Monday, February 21, 2022

A morning overcast 
With black clouds 
No nimbus! No rains!
Overwhelming moisture though
Locked up with agony-
Undefined agony!
And gradually the sky
Gets light blue- its eyes open and close
Its black tresses are being caressed 
Thrown back carelessly 
From the face 
Rays timidly peep in 
And gradually 
Make room for a bright day!
While I am with the news 
Of this morning and Crystal
Peeps in too!

Friday, February 18, 2022

Fagunahat Haiku 

1. 
Days go by the trains 
Of thoughts riding the winds of 
Change, trees meet and part 

2.
Branches, leaves come close
Embrace, unfold - go apart
Emotion in motion 

3.
Sign of novelty
Spring sings with greenness and growth
Colours in chorus 

4.
We come, stay, pay and 
Be the wings of solitude
Now welcome the change

5.
Colours in the air
Intoxicating outright 
Hearts beat with drumbeats

 
(Fagunahat फगुनहट = The wind that blows during the months of February and March heralding the onset of Spring)

Wednesday, February 16, 2022

The river
That we swam across
And the river 
That is now 
We are crossing
Have different islands
Of passions, ironies,
Independence and impediments
Those were the days of spring 
And today leaves have started falling
The river that was carrying the green 
On its waves 
The river now is strewn with 
Yellow and dark red leaves
And the dried shanks of bones 
They look young too 
Because they are floating and wet
And sparkling in the water
Of the setting sun!
Even today the birds perched
(The same young birds of the spring)
Are singing on these islands
Even today when the time is on the run!
We
Argue
For
A cause
(Amid false applause)
To appease
(For centuries)
A monster
That loved
To drink
Blood
Only blood
And your blindness-
Self-imposed blindness
Is there to please
That monster
You are unilaterally 
In love with 
You are an epitome 
Of self-destruction
Your wrong education 
Has bestowed on you!

I can see
All this
But helplessly I
Stand alone!

Tuesday, February 15, 2022

The river
That we swam across
And the river 
That is now 
We are crossing
Have different islands
Of passions, ironies,
Independence and impediments
Those were the days of spring 
And today leaves have started falling
The river that was carrying the green 
On its waves 
The river now is strewn with 
Yellow and dark red leaves
And the dried shanks of bones 
They look young too 
Because they are floating and wet
And sparkling in the water
Of the setting sun!
Even today the birds perched
(The same young birds of the spring)
Are singing on these islands
Even today when the time is on the run!
@akp 2019

Monday, February 14, 2022

Bewilderment
 
Puzzled at the non-completion
Of my various assignments:
Personal, social and academic
I felt that l was imperfect...

Last night I ran into
Fernando Pessoa in my dream,
Puzzled at my bewilderment
He quietly said:
How can you be perfect
In an imperfect world?

And both of us walked away
In search of truth
And Aspirin.

Saturday, February 12, 2022

My farewell letter to my colleagues, KSA, 2018

Dear colleagues,

At the very outset, I wish to thank you for your excellent team-work as a result of that I carried out my responsibilities as the in charge of the Department.  Kudos and respects to you all!

I cannot define my emotions at this moment by indulging in sadness, regret or self-pity as I have come to understand that circumstances bring about sudden irrevocable changes in some people’s lives.  I am one of them.

About more than a decade ago, Yemenia Airlines included one of my poems in its flight magazine in both Arabic and English, the following lines are from that poem and these lines, I think you would agree with me, underline my feelings stirred by the present situation without expressing regret or self-pity, but I cannot deny the feeling of sadness as a submerged undercurrent in it.

*Going is like a garden that looks up

To the sky after its full bloom,

An inevitable Everest of an end—

Buoyant, magnificent, rising,

Promising, now you

Carry the bounty with gloom,

In your bosom

Like pearls hidden in

The bottom of the sea,

Inside the shells, scintillating

Like thoughts

In your mind;

Like blood in

Your heart.

Parting and departing are the permanent laws of nature; as Rainer Maria Rilke has very rightly put,   “We live our lives, forever taking leave.”  What all we  “own” is “an Amethyst remembrance”; our cherished memories.

Today we move out more than before as this is an age of global migrations. We, the human beings,  are migratory mammals with memories and dreams, our memories make us live to tell the tale and our dreams make us move further.

And the other significant dimension of this geographical (outer) and personal (inner) stepping forward  is expressed beautifully by someone:

“Unless one says goodbye to what one loves, …one can expect a long wearing away of oneself and an eventual extinction.”  

Goodbye!

