Thursday, April 28, 2016

Once more , plead i*

Once more, la amore,
At our garden,
As i find You,
Diva, angel of my eyes,
Once more, hereby
Plead i, come, la amore,
Once more, to my heart,
Where by thy awesome halo,
Have i dived deep, beyond what even
I once did seek, once more,
Love mine, stand Thou,
At that glass jar,
Where our Love has bloomed
In pinkish white rosy flowers,
Where i have left, eve,
For Thou, apple one,
Once more, come Mon dio,
Me You entwine,
By your limbs,
Your arms which leave,
Beauteous glossy aura,
Come, love mine,
Be with me, having to please
None, but only US,
Haven't we in sufferings passed
All our days, and all our nights
Have not we, made illusive,
Come , maid mine,
Don't be elusive,

For Thou, Canst you see,
La amore, set I,
That table,
Where my Self,
have I , left for eyes,
Thine,
Come, Rose,
Don't be elusive,
Like a morn
Come to my
Dreams, to my sleep.

(*Note: upon a painting, loosely based, done by V.Volegov.The painting is received as A Gift from a friend mine.)

The story of love as usual kind*

Our Love story was like the usual
Unusual kind,
(Can't recall now, who did make the proposal first, it could be Me,
Or it could be She,)

Like those we oft in reels do find,
A man risking all , guided by Fortitude
A babe finding him to be the one, who stood
Against all the things that came their way,
(Can't recall who made the move first,
Was it i, or she,
Can't recall now, but one there moved first, Definitely!)

And then times they had all to run away
By passion of rhymes and roses and songs,
By LOVE , drenched full, they ran along,

Through Meadows, hills, plains, sands,
They ran, along, they just ran,
(Who ran the fastest, not me for that to find,
In love , so deep, we two as keep,
Joined, probably the soft in me
And the hard in her,
Both ran really Together)
Like they were like two joined feathers
Afloat in the cool breeze of the evening
Of a beauteous Spring filled Summer.

(*Note: the picture attached is a photooped representation of two lines taken from a book, grammarly, owned by me.)

Finding limerick*

Finding the dumbness is nothing new
If one can, will and say,
Can find dumbness in many ways,
Like one once found it said
Printed published in one book made,
Grammarly, they have declared it cool
Scripted words in decrepit tool,
And then all went to the woods
To find where can or forever could
Find Beauty little in trees those stood
For years many and for many to come,
Through books we compose, compositions,
Paragraphs, bios, narratives light,
Scorched streets and halogens bright,
All happen in form of words,
Spread across some million yards.

(*Note: the photo of printed words is taken by me, out of a Grammar Book, later it is turned into a multimedia presentation, for the sake of Poesy, a different kind, popularly known as limerick)

Finding limerick*

Finding the dumbness is nothing new
If one can, will and say,
Can find dumbness in many ways,
Like one once found it said
Printed published in one book made,
Grammarly, they have declared it cool
Scripted words in decrepit tool,
And then all went to the woods
To find where can or forever could
Find Beauty little in trees those stood
For years many and for many to come,
Through books we compose, compositions,
Paragraphs, bios, narratives light,
Scorched streets and halogens bright,
All happen in form of words,
Spread across some million yards.

(*Note: the photo of printed words is taken by me, out of a Grammar Book, later it is turned into a multimedia presentation, for the sake of Poesy, a different kind, popularly known as limerick)

Sitting on the railing*

Sitting on the railing
And doing a strumming,
With the breeze cool blowin'
From those hills touching the clouds,
Sun peepin' out,
Is such a music ,
That i just think,
i will go nowhere,
I will, just do there a sittin'
And do a jammin'
Not thinkin'
Anything. (*Note: the sketch done by pencil is gifted to me by a friend mine.)

Whence You wear a sarong,*

Wearing a sarong,
Draping you like a song,
Whence You think of touching
Waters by feet Thine,
The after noon coming down
On your shoulders, arms,
Glittering like little specks
Of gold, Sandy how your soft legs be,
Our holidaying at the beach, by the sea,

Wearing a sarong,
Wrapping yourself, like a song,
Whence you put your feet,
Into waters cool, foaming around,
The after noon calming us,
At the resort, how we our idle times pass,
I looking at you, writing Feverish,
You by Beauty, on canvas painted figures
Whence by Venus, growing out of oyester shell,

Like a Diva true,
wonderous, 
spread,
like a bliss,
  catch my view,
My wandern lust,
So unleashed.

(*Note: based loosely on a painting as attached, done by V.Volegov.

The painting is gifted to me, by a friend mine.)

A Roman holidaying*

A Roman holidaying, *

Come love,
Let's go out
For a Roman holidaying,

What?

A Roman holidaying?

Yea, why not?

We have been there ,
Haven't we?

Flick?
Movies?

Nay,
The Greek and Roman gods,
Socrates talked about,

Are you Socrates?

Nah!
I am ,
Me,

And You Are,
You,

And we two
Make it,

Every day,
Don't we!

Yes, that we do,

Then?

Then what?

We create,
We talk Venus,
Artemis, Diana,
We talk Zeus,
Helen, Clytemnestra,
Don't we?

So?

So we are already in Rome,

Come,

Come love,
Let's do
Roman holidaying. 


{*Note : the painting attached was gifted to me by a friend,
This particular scribbling is akin to what many years ago, a Bengali poet did, in his most acclaimed work, Titled "Kothopokothon" ( The Conversation). The name of that poet is Shri.Purnendu Patri. I have earlier written quite a few on Purnendu Patri and his works, which amuse me. Translated some of his poems also.
This scribble should also be taken as a humble tribute to that great poet and artist.
Incidentally most of our epics and Epical writings, started with mere conversation.
Symposium of Socrates evolved through that.
Our Ramayana and Mahabharata, started with that. Our folk songs evovled out of conversations, kawali geets (songs) also Borne out of conversations.
This poem/scribble carries that conversational tone.
Incidentally, "Roman Holiday" is also one of my favourite romantic flicks. So it can be taken as a humble tribute to that classic as well.}

Ode to Socrates*

Ode to Socrates*

Thou hath left with us
Treasure such,
That we are still,
After few hundred years
Taking Thy copious notes,
And holding symposiums of our own,
Whilst, what a Pity,
It must have been
That Thou hath been made
To drink from the Cup
Hemlock, without any
Fault of Your Own.

