(A Quarterly International Peer-reviewed Refereed e-Journal
Devoted to English Language and Literature)
Dr Binod Mishra, Associate Professor of English at IIT Roorkee, has to his credit 19 books (15 edited and 04 authored) on various aspects of English language and literature. One of his books entitled Communication Skills for Engineers and Scientists (published from Prentice Hall, India, 2009) is used as a text book and reference book in several reputed colleges and universities. His first poetry collection in English entitled Silent Steps and Other Poems (2011) has been received well by readers. His second book of poems is in press. He can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org.
I have left your city
without your notice
leaving no address
for you to ever trace
a silent lover you could ever find.
I have no regrets
we could never meet as passionate lovers,
seeking chances in parks or movie world
in unveiling longings for each other
like celluloid dandies.
I am yet happy
for I never bought pleasant moments
at the cost of my parents’ hard earned coins
given in the name of tuition fees
or career counseling.
I am my own counsel
moving from one metro to another
just for a livelihood, for a decent living
to love everyone---- my parents, you and people
I have only stolen your puerile smile
before leaving your city.
We always live in your company
and learn not your ways
to become everyone’s friend,
always keen, kind and compassionate
gratifying everyone’s needs
in all seasons.
We always unburden
all our shrieks, sorrows and severity.
You receive them gladly without groans
and never deceive like humans
in love, friendship and brotherhood.
Do our agonies make you strong?
We always recreate and yet you create
new meadows in deserts too.
We put to test your perpetual rest,
you always squeeze all our cries
into meaningful silences over the tops
and sweet notations
rise and flow in your daughter’s throat.
With no one beside save a feeling
of an image, a body or an outline
palpitations of the heart faster than before,
the mind auguring all good and bad omens,
he spreads his eyes on trodden paths
yet no one around not even afar.
He tries hard to read the split pages
of the periodical bought for time pass
nothing but brutalities stamped in bold
of murder, rape and honour killing
for crossing the lakshamanrekha
our wise forefathers created with aplomb.
The beautiful noon melting fast
evening creeping in, he hears some sound
none around, he looks at cell phone still dead
the sound grows sweet, sombre, rhapsody at times
the dazzle, dim and discotheque of the riverside five star grate
and grumble, reddening the river’s swollen eyes petulantly.
You have been a riddle at all times
A ghazal for some, a sonnet for others
A heap of images and imagination
for your outline, sketches and curves
that make you beautiful.
Your body--- a mere covering, uncovered
by lusty eyes lures me still the most
your soul is yet intact after several battles
you fought alone, helplessly with ravenous rogues
that take your life and call you names.
You --- a panacea to all ills, lending voices to
generations treading you down with trade and tirade
your bulging eyes and sizzling body are but a prelude
to peace I foresee in various forms in my dreams
that await after the war of civilizations.
5. Block You
Unaffected, the youngsters busy themselves
twittering, chirping, blinking, hiding and un-hiding
over their slates, cell-phones or on their laptops
frisking with fun that becomes the run, the race
frightening them, later face the realities of life they ignore.
Unaware, the savvy techies visualize the icons
enacting living roles they model after
and pine for when disconnected even for a while
ferreting out everyone’s secret before the ghostly friend
fiend –like fending merely for frails and fragiles.
Unsuccessful, the modern day avatars of virtual world
find themselves deaf, dumb and defeated---
before the scorching and perspiring sunrays-- bare truths,
unable to accept their fiend-like friends as friends
firing them all with fusillades—“ Block you”.
“Block You”—mere obsession quirky techies often use
when their bubbling balloons burst to a pin,
they writhe in pain, pining for what is not
unbridled, they roam to anchor their boats
nowhere but resorting to “Unblock”.