With my best regards,

Anil Kumar Prasad

*(Please visit the link for the complete poem: https://www.boloji.com/poem/13002/going-is-like-a-garden)      

Wednesday, February 9, 2022

Spring

In my dream
The yellow colour embraced you
Caressed you with green vermillion buds and flowers
Spread from the top to the bottom, of my name
Written on you in violet alphabets
That cursively creep around your softness
In May magnificence

 
That can be any moment
When your April touch beckons the blood to bloom
A desert flower, a wild rose on
The thousand thorns of wilderness
Surely not prompted by a man-made Valentine's day
That drowns love's dream in a ritual
Can't we paint the arrival of Spring
With a quiet brush?
 
With the hues of an unfulfilled dream?
Celebrating it again
And again on the canvas of Spring
 
 
Then, in its excitement
Of touching a soft leaf
Its footsteps will be heard
In the forsaken gardens of expectations.
 
 
Get ready with a quiet rush
You are the colour, the canvas and the brush.

Tuesday, February 8, 2022

Haiku

Flies buzzing around
Flowers bloom and fade away
Life goes eternal
In me she has drowned a young girl, and
In me an old woman
Rises towards her day after day, like a 
terrible fish. - Sylvia Plath

Sunday, February 6, 2022

Haiku

Silence speaks loudly
Heart is a river in spate
Boatman oars the song
Haiku

Eyes move up skyward
Bud’s mysteries unfold in
Destiny below

Friday, February 4, 2022

Haiku

Streams of consciousness
Reverse of passions and ideas
Past is a peacock

Monday, January 31, 2022

Cold wind 
Fog and invisibility 
Shopkeepers are sitting 
Around fire 
Chatting about farmers
He sells milk
The other one is a tailor 
The silent one is the guard 
Of my apartment building
He reads newspapers in the morning 
He is full of news 
But does not spread his views
Vomiting it on FB 
I am on my usual walk braving the cold wind
I do not understand their talk 
About the current state of affairs on the Sindhu border
My pet pulls me ahead
She is in a haste, it seems, 
To have a bark with the other 
Members of her species 
Wandering on the road ! 
I buy some provisions 
Crystal waits, looks at me, 
As if she does not like to stay at a place for a long time 
She loves moving ahead 
We go home finally 
We have no middle man dealing with us 
We understand each other
There is no politics between us -
Farmers are  no longer pampered by Premchand 
They are rich 
They come in the streets 
To control the fate of Governments
They help journalists shot to fame 
And the journalists are vying for
Veracity and Magsaysay
Washing their dirty linen in public 
In the late afternoon 
The Sun shines briefly and we go home early 
It is cold and windy, the streets are deserted and I saw some figures huddled on the pavement 
Next morning while I was on my usual walk I heard the Guard of my apartment 
   building saying to the tailor and the milk-booth owner who were sitting around the fire 
Since we attained independence the real farmers of the country became labourers 
And heaving a sigh at 
The babble of voices 
In the newspaper
He is fortunate that he has 
No idea of the kind of commotion that is going on 
On FB and Twitter,
While the great writers of the country promote their productions and drop a line or two on their  FB walls and enjoy the insane exchange of words , the world sleeps ignoring the farmer’s stir 
As a routine event
In a democracy! 

@anilprasad
01.02.2021

Thursday, January 20, 2022

ॐ स्वस्ति न इन्द्रो वृद्धश्रवाः।
    स्वस्ति नः पूषा विश्ववेदाः।
    स्वस्ति नस्तार्क्ष्यो अरिष्टनेमिः।
    स्वस्ति नो ब्रिहस्पतिर्दधातु ॥
    ॐ शान्तिः शान्तिः शान्तिः ॥

Monday, January 17, 2022

आदमी एक समय के बाद 
हर जगह अजनबी हो जाता है
अगर अपने समय को खोजता रहता है
जैसे मृग अपने सुगंध को अपने से इतर
समय को बनाना ही जीवन है शायद 
समय के साथ क़दम से क़दम मिलाकर चलना भी 
पानी के धार की तरह 
पत्थर की लकीरों से अलग 
एक मकान , एक गली , 
एक सड़क, एक चौराहा मित्रों 
और अपनो का साथ 
सब समय के साथ
शिलालेख की तरह नहीं पाए जाते 
राह चलते चलते 
स्मृतियाँ भी विलुप्त हो जाती हैं 
घने कुहासे में हल्की बारिश की फुहार की तरह 
आती जाती एक भींगती हुई बिल्ली
अंधेरी सड़क के किनारे बैठ जाती है 
जिसकी आँखे अचानक  कार की रोशनी में
चमकने लगती हैं 
जैसे एक जाने- अनजाने शहर की गली में 
सबसे मिलता जुलता और अलग भी 
उसका अजनबीपन चमक रहा है !
कैसे एक नए बसते हुए खेमे में 
चूहा उगते ही सूरज को 
कुतरने लगता है ?
कैसे मछली बच्चों को 
जन्मते ही मार देती है ?
कैसे एक औरत मुक्तकुन्तल हो 
पुतलियों के होठों से शोकगीत 
गा रही है ?
कैसे माटी में गड़ बनाया हुआ घर 
हवा में तैर तहा है ?
और कैसे मर्द अजनबीयों की तरह 
झाँक रहे है अंदर से 
देखने के लिए की अब 
शहर की गली में कब 
और क्या होनेवाला है 
जो गाँव से आए आदमी
को शहर में अजनबी 
बना देता है ?