(*Note : the picture attached is Taken/clicked by me from a book, depicting Socrates discussing with His Friends His ideas , perhaps, related to His findings concerning His quest for Truth)

At the shore, ashore*

At the shore, ashore*

Whence you go to the sea,
At the shore, whence you sit,
On the rocks, boulders, watching
How the waters come and go,
Guided by the sweeping wind
And the current beneath the flow,

i think, with you, my dreams come
Ashore, on the beach, also right there
Where the seaside hills stand aloof
Getting the breeze into their stone like hearts,
There, how my poems with colors burst,

There, diva, where Thou take a seat,
My love with Yours there, love,
How with Peace forever meet.

(*Note: loosely based on a painting attached as given to me, by a friend mine. Courtesy : V.Valegov, )

Yellow flower collage*

With the morning breaking out,
Collage , yellow,
How there like a golden flower sprouts. (*Note: the painting collage kind as attached,is done and archived by Sam Carlo, )

Billet doux*

What billet doux can one send,
To Thou, my neopoiltan maid,
whence You art become so,
Letters written, read and reread,

But as someone once said,
There can never be an end
To letters of Love, to be read,
And seeing You, reading one,

By the garden, sitting quite,
With the morning decorating
You, Isabel, so, glorious, so quiet,
By the morning's light, decked,

Is a blessing by itself, made,
And i, just read betwixt, lines
And alphabets, words deep, Unsaid,
To find what our Love can us take,

La amore, do i really write for you,
Or do you really paint and create,
Only for me, to live in Joys, to procreate,
Perhaps not, never it can be so,

For our Love is for the forever,
You buckets of colors, me a River,
You a pencil sketch, me coolest shiver,
You the shelter, a refuge, me an oak huge,

Still, how in our painted spread,
How we make a Holi Bed,
You read a billet doux, i in DNA
Get our poesy and Writings embedded.

{*Note: loosely based upon a painting as attached, done by Vincent Romero Redondo, Courtesy: WAAF series, Alex Artista, Musica Pittura e Dintorni.
#isabel : a fictional character created by me , (of a novella romantic about life, love and Origin of Species)}

As if edelweiss*

morning whence comes to my home,
Which is yours too,
Whence with hope we wake up from sleep
Which you do too,

I oft think of what song wilt thou bring,
For me, in the morning,

(What a fool am i,
To think of me ,my songs,)

But then, you being , what you are,
Love, You don't keep me on wait,
For at my garden gate,
how i find you,

As if to me greet,
Like edelweiss
Blooming, for me,
(And our sons and daughters,
Our sisters and brothers,)
Our family,

How i find you,
Now and then,
Time and again,

(Right there
At my garden gate,)

My dame,
My angel.

(*Note: the painting attached, upon which the poem/scribbling is loosely based,  was done by V.Volegov.)

Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Holding onto thy palms*

 Holding onto thy palms,
Hands , fingers Thine
Into mine, clasped,
Can make me go along
With you, to any place,
Any time, even if you
For some reason,
Away move fingers Thine,

I know, you wilt make a come
Back at me, for have not me
Told you that story of Our love
Taking not us, only, but all
For a Holy ride, across all lows
All blows, all ebbs and all tides.

(*Note: the painting attached is received from a friend mine as a Gift.)

To isabel*

O love mine,
Isabel Divine,
Whence you come to me,
Crossing perhaps seven seas,
Continents apart,
As we are still making a living,

From far thus away,
If Thou come,
And like a painted damsel,
If you under the day's sun
So stretch legs Thine,
As if taking a rest,

As if waking up, 

From a slumber deep,

Tell me,
How Canst i not sing for you,
Damsel mine,
My life, sole cue,

Finding you, thus,
In our garden as if ,
I,how , only in indolence
small fragments of Time pass,

Knowing you are,
My only Refuge
My only tears,
My only Recluse,

My only excuse
For living this useless,
So useless, life.

(*Note: the painting attached is gifted to me by a childhood friend mine)

At the sea, *

With the sun getting swept,
To the western sky, turning red,
How i find Thee, standing with the shine
On your shoulders, holding your straw hat,
By one hand , and looking to the east,

(Were you looking at me)

How I find Thee, at the sea
Waves soft, genteel, as they come lapping up,
Your white long skirt,
With intricate needle works at the fringe,
How by the sea you stand,
Breezy day it must be,

(Were you looking at me)

How I find Thee, at the sea.

(*Note: the painting attached, upon which the poem/scribbling based,  is done by an artist and Painter. The painting is gifted to me, by a friend mine.)

Waves Thine *

Whence the waves Thine
Make a swirl,
Foamy surf
I see how
Turn
Golden by
Light Thine.

(*Note: the photo attached is a gift from a friend mine, to me)

On bouquets, rosy and dame mine*

Finding you looking at those bouquets of Roses,
Sitting up close to them,
Looking at them
A painted, colored scene
That i always do bear
Deep into my heart,
Is so warming ,

But then, i sometimes think,
Which is more of BEAUTY,.
You Isabel, or those bouquets,

Really wonder i,
Looking at you
Painted scene,
Right in heart mine,
Which is more fragrant
You, isabel, or those roses,

But then,
As we are here,
For an eterni~tie,
And as you have given me
Such much of writes, poesy,
Paintings, music, violins,
Gituar strumming,
summerly springs,

I think Thou Art
Surpass all,
Bouquets of flowers rosy
Would have carried
No meaning,
This life itself would not
Have brought any thing,

Had nor You been there,
O my dame, my Isabel fair. (*Note: the painting attached is received by me from a friend mine, as a Gift.
#isabel: a fictional character created by me,)

Arriving at thy door*

Arriving at thy door
Is itself a walk to a bower,
Where you have made a garden
Of flowers , blooming, eternal,

Every season i find there blossoms,
Be it spring, summer, monsoon, autumn,
And I just there turn up somehow,
Guided by fragrance, only to bow,

Arriving at thy door,
Is itself a journey such
That i oft lose my self there
Catching the aromatic air,

Oft there i go,
If hurt i go there more
If happy i go there utmost,
There how i always get lost,

Arriving at thy door
Is with pleasure me gets filled,
Your picturesque Beauty,
Keep me there frozen, stilled,

Arriving at your gate
Is a wonderous pilgrimage
There I oft find me,
And Your Innocence, as mirrory image.

