themselves humble servants of the masses,
they force us to bow to them.
Their joy soars to the seventh sky
seeing us genuflect before them.

Their weight and girth increase like the waxing moon;
our blood diminishes like the waning moon.

We pay the taxes
perks they enjoy just by raising hands,
whenever it is our turn,
committees are formed, commissions constituted for the dole
by the time that auspicious time comes
for the dole to be doled out
the very purpose seems defeated.

We work day and night
with full circle of the Earth round the Sun,
circle after circle,
the harvest they reap;
the trees we plant, the fruit they eat;
the fruits we pluck, the juice they drink:
their cheeks redden, our cheeks wane;
their princes enjoy the cake and ale, our lazaruses crave.

We are the ones who build palaces,
for resting our head we have no ground;
soft and silky clothes bedeck their bodies,
we cry for linen to shroud or bones.

We are the strength,
we are the means
of our land’s sky-high ideals and accomplishments;
these they claim as their achievements.
Shoed are we away
even when we dare to have a glance of our finished work;
they say the money’s their
we have no right to claim
even the sweat and blood we shed.

Even today, in this third millennium
of known human history
we have to plod and sweat, starve and shiver
without any reward for our sweat and blood.

Horrendous! Horrendous!

Let’s, the people, be one
and join hands
against all the oppressions and exploitations,
against all the kings and queens,
against all Temurs and Czars,
against all Hitlers and Napoleons
for our bread and butter.

Let us, let us, let us
join hands to show our might.



What those boats
emerging from the horizon;
where are they bound for?

What those hands
signaling in semaphore
above the mountain?

What mermaids
sing by what beauteous isles;
what warriors go past them?

Hands signal
the boats to cross the isles
to the harbour safe.



Eternal fate
awaits all.

The eyes that once
could see beyond the hill,
beyond the waters
lie shut and smothered.

Who knows
the next moment?
What lies buried
in the womb
of future –
unraveling, unveiling –
a mystery.



Past acquaintances
after a decade
or a score or two of years
give heavenly bliss
and glitter of the first meet.

The hiatus of time
like mist at noon.
Blood races through the veins,
Peeps through the faces.

Would that time had stilled!
Snow on head
furrows on face
tell a different tale.



Life is a recipe, a meet,
Let us savor it – sour or sweet.

Put it on the tongue of experience,
Press it against the palate.

It will taste to our taste
We'll like it like the most loved treat.

Nothing good, nothing bad,
Thinking makes it so.

Let us learn to laugh
In the prick of pin.

Find pleasure in our sorrow
Like the juice after the press.

Darkest night not without hope,
Bright day to guard up loins to cope.