@anilprasad

Thursday, January 13, 2022

Transversal

Transversal
From thousands of miles

Foods travel and reach and feed the rich

And  the  poor next door

Are starving, to see

This transversal   I hide

My face with shame

And indifference!

 

How can I blame

The game when I am a part of the same?

The flower and fruit of a mall culture!

 

My face dissipates

As a moon sits on it,

The moon with blemishes for centuries;

 

A moon as plain and simple and palatable;

A perfect geometric shape

As a tortilla!

Tuesday, January 11, 2022

Sparrows

Sparrows

Sweating since sunrise
He had been weeding out his kitchen garden,
Happy, it was clean, and nice and fragrant
And soothing damp after the soil was dug
And disturbed from its slug,
Furrows he made, “perfect, wonderful”, a woman said
Looking out from the kitchen window wiping
Her sweat from her forehead, with a fine smile
And disappeared, she was again
Busy with the daily chores, he guessed.
Variety is pleasing, still he believes and put seeds
Of carrot, corriander, pumpkin, okra and broad beans
And chillies of many varieties, sprinkled water on them.
After he had finished his job, he sat satiated
To see his work, gave him simple joy of living,                                                                            
To watch them grow, unheeded, tiny, green,
Fine flavour of a fruitful labour.
 
Today a variety of weeds
Has taken deep roots in his kitchen garden,
Their dropped leaves loiter around with
Wild wind, desperate, making him glum
And dumb he looks towards the empty window
Searching for a smile.
 
Sparrows do not repair to her room now.
They, it seems, accompanied her soul.
Their nests are empty,
Beside cobwebs.     

-Anil K Prasad

A Love Poem

(For my wife)

on        a 

journey                  away 

from you              to

a                 f a r                 a w a y

place            from               you 

i admire              your 

magpie-packing and 

insistence to see

the unforeseen                 you

saved me from shabbiness

of appearance 

and the fate forced me 

to face the reality

in that scholarly assemblage 

of Yu

where i travelled to be

better than 

myself to be 

face to face 
with my self

stripped of abundance

i have been used to

where 

you were 
within me:

the tranquil face 
of a Buddha 
in Dazu

--------------------------------------

Yu: the local name of Chongqing
Dazu: Dazu County (160 km to the west of Chongqing) in Sichuan Province in China famous for carved stone figures relating mainly to Buddhism.
-- Anil K Prasad

Monday, January 10, 2022

मुसलसल जलता है अलाव वक्त की राखों का

मुसलसल जलता है अलाव वक्त की राखों का
तालाब के किनारे, तुम आए थे,  

आम के पेड़ के नीचे भरी दुपहरी सायकल की घंटी बजाए थे

विदा लेने, तुम घर पर आए  थे l

 

जब तुम जा रहे थे पढ़ने, घर से दूर

दूसरे शहर में, शायद टाटानगर या कानपूर  

तार टूटा  मन में और एक तारा बहुत दूर l

 

फिर कोई  ख़बर नहीं, अपनी अपनी दुनिया की

कभी-कभी कोई ख़बर मिलती उड़ती उड़ती चिड़िया सी

मन आसमान  और चाह एक बेसिम्त  उड़ती चिड़िया थी l

 

वर्षों बाद, नीले  सागर किनारे हुई थी मुलाकात

दो तीन पल धूमते रहे साथ साथ

फिर उड़ चले थे हम दोनों अपनी संभावनाओं का पकड़े हाथ l

 

वर्षों बाद,  एक पक्षी आ बैठा पुरानी शाखों पर

सहरा के बीच सहारा है यादों की आँखों पर

मुसलसल जलता है अलाव वक्त  की राखों  पर l

 