(*Note: the painting attached is done by An awesome Painter and artist Mar Chelle Piery, courtesy : Alex Artista, Musica Pittura e Dintorni.
The poem is just inspired by the painting, though it goes to another dimension,as can be made out, )

Ode to Leda*

How do i find Thou,
The Goddess of births,
Of Helena, Clytemnestra,
Polydeuces, Castor,
Four of Thy children ,
How Them i see,
Playing , near Thou feet,
And You, standing, angelic,
Taking kisses from
The Swan , Thy Love,
Whom Thou hath so playfully allowed,
To come near Thee,
To take You to His lighted scape,
Knowledge , so shiny,
That can invigorate all,
You and children Thine too,
As Leonard doth made You,
Before battles of Sparta , Athens,
Were waged, before Helen was abducted,
Before Battle of Troy, came,

O how, Leonard hath made You
To stand there, Deified,
Caressed by thy Love, Zeus like.

(*Note: loosely based upon a painting done by Leonardo da Vinci as attached,  similar to one done by Correggio;)

By the Fountain*

By the fountain*

By the fountain
Where we oft do meet,
Now and also then,
Where we have always
Kept our Love, like seeds
Of our births, our years
Of growth, our tears
Of happiness, being so much
In love, with one another,

By the fountain,
where we once found Venus,
marble sculpted,
Where we thought to plant
Our rosy things, embedded,

There , how one finds
You, my love,
Isabel, playing with waters,
Your hand how you run,
Through waters,
Creating ripples
In the pool,
And also in me,
To forever be,
In love with you
And your poesy. (*Note: the painting attached is received as A Gift from a friend mine,
#isabel : a character fictional created by me ,)

Whence isabel like thou doth turn up*

With the flowerpot,
By strings attached
To be put there
At the porch,
One spring summer morn,
Whence isabel like,
Mon amore,
You come out
Of the door,

And i standing quite near,
Just look at you,
Flower girl mine,
My love , my life,
My writes, my Beau,

I just look how
Simply by your presence,
Spring comes to me
With a buzzing sense,

Your hair tied to a bun,
Your Bosom kissed
By the morning sun,
How keeps me dazed,
With poesy of Love Thine,
So perpetually emblazed,

And with the flowers
How you come out,
To light up a day,
Where with Thy aroma,
I fall, like a leaf,
Taking thy fragrance ,
In the air, a whiff.

(*Note: the painting attached is received as a gift from a friend mine, upon which the poem/scribbling is based.

#isabel: a fictional character created by me, )

Thou art such a Fine Girl *

You are such a fine Girl
Brandie, i wonder,
Seeing you sitting
On the Wooden plank, of a pier,
Reading as it seems a book
Which me once took,
To fill with my inked life
An ocean Mediterranean to take
A deep plunge, a joyous dive,

You are such a fine Girl,
Brandie, i wonder,
What a great maiden Thou Art,
Seeing you sitting
On the Wooden pier knitting
A story sure, in your mind,
Whilst reading a book
Which with dreams i once looked,
And turned it with my love a Sea,
Brandie, how i , you like a girl ,
Oft in painted canvas, really see.

(*Note: based loosely on a painting as attached, received as a Gift from a friend mine;
#Brandie: a name given to the girl in the painting, by me;

The title is inspired by a song of sailors and boatmen.)

The Guitar Girl mine*

Whence You sit quiet,

Putting your face on the fretboard top,
Just near those tuning knobs,
Looking up, thinking something,
As if you would soon
Come up with a tune,
A music, a boon,
For me, always looking at You,
The Guitar Girl mine,

With Thy aura getting mixed
With the sunshine falling upon Thou
From behind, like a halo,
As your face turn up wards a bit,
Upon the fretboard head, near the knobs,
As you keep your face, Beauty of Peace, so soft,

i, just look at you,
Forgetting if it was that Guitarist who
I called Johnny old,
Who strummed for mere pennies,
And her daughter, ill,
Art Thou His offspring
For nobody ever can
Have such a Beauty of a face
And that peace of Innocence,
With a halo over head ,
Other than Johnny's genes,
You canst be so supple and bright,
You canst be so not so, 

Ever you the wonderous ,

So i, look at you,
As oft, a song writer looks,
Searching for a perfect tune,
To adjust and place, his words,
Not oft delivered and said,

O how The Guitar Girl,
With you, how , see, a poem i make. (*Note: loosely based on the painting attached, done jointly by Michael and Inessa Garmash, courtesy : Alex Artista, Musica Pittura e Dintorni.

#Johnnynhissicklydaughter : a poem/scribble written by me, many months ago.
Johnny is the character of a Guitarist as created by me , in that particular poem/scribbling as mentioned.)

Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Ode to Zeus*

If Thou be the carrier of Knowledge,
Of the Goddess, Saraswati,
If Thou be Lord the Omnipotent,
Zeus True,
Prithee,
Take me to that Paradise
Where, Swan like Thou Art stay,
In different forms,
On the lap of the Diva of Thy Love,
Thy Partner Divine,
From whom Thou
Hath seeded birth
Of Both Helen and Clytemnestra,
And Polydeuces and Castor too,
As found, discovered , revealed
By several immortal greats
In their works so prolific,
Which even after few hundred years stick,

Correggio , how hath founded Thee,
Truth of Thy Divinity,
And Peter Paul too,
Leonardo also,

How they all tried to find Thou
O The Lord,
Swan like,
Flying in thy Paradiso,
Covered by Trees,
By music Thine
In Art so freezed,
Undying, eternalised,

Never ever to be
Tarnished,
Knowledge of Thy Supreme
Thy flying free,
Thy sitting down, flapping wings,
Thy act of caressing Leda,
Only to make Her Rise,

