Flake of Flame

Today we Bengali celebrate Bhut Chaturdashi. It’s the Halloween for us.

This is the first part of a Trilogy.

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Bhige Pal/Drenched Moments

Barish main bheegi hawa chu gaya is shaam

Acha hi laga is thaka hua ankhonko, manko

Yaad aya kuch bhige hue yaaden achanak

Rokna chaha par pal kisike sunta nahi…

xx–

The rain drenched breeze passes me this evening

It feels good to the tired eye, soul

Few drenched memories crowd me suddenly

I want to stop them but bits never obey…

–xx–

Tried a Hindi poem first time here. Please comment and let me know your reviews.

Paper Boat

 

The paper boat sailing on the first monsoon rain.

The droplets, the wave by cars cannot sink it.

The water around it is dark with a stream of red.

 

The rain has started a few hours ago, after a cloudy morning

I was writing a poem, rather was trying to, when the storm rage.

The paper boat sailing on the first monsoon rain.

 

The poem of mine was a melancholic one reminiscing the childhood;

The words were dark, the paper was white, the color of the ink was red like–

The water around it is dark with a stream of red.

 

The raging storm topsy-turvy my room, banging the windows;

The pages of my diary got flipped landing on a scribbled one.

The paper boat sailing on the first monsoon rain.

 

It was a poem written by her in the red ink I was using.

I tore the page; read it and was going to hand-shred it but cannot.

The water around it is dark with a stream of red.

 

I look outside; my neighbor little boy sailing paper boat, his mother helping him.

I went down to the street forming a boat while ascending down the steps. Now–

The paper boat sailing on the first monsoon rain.

The water around it is dark with a stream of red.

–xx–

The poem is written in form of Villanelle. 



Daily Prompt: Paper

dVerse Poets Pub (06/23/2017

We Few…#13

The whisper of rain on struck road water,

The psithuriasm of neighbor trees

Bringing out so many words, so many thoughts.

A passing truck shook my bed, the siren of an ambulance

Torn apart the quietitude that the night holds…

Many memories coming out deepening the saudade…

We few finding loneliness in the solitary…

The uncomplete stories, poems sigh in the pages of diary…

Kolkata…let us fall asleep…let us be there where we want to…

Some distant land or our lovers lap or the lips that we had adore…

-x-