अब नहीं है आम का पेड़ वहाँ, बस तिश्नगी है तालाब के पास

खण्डहर है, धर नहीं, फिर भी, आस-पास यादें हैं ख़ास,

राह चलता  एक राही रूक कर उनसे बुझाता अपनी प्यास l

Sunday, January 9, 2022

A day begins

A day begins
With a bowl of hope
We start with idea/s
We get up and move in and out 
The midday meal is nibbled at with worries
Of Sundown 
Lest the bowl should be empty at the time the Sun says good bye 
Donning in its vermilion glow
The hollow cheeks and bones 
Would be filled again with rays of hope and marrow 
It is not far - 
It is only tomorrow! 
10.01.2021
@anilprasad

तुम्हारा मौन

तुम्हारा मौन 
सागर समान
वर्षा के पूर्व 
चटकती धूप 
दु:ख की गठरी बांधें
हम सभी हैं मौन 
किसी गुफा में छुप 
लेकिन चाह  कर भी  
तोड़ नहीं पाते 
चलते जाते मन के पांव 
ठिठक ठिठक कर 
आओ निकल कर 
वर्षा  में , धूप में, हवा में 
पुछो सागर  से, धूप से, हवा से 
आत्मा के पत्तों को छूती
वर्षा की नन्हीं उँगलियों से 
ये तुम्हारा है कौन !
उंगलियाँ 
घीरे-घीरे सहमी हुई 
छू लेती हैं 
ढलती हुई शाम को
दूर से 
कितना स्नेहिल है 
स्पर्श!

Friday, January 7, 2022

Recollections (2): The Sahas of Patneshwari Bakery



Recollections (2): The Sahas of Patneshwari Bakery
January 6, 2015 at 10:52am

Day by day I float my paper boats one by one down the running stream.

In big black letters I write my name on them and the name of the village where I live.

I hope that someone in some strange land will find them and know who I am.

I load my little boats with shiuli flower from our garden,

and hope that these blooms of the dawn will be carried safely to land in the night.

I launch my paper boats and look up into the sky

and see the little clouds setting thee white bulging sails.

I know not what playmate of mine in the sky sends them down the air to race with my boats!

When night comes I bury my face in my arms

and dream that my paper boats float on and on under the midnight stars.

The fairies of sleep are sailing in them,

and the lading is their baskets full of dreams.

Tagore has been superbly successful in delving deep into the psychology of children. Every child has dreams and fears and the desire to be loved and appreciated. My childhood was spent in very happy surroundings. Though my mother, as a pivot of the extended family was very busy, had a unique way of reaching out to children, all the members of the family and even the outsiders. My grandfather was our constant companion. Right from the early morning to the time of going to bed. My father, a busy man, had a great love of reading. In the Lord’s room (‘Thakur Ghar’ a room for the deities and daily worship) he had his library: books of Indian and English literature, books of other kinds which my father loved to read: Welles Hangen’s After Nehru Who (1963), Gandhi’s Emissary (1967) by Sudhir Ghosh, Out of Dust (1944) by D. F. Karaka and a host other books with all the leading newspapers and magazines of that time: Illustrated Weekly of India, Reader’s Digest, Dinman, Dharmyug, Hindustan, Kadambini, Navneet and for us children: Chandamama, Parag, Nandan, Champak, Balak, Lot Pot etc. My parents were exceptionally generous and that’s why they did not stop us from taking from the hawker any children’s magazine we wanted to read.

Like every child I was eager to have friends and to share my fears and confusions of adolescent days. Whenever I look back I find that my journey has been a quest for a friend, a friend who I have never found (and sometimes found and lost), the complete friend, the one who is so trustworthy and devoted to you, the one who accepts you as you are. Later as my horizon broadened I found and realized that friendship as narrated in the works of fiction is a fiction. People in this world do what they want to do and very often they rationalize to prove themselves right. I grew up as a very aggressive child, ready to point out wrongs and to fight. An incident at the school with one of the teachers who was my father’s colleague changed my personality. After that I didn’t immediately react, I kept quiet. In other words, I grew wiser! Several times my colleagues blamed me that I should not have kept quiet. I kept quiet and did my duty as directed. My colleagues did not understand that one should follow work ethos by sacrificing our sense of right and wrong. We should not always be practical and logical.

There was a good friend as I was looking for in my grandfather, my parents, K.B’s mother, Chhota Dadu, Bada Dadu, and late Smt. Saraswati Devi of 61, Pataliputra Colony! What I meant by friend here is they were imbued with the immense capacity to connect with me. Their ability to share and care emotionally was superb! That’s why, K.B’s mother used to write letters to me when I was in the hostel, my father and Mrs. Saraswati Devi (who I called Ma) wrote letters to me regularly. After I got married and came to Patna with Jyotsana, my wife, we stayed at 61, Pataliputra colony before we flew to Mumbai on our way to Sana’a, Yemen. Ma was very affectionate towards Jyotsana and me. Even today whenever I remember my visits to seek her blessings, I still feel the heaven of her tiny palm over my head.