O how You, Zeus,
Can turn a Swan So,
To make no arrow
To shoot down, hurt,
But to make all to glow,
Not to shock any,
By Your shapes fluid many,
But to make believe
That wonderous Bless
Which can only make all
Love and light of knowledge trace. (*Note: loosely based on Correggio work titled "Leda and The Swan"; #HelennPolydeuces : Offsprings of Zeus
#ClytemnestranCastor : offsprings of Tyndareus(The King of Sparta)
#Saraswati : The GODDESS of Art, Knowledge and Wisdom in Hindu Myth/Legend
#Swan: the carrier of Knowledge and Wisdom and Art, a pet of Devi Saraswati, according to Hindu Myth/Legend)

Through the waters undulating with vegetation at the bottom *

How i wish to be, at least if not two,
One of the duo, sisters art they were,
Suzanne, i could've easily be come,
And with Blanche, (if I turned femme fatale, )
And rowed through , The River Epte,
It could have been, such an impossible wish,
To be so grandiose, to be fully filled,

Rowing through waters, as a boatman,
Tell me, love, haven't i that all through done,
Knowing Thou, the Ever lasting form of Art,
Missing no thing, Your eyes,
O Claude, where from Thou got those paints and dyes,

Which immortal grace came unto thee
How come Thou hath found vegetation so grassy
In the River so,

Is it be cause Thou loved to row,
All through waters, choppy or still,
How You, the Eternal rivers ,in your skin doth feel,

Alice, must have been very kind,
To Thou, Claude, that you rowed through tides,

And i, the child, how only ride,
Through streets, roads, hurricanes, storms,
Gales, how i embrace , only for a long,

Got no la barque rose too,
Got no such acumen to View
You , Claude , You the bright,
How You light Alice bright,

How you make me young too,
Such a Gift, how comes to me, from You.

(*Note: on Claude Monet's work titled "Boating on River Epte", also known as " Canoe on Epte".
The two women who acted as models for Monet were Suzanne and Blanche Hoschede. The painting can be found at Sao Paulo Museum of Art.
#labarquerose : private collection.
#waterwithvegetationatthebottom : is actually a comment made on the painting.
#RiverEpte : a River with vegetation at the bottom
#Alice : Monet's wife.)

The Palm Tree*

There the Palm Tree stands on leg one,
Surpassing every tree,
Peeping to the Sky of Thee,
Having the wish, piercing the clouds dark, up there,
Thinking where from wilt she get the free air,

So She just over her head
Her wishes hath She bred,
Thinking all those Dreams of her, near the sky,
Can,at least away,from Home,someway, fly;

Her leaves how tremble all day long,
How her dreams, fly, to where(the Sky) they belong,
As if, evading those Stars, wilt they go, lone,
Catching the air, to where Her dreams the Palm hath sown,

But whence, the breeze ceases, true,
And the murmur stops too,
Those Dreams of Her, doth return,
To the Motherly Earth of her,
Loving more her deep, loving more , the Mother.

(*Note: based on a poem written for children by Rabindranath Tagore, as presented by the picture attached)

Ode to The Bird, Uncaged, *

O Thou, love mine,
How i sometimes cry
Seeing thy uncaged state,
Letting Open, once how,
(I by mistake, or not , may be)
Set Thou free, so Thou
Go flying to the Sky,
Touching those beauteous cloudlets,
Which roam as free as Thou,
Cottony feathery floating dreams,

O how, once set Thou free,
The bird of my heart, sweet,
(I by mistake did, not sure, it might not be)

O how setting you against the sky,
I set Thou free,
And see,
How i have kept still the cage open,
For Thee to return,
(Like that September's song)

O how, love, mine,
How for Thou i long.

(*Note: the photograph attached is Really, Actually, matter-of-fact-ly, done by me, many years ago. This particular piece of photograph was actually part of the "Click Photography Exhibition" which was held at The Calcutta Information Centre. )

If You Are Goliath*

If You art Goliath*

If You, Pride,
Mine, be so Ruthless,
i, little child Thine,
Italian ,
(il suo Caravaggino kind)
Would stop and gaze,
Before paintings,
Which will take
Me to the sense
Of utmost wonder, Dense,

O how i see, in Your Vast
Oil on Canvas Spread
Little David,
Holding Goliath's Head,

The sword, how the child David,
Keeps down , low,

Out of hate,

Nay,

But out of Sheer Love,

For Goliath
Hath created
Little Caravaggio
And how Thou,
Caravaggio,
The artist immortal,
Hath Thou gone,
To the space,

Leaving us with
Your Words, Unsaid,

Through painted scape thine,

How the little David,
i find, rising like A Son,

And his sword,
Kept forever Down,

Having the inscription,
Only in Your paintings,
Caravaggio,
Can be
Found, 'Humilitas Occidit Superbiam'

(*Note: the painting attached was done with a lot of pains and patience by Italian Painter Caravaggio. The painting Depicts the fight between the Good and the Evil, as symbolized by David and Goliath respectively. Caravaggio had been a follower of Giorgione, another immortal Painter.

#HumilitasOcciditSuperbiam : meaning in Italian 'Humility Kills Pride'

The epic battle between the Good and the Evil can be found everywhere, in every country, in every time, in every possible spaces Small.
In our literature and myths and legends we also find that fight.
In our Mahabharata and Ramayana , this is there. David and Goliath will forever fight and forever David will, by The Will of The Supreme, will Win, which Is,Needless, to say.)

If You Are Goliath*

If You art Goliath*

If You, Pride,
Mine, be so Ruthless,
i, little child Thine,
Italian ,
(il suo Caravaggino kind)
Would stop and gaze,
Before paintings,
Which will take
Me to the sense
Of utmost wonder, Dense,

O how i see, in Your Vast
Oil on Canvas Spread
Little David,
Holding Goliath's Head,

The sword, how the child David,
Keeps down , low,

Out of hate,

Nay,

But out of Sheer Love,

For Goliath
Hath created
Little Caravaggio
And how Thou,
Caravaggio,
The artist immortal,
Hath Thou gone,
To the space,

Leaving us with
Your Words, Unsaid,

Through painted scape thine,

How the little David,
i find, rising like A Son,

And his sword,
Kept forever Down,

Having the inscription,
Only in Your paintings,
Caravaggio,
Can be
Found, 'Humilitas Occidit Superbiam'

(*Note: the painting attached was done with a lot of pains and patience by Italian Painter Caravaggio. The painting Depicts the fight between the Good and the Evil, as symbolized by David and Goliath respectively. Caravaggio had been a follower of Giorgione, another immortal Painter.

#HumilitasOcciditSuperbiam : meaning in Italian 'Humility Kills Pride'

The epic battle between the Good and the Evil can be found everywhere, in every country, in every time, in every possible spaces Small.
In our literature and myths and legends we also find that fight.
In our Mahabharata and Ramayana , this is there. David and Goliath will forever fight and forever David will, by The Will of The Supreme, will Win, which Is,Needless, to say.)

For You, Love Mine *

As Thou hath sent me
Greetings from thy Lotus pond,
And as a mere boatman is me,

How Canst i not sing
For Thee, La amore,
My poesy, my writes,
My dying colored self,
My calm, my light,
Lighted feathery bright,

How Canst i not sing for Thee,
You who hath , by thy kindness
Bestowed upon me,
Thy depth, thy pleasure, thy inkpot,
Thy never ending love
Which gradually envelopes me,

O how i , into thy love true,
Sink , e~merge,
How into your stilled waters
How i  find my birth,

Those leaves, those Lotus,

Ain't they decorate us,
Aint they tell upon
The song Divine of Love
So, devotional, eternal,

So come, diva mine,
With your pool of waters,
Thy womb Uni~versal
How i wish to get back,

How to thy belly of Heart
Galactic, me finds truest me,

And you too,
La amore ,
Mine,

Where ,
Mon amore,
You me
To fortitude and
Calm bring,
So softly,
Like those petals of
Lotus,

As Thou send me
Only,
For us,

Our Peace
Of BEAUTY.


(*Note: the picture attached is A Gift Of Love)

On the other side of Seine river*

Catching the Bus, Seine i passed,
Keys of our hearts, after throwing,
Locked such with everlasting love,
(Like those sparrows, pigeons and doves)
Whence guided by , thy kindness, I turn up,
At the other side, of Seine estuary,
Trouville and Honfleur, where I think
We could sit down, under the shades of trees,
Embracing thy soft, thy deepest love,

I think of you, so , as if dame,
I have your unworded serene, married,
You Art such a Diva, Such a maid,
How Canst i leave Thee, life(?) 

So i sit back, relax, replenish,
Our hearts with fresh Air, unblemished,

Eugene, perhaps , found that too,
Looking at his painted View,
The other Side of Seine,
The River of Live, Parisian,
There at Trouville and Honfleur, entwined,
I find, Thou, GODDESS , Divine.



 {*Note: the poem is loosely based on a painting done by Eugene Boudin ( Honfleur 1824- Deauville 1898), as attached.
This poem is also a continuation of an earlier poem by me where the River Seine is mentioned and few other scribblings where the idea of 'Catching a bus' is referred to.

Boudin visited the Other Side of Seine Estuary and visited Honfleur.
Interestingly E. Boudin met Claude Monet , in 1858, which made him a believer in the impressionistic artforms and paintings.)

Standing quiet, just looking at You*

Oft journeying through, You,
Thy hills, trees, rocks, streams,
Foliage,  dense, mist and dew,
I stop, taking a deep breathe,
Only to feel within, a River, Lethe,

Away, away from banal things,
Who had won, who had lost,
Who had triumphed, at what cost,
Away I make a travel, to You,
The treasure trove, that You bring, like a cue,

Seeing that country road, going , just moving by,
Like a ribbon, with which the hills, you tie,
meandering like a figure going up, catching the air,
Is a wonderous feel, much like, Love, You and your music, fair,
As the tune emanates from thy lyre,
Whence I stop, only to see You, morn like, pure, unpolluted, bare,
And then, always  i make out why,
i sing for you, our Love, like an eight and a π. (*Note: the photo attached is taken by me, while touring to hills.)

Monday, April 25, 2016

A walk, spelt by Rains*

Whence Love, you go walking past
Holding umbrella Thine,
Post a squall and rains, drizzling,
Seeping through our Hearts,
Drenched as we remain,
And the road , too,
for our late eve's walks,
As becomes colored,
Leaves whence fall,
All over Us,
And You, Iove mine, whence
Just go walking past,

I, watch Thee,
Like that Tree,
Silenus like,
Dreamy,
Like the way,
Our short stay,
At Naopli brought
Before us,
Love deep,
Never sought,

Those trident lights,
They glimmer,

Only to light
Our calmed summer,
By the squall,
That followed the rains,

Drizzle,
That with love , oft I
For you, Isabel, do paint,

Will you then me compare
With that painted scape
Of A Paradise, a lair,
That once Gaspard did,
With an wooded landscape,
By our Love, so finding a Seed; "Apollo amoureux de Daphne"
They call it in Rome, i know,
Which once you told me,
After a painting show,

Yes, you might always argue,
How can I in Dughet view,

And i will, like an amateur
Bring, strange, curious, similes,

Like you turning into a Tree,
Being my  GODDESS of Love,
A Daphne,

Had i been real,
As mighty as Apollo ,
For thou, so sealed,
I would've still sought you,
Isabel, putting
The forests dark and deep
To a Re~ view,

Ovid , then, must have been very amused,
Finding a Lover, like me,
So foolishly Bemused.

(*Note : this poem began with the painting as attached, done by Leonid Afremov, courtesy: Musica Pittura e Dintorni;

But, it took a different shape and tune altogether, as it moved, as can easily be understood by any discernable reader.

#Gaspard Dughet , a Roman Painter and artist (Rome1615-1675), did a painting titled "Apollon amoureux de Daphne", based on Ovid's 'Metamorphoses'. According to the legend/myth, Daphne, being chased by Apollo, turned herself to a Tree.

#Silenus , is considered to be a companion of Bacchus, thoughtful and thought provoking one, having Visions or Foresights, who usually remained Silent. Unlike Bacchus, Silenus, though appeared Drunk, had never been a great patron of Wine or any intoxicant.)