It is not that in today’s world when we are living in a post-literate society with recorded sounds (CDs, audio books), broadcast spoken word and music (radio), pictures (JPEG) and moving images(television, film, MPG, streaming video, video games, and in this virtual reality we have dearth of such people who will be able ’to connect.’ We have the advantage of the disappearance of geographical boundaries and a new dimension of interactions between time and technology. I have found people with such ‘transport of cordiality’ who are more than my own brothers and sisters from who, I feel, was separated in a crowded village fair and met miraculously again after so many years! We have so much to share with one another! And I also ruefully recall that there are some who were lost never to be found again!

At the age of seventeen I left my native place to do my B.A. in English at the L.S.College, Muzaffarpur. There I was introduced to Prof. Kamta Charan Shrivastav (known popularly as KCS) by Prof Dev Nath Sahay. After I completed my B.A (Hon’s) in English and went to see KCS; he told me to go to Patna University to do my M. A. I followed his advice and came to Patna. It was not easy though. This I will narrate sometime later.

Coming back to my stay at Patneshwari Bakery…..

Invariably, in the late Saturday afternoons Bada Dadu’s wife would come to the garden and near the coconut tree she would pray to Shani, the Saturn and would call us, me and my cousin Rajesh, to take the ‘prasad’: the holy basil leaf with the holy water of the Ganga river. Before she put the ‘prasad’ (offering of god) in our palms she would start reciting the couplet:

“Ashlen shoni boshlen khate

Prashad dilo hathey hathey !”

This amused both of us. Bada Dadu would be there with his ever smiling face. He was a handsome man in his early sixties, clad in immaculate spotless white dhoti-kurta with Vidyasagar slippers in his feet. Bada Dadu was a member of almost all the cultural societies of Patna. For the first time he took me to Nritya Kala Mandir to attend the live performance of the soulful Sitar of late Pandit Nikhil Banerjee.

During the Dussehra festival we used to go from Gandhi Maidan to Maruf Ganj, all the way walking, enjoying the bliss that was Patna once when such great personalities of classical dance, music and singing as Gopi Krishna, Birju Maharaj, Pandit Bhimsen Joshi, Girija Devi, Dr. N. Rajam, B. G. Jog, Ustad Bismillah Khan, Kishori Amonkar, Ustad Amjad Ali Khan, Sunanda Patnaik, Kishan Maharaj and many others would visit. One can understand the glory of the cultural richness of Patna from the following write-up by Ustad Amjad Ali Khan Saheb:

“I have been very fortunate to have received love in abundance from the people of Punjab and Bihar. Even though today their profile has become quite ‘Non Classical’, there was a time when both these states had a very musical profile. Back in the sixties, all the performing musicians and dancers of India use to be in Patna during the Durga Puja celebrations.” (http://www.sarod.com/week/oct_2008_week.html)

(To be continued)

Unknown Destinations

Hear pigeons cooing
Since early morning
I too got up startled, started 
Reading ‘Strange Pilgrims’,
Stories by Marquez-

All are abed except pigeons 
And I -
Like pigeons I 
Used to have regular flights
To unknown destinations- I 
Roamed, hovered, wandered,
Camped, packed and unpacked 
And returned to the nest
Again!

For how long?
I don’t know!

Thursday, January 6, 2022

अप्प दीपो भव:

अप्प दीपो भव:

गुरू और शिष्य के मध्य 
स्नेह और आदर परस्पर 
मिलते हैं प्रश्नों के रूप में 
कुंठाओं और बर्जनाओं से 
परे जिज्ञासा और विनम्रता से 
भरे शब्द शिष्य के -
विषय में गुरुत्व भरते हैं 
जीवन मूल्यों के क्षरण के 
इस काल में नई आशा का 
संचार करते हैं, एक बार फिर 
एक किरण दिखती है 
संघर्ष करती हुई अँधेरे से 
अँधेरे में प्रकाश की चाह में 
अंतत: श्रद्धा की ही होगी
विजय ज्ञान से उत्पन्न 
अहंकार पर सहजता का 
विश्वास का प्रज्ञा का 
गुरू एक शांत सरोवर 
शिष्य घाट पर बैठा
प्यासा धीरे धीरे बढ़ रहा 
जल की ओर, साधक 
साधना की ओर गहरे 
पैठने, अपना दीप 
स्वयं बनने, जलकर स्वयं !
@ anilprasad 2018