Sending A letter of Love, To You*

Sending A letter of Love, to You*

Now that the day's works had eclipsed
And at Dusk sweet we have arrived,
Like all those dusks
We made love at terrace,
Unseen by any body,
But by only us,

Now that the dipping sun
Has come to bathing,
To the waters cool,

And golden chips
As I can clearly see
Upon your cheeks,
Tempestuous neckline,
So sensuous,
Coloring me,
By orangy red,

And as you have gone out ,
Your daily errands,
And as I would go out too,
To a Place,

To meet our children
Left uncared,
On the streets,

Feeding as they needed utmost,

Thought of sending a post,
To Thou,
Mon amore,

Kept things ready
For our bed,

Rosy petals there I have spread,

A bottle of wine red
You will also find,
Right on the glass table,

And that bouquet red
That with ribbon pink tied,

That too, for Thou,

Hope,
You would get the fragrance right

Whence I will be
There at Night,

Your knight. ~frances

Like Colleda*

Isabel, as haven't written to you,
For long,
And as we have turned us into a story, like a Song,
For all to come to our home, and to sing,
Thought why not gift you a scene,
Painted true, by one great,
Ierene, should we call Her
A wonderous Painter,
Much like you,

Yes, a painted scene
See, how before us come,
As if you there going
To the garden of us,
Like a Colleda,
Sweet maid mine,

There I You doth see,
As drawn, so artistically,

You bending down,
Wearing a long gown,
Your hair, brown,
Tied , shining silky soft,

And the day , breaking out,
For us, la amore,
For us,
Real,

Canst You see,
How i ,by thy love, ceaseless, be,

How by thy wonderous glaze,
See, Canst you, Mon dio,
How i can even find,
Larila, quiet, coming to the town,
Napoli, our home,
Right at that porch,
Where we have kept
The torch
By Larila's bless,
Burning Bright.

(*Note: upon a painting, loosely based, done by Irina Vitalievna Karkabi, Courtesy: Musica Pittura e Dintorni.

Colleda: the Goddess of Love, Slavic,
Larila : the Goddess of the Energy, Sun GODDESS, )

By the garden, seeing You, waiting*

Seeing You waiting,
By the garden
Of our love,
Where we have grown saplings,
From seeds, seeded we,
Is such sense of joy,

But then,
In Your posture of sitting,
Head slightly bent,
Dropped, held ,
On your upper arm, left,

Thought You art sad,

But sad can't we never be,
For we have promised to us,
To go all the way,
From earth to Mars,
And Jupiter too,

Being so much turned
Love birds, into,

Seeing Thou,
GODDESS of my Heart,
Painted by our Joined state,
Of being two, rolled into One,

(Much like that once John Donne Sang
Singing an Aubade, )

I think of You,
And the garden
That we have grown within,
By seeded Love, so embedded.

(*Note: upon a painting done conjoined , by Michael and Inessa Garmash, courtesy : Alex Artista, Musica Pittura e Dintorni)

Prayer to Mother*

If Thou hath provideth us all
With waters , air, fire and ice,
If Thou hath been the Origin of all lives,
Mother like, if Thou hath taken all the cares,
Of us, me and my members of family,

Sometimes, looking at You,
So revolving and rotating true,
Around the Sun, gaseous, Supreme,
So beautifully balanced , harmonious,
Taking a path Thine elliptical

How i just a mortal, try to find
Where we had faltered, where we did shine,

Ravages Thou hath faced many,
They only made You , perhaps Gloomy,
Thy Air, we the fools, how have made smoky,
Thy soil, how we have made filled with radioactive things,
Lead, cadmium, uranium, chemicals unhygienic,
How thy waters we treated with disregard,

O mother, how we, the cowards, only dug graves for us,

As i, like a child, oft, prayed for Health true,
As , like a believer, in Wordsworth, made poesy for you, mother,

Make us believe,
We, the cowards,
We, the meek,

We can restore every hurts,
To a come around,
No wounds upon You,
We would leave not healed,

O, GODDESS Artemis,
If Thou reflect symbolically,
Our greens, streams, rivers,
Oceans, deserts, icecaps,

Prithee,
You make a calm
To descend on us,
Children Thine,
so filled with ignorance.

(*Note: the graphical representation of one small portion of our Planet , is Taken by me , with the object to Poesy.
The Carl Jung quote holds true for all, nonetheless)

Near that bend of Road*

Near that bend of Road,
Found You, good ol' jolly man,

How You looked at us,
Your stare, wonderous,
Age had certainly made
Crow's feet around your eyes,
That stick, your walking's companion
In morns, afternoons soft,
Must know you all too well,
Your climbing up the hills,
Knowing each and every road
Of Thy village, thy greens, thy forests,

You had seen many ,
Coming to the hills,
You had seen all people from plains,
Having fun and frolic just,

But kneeling was probably you thought,
One should ask,

Specially at that bend of the road,
A risky terrain,
With a Cross right there installed
Many many years ago by a French Missionary,

And i , while having a conversation
With your eyes and face,
Not knowing your language proper,

How you made out,me,
So easily,
Only by your gaze,
You looked at me,
And murmured
Peace,

The only word,
That i heard proper,
All other gibberish,
Didn't matter to You,

To me, however,

That One Word Thine,
Mattered the Most,

And last, before going Away
Whence I made a humble request,
To look at my Lens,

O how you looked,
O how you my Heart took.

While journeying, up the hills*

While journeying up and above
Misty foggy day whence we felt,  for love,
Found spread like carpet green
Gardens smelling liquor like spring,

Whilst journeying up and above
Guided by our lust for wander and love,
Saw how water sprinklers shot
Sprays of jets, watery , soft,

We stood there, for a while,
The morning was then, breaking, with smiles,
It had been a journey such
To meet what our mind's eyes matched,

We filled out hearts with the serene sense,
Green like youthful, pleasure dense,
Whence came to us with Joys true,
In pictures of mist, fog, an aromatic view.

(*Note : the photo attached was taken by me, while traveling to the hills.)

By the Road, beneath the Tree,*

By the road, beneath the Tree
Flowering, one morn, me did see
You and also me, my childhood,
Living, fascinated,joyous, free,

There as you stood underneath
The Tree breaking into redness
Like Love, which comes oft, blessed
As we did think of we, by Thine, so lit,

We went up the hills, passing by
Mills, villages, towns and parks,
We went up there to catch us alive,
Laughing, playing, giggling, all smiles,

That was, the ways to discover
How nature has always us covered
From all things that come our way, hearts or just the passage of a day,

That is the way to live, in motherly light
To be fully dipped, without thinking much what might come,
Without thinking what we may, in future be come,

By the road, beneath the Tree
Flowering us , me once did see,
Filled with love, and our life kissed
By morning's light which set us free.

(*Note: the photo attached was taken by me, while touring and traveling. )

Sunday, April 24, 2016

Ode to Love mine *

Reading you,
Passion mine,
Is like touching Thine,
Feeling thy leaves,
That murmur, smelling
So much of ink, inked as we
Become after a few thousand centuries,

Living for Thou,
Red lips,
Touché,
Believe,
Love mine,

even before birth
Whence Thou hath holden me
In your heart of a belly,
Or in your Eyes,
Envisioning
Our story,

Where i tried hard,
To make Thee, maid,
You going to the workplace,
Sad, your boss being obstinate,

Where i tried to recreate
Your smiles, dimples
Deep in cheeks Thine,
And that mole
Just before your upper lip,

O how many nights,
Beau,
Only , for you,
Have i spent
My self, burning,
Like a wax candle,
Hot, molten wick
In me burning,

O how many days
i skyrocketed,
balloonist how
I be came,
For you,
Beau,

Hath Thou read (?)
Those days
Of sun flowers bursting open
Spraying pollens,
All over leaves
Mine,
For you,

O my passion
Red lipsticked
Beau,

And whence
You thought
Of figuring me out,

Zero,
Null,
A Void,

Whence Thou tried
To fill,
By thy writing,

I thought
Feathers ran

Over me,

Feathered how
I became,

Loving ye,

O how,
My opened book,
Flowers came,
Gardens spread
A few thousand acres
Ares, Eros, Philos, Agape,

Lemniscate,
Lying eight,

Paintings how they in pages bred,
Historically you
Wrote all that,

Yes,
True,

O my Beau,

Hath Thou read that too(?)

And seasons
They passed through us,
Aren't they,
Our skin whence became
Translucent,

Trees ,
Paradiso,
They all see,
Canst you,
O my Beau,
How came home ours
Small,

Angels, they perhaps hovered
Not like cupid shooting arrows,

But perhaps
That tale,
Love,
Venus whence
us, so blessed
Rising out
Of oyester shell,
And salty waters,

O passion mine
Rode i through
Only for you,
Wrote too,
For You,
O my passion,
Red lips,
For Thou,
Beau.

(*Note: upon a painting, loosely based,
Courtesy : Sam Carlo)

Ode To Innocence *

Ode to Innocence*

How Innocence wrapped
Thy canvas before me arrives,
Am I dreaming(?)
Am I awake (?)
Why so to Thou
Venus, GODDESS,
To thy Beauty
me You take(?)
Or is it so
Simon found You
And i, like a pencil
Writing scribbles just
For moments, momentary,
Before His Godly paints
Take a kneeling,
Not knowing , ignorant me,

How Thou hath Blessed
Vouet, with Thy Love of Innocence, Purity,
For ages since the birth of creatures,
Even before humans,
For Eternity,

As held so beautiful,
In two dimensional space,
A Canvas , oil on paints.

{* Note: the painting attached was done by Simon Vouet(1590-1649);

Vincent Sellaer(about 1500- Mechelen before 1589), did a stellar work, somewhat similar, oil on panel, titled 'The Holy Kinship'}

The Mother and The Child*

The Mother and The Child*

By thy bless, love mine,
Whence by thy passion,
So Venetian,
I go about wandering
In search for la radice,
How to Thou,
Mother, more i
Get rooted,
Thy Face,
Thy act of holding Babe Thine
In one arm,
And the other
Holding like a feather,
A small twig,
From the Oak,
So green ,symbolic,

And how Simon
Had with His Eyes
Found both of You,

Mother You and Thy Child,
Staring still,
As stilled can a painting, can, be,
So eternalised,
Only by a Vouet
How You Two Rise
Before my mortal eyes. 


{*Note: the painting attached was done , with great patience by Simon Vouet(1590-1649). It was made by Vouet, upon request from his friend , Louis Hesselin. Hence the painting is titled "Hesselin Madonna". }

Ode to Mother nature*

Ode to Mother Nature*

The misty fog whence upon thee,
Mon dio, Earthly mine,
Dropped like a veil , translucent sense
Whence pervaded my self, my essence
Of a being, little child Thine,
How i, transfixed as if, (by thy dark and deep ,
Forest smelling flowers, pollens, incense bearing trees,
rhododendrons, pines, mahogany, deodars,
Wild berries, olives, myrtles, maples,
Honey combs hanging , filled with the buzz of bees, )
Stand quiet, dumbed full,
Thinking how Thou hath always
Spread your lap, wide,
For me to sleep there, your child,

And then, surely,
Then, how I can feel
What poesy wrought you have kept
In your Womb , in thy reclusive serene,
In thy dewy misty youthful green
In thy primordial nature, origin
Of all beasts and insects
How Thou hath so Happily kept,

O how, seeing Profundity Thine,
Thy Beauty never ending
Keeps me away from din
And bustles unnecessary,

How, by Thy Sheer magnanimity
You keep my feet ,for Thy Beauty of Bliss,
Forever sleepy, in trance,  unhurried. (*Note: the photo attached is actually taken by me,)

Once traveling through*

Once traveling through
The rough and the smooth, of You,
Hiking through the rocks, pebbles, dust, foliage, fauna, flora,
Deep forest dark,
Is such a revelation,
Love,
That i Canst stay
From You Away
Much, i go, i do come
To thy green, thy valleys,
Thy Unseen , unheard, Myth,
Thy Truth, thy woods,
Thy cascades, falls, downy
Streams, waters cool,
There, love, i find more of me
And of You too, your Beauty
As sung relentless, by birds,
Charmed they so are,
By thy Calm, thy soft, thy lair.

(*Note: the photo attached is actually taken by me, )

Green slopes, valleys and those hills*

All these green slopes,
Tea gardens, smelling like liqueur,
And the valley , soft, steppe,
Hills in bluish silver snow so draped,
I think i know them, feeing them
For some decades, perhaps , few centuries,

And those trees, planted with the purpose
To give shade and shelter to men, tea-labourers and also to those saplings,

I think I have felt them in my heart,
Beauty of Mother Nature, so Vast,
So rejuvenating, invigorating you
And also me, my poetry, my proses too,

All in our works, like our honey dew,
Which we drink, sip, from each other's lips.

(*Note: the photo attached is Taken by me, from the collection of photographic archive of a friend , elder brother mine, Shri.Mrinmoy Pratihar, with whom i spent quite a few years, at R.K.M.R.C., Narendrapur, Kolkata.)

A boat, me and the magic*


A boat, once i tried hard to perceive
A Boat, just, while slogging hard,
Whence rain came down too
Like Hymn , Cold cold rains,
Rains with fire, rains on my head
So subtle , so straight,

A boat, once I tried to emulate,
With the Ferryman, like a song,
Like a struggle to evolve, with the waves
Tides, gales, hurricanes, flood, tornadoes,
Like a Hymn , too, prayer kind
Rains on my Soul, raining down lips
Falling over, slipping by , skin,

A boat, i be came thus,
Perhaps like a paintbrush,
A painted , colored dream, Sweetest,
By the magic of Thy eyes,
By thy orangy, red, turquoise, bluish, pinkish, purple,
By thy motionlessness,
By thy transcendence,
By thy bless.

(*Note: upon a painting as attached,
Courtesy: Rissa Brahm.)

Sailor's song*

Come, ye ho,
Boatmen we row,
Through waters choppy,
Through the stilled,

Come, ye ho,
Sailors we row,
Through the tides,
Through the lows,

Come, ye ho,
Boats and ships we tow,
How through waters
Painted wide,
Through the ebbs
Through the highs,

Com, ye, ho,
Boatmen we row
Till we are here
Till rivers in us
Like songs and poesy
Spontaneously flow.

(*Note: upon a painting , done with marvellous painted mind, courtesy: Alex Artista,  Musica Pittura e Dintorni)

To the river side*

To the River side
Of Our Origin,
Whence like a painting
Of landscape not knowing
Thou bring,  me,
I think of our joined hearts,
Our Joys, our illusions,
Elation too,

And of the Land,
Which we love more;


Thank our hearts,


Poesy and paintings

Whence by thy kindness,
every moment for us,

New meanings 

For us bring,

Then, love mine,
i can only Sing,
Praise Thine,
O The River
The Rhadine.

(*Note: upon a painting, by Alan Fetterman, from his two twelve piece collection of awesome paintings, courtesy: Cyber Art Gallery, Keith Linwood Stover, Iulia Gherghei)

Proper care for you*

Don't know where
You came from,
Which air
Brought you here,
What feathers Thou hath made for her,

But as you are here,
I am sure,
I Will, by thy Will,
Find for you,
Proper care.

(*Note: upon a small cuddly tiny little birdling, whom i have found , rather discovered, this morning, walking briskly at the verandah/porch of our home. The photo attached taken by me, bears proper testimony to the fact real, one guesses. )

Found her, (while traveling)*

Found her, once, by the side
Of the cottage, at the hills,
Where we stayed, one December,
With wonders and joys as we got filled,

The morn had then just woken soft
Out side, the valley of green
Also looked so heartwarming,
And there, by the cottage, found i,
How she with happiness of hers bloomed,

The kid , found I farther, haply going
a few paces ahead, me surpassing,
He had discovered there how, a swing,
Tied to two big Trees, Sturdy looking,
where the road laid, only with dreams,

The smell of roses, dahlias, orchids,
Filled how , with Sheer Poesy, the morn's seed,

As we in us, the birth of flowers found,
The sun , broke the night, over the hills and the mounds,

Such a lovely waking it was for us,
As we went, searching for flowers ,
And birds, varied, colored,soft, so feathered,
How we , once, in the solitude of the hills discovered.

(*Note: the photograph of the flower as attached was taken , actually by me, while staying  at a hill resort, 'The Sylvan Stay")

Saturday, April 23, 2016

"Where have you gone?"*

Not finding her, anywhere in the house,
Calling her, twice, "where are you?"
No answer coming forth,
With a choked throat, hoarse,
Coughing a bit, went out ,

At the yard,
Finally i stood,
And amazed how i became,
Seeing her the Same,
So deified, under the light
On hammock, balanced ,
Beautiful, reading a book,

"What book that could be!"
Thought i, curious,
"Hey! What are you reading?"
Thought i, to ask her,

But under such broad shining light,
She on the hammock, so beautiful,
Fully engaged with a book, deified,
Made me practice, silence, on my lips,

And she on the hammock,
Perfectly balanced, didn't me notice,

I just looked at her
reading a story book,
Over the grassland,
amidst blooming tulips,
Reading, before me.


(*Note: upon a painting as attached done by Vera Gabriela, courtesy : Sam Carlo)

You can always go far, but come September, you will return*

You can go far, faraway from me,
But come September, you will return,
That i know, if not do you return,
That month, the next month will
I catch you, right beside that river,
She is not alien to me, like you,
Her me knows, me knows for years,
Through your eyes, She every day comes,
To my heart, where me keeps you,

You keep me too, ain't so bro?
Now that you are faraway, so,

You can go far, faraway from me,
But like sailors, we will meet, in the Sea,

Then , in waters we will play,
Or on the beach, volleyball if so you wish,

You can go always far,
But not more than one millimetre,
From me, from us, OUR Family.

(*Note : the photograph attached is Taken by me, from a friend's collection of photography, with whom I had spent many many happy hours together, at R.K.M.R.C. Narendrapur, Kolkata,
Shri/Mr. Sibasis Das. )

With candles burning, *

With candles burning,
Molten wax by the sides of them,
Coming down , hot, liquid soft,
And like a piece of eternal art,
Holding You, getting ready
For a dance, before wearing night cap,

How one finds, same carvings ,
Same lines, running same,
Even after so many galaxies apart
As we have made a decide,
To hold us, our tides,

So that we can always remain
That 'little distance away',
For us to "stroll", in the air,
ethereal as we truly are,

But unwittingly, see,
How on canvas of the sky,
We meet, greet, dance with joy,
Finding our days and knights.

(*Note: loosely based on a painting, as attached. Courtesy: Alex Artista, Musica Pittura e Dintorni)