Creation and Criticism

Dr DC Chambial (b. 1950) is a trilingual (English, Hindi and Pahari of Himachal Pradesh) poet, critic, and translator. He served HP Education Department for about 38 years in various capacities and retired as Associate Professor of English. He guided about 15 M. Phil and 5 Ph.D. scholars. He has published 11 books of his poems in English, one in Hindi, and edited one on the Poetry of Himachal Pradesh. He edits Poetcrit (since 1988), an international journal devoted to literary criticism and contemporary poetry. He resides at Maranda (HP), Pin: 176102; and can also be contacted at editorpoetcrit@gmail.com.

1. EMS

E – the ego

ever turns a deaf ear

to the virtues, beauties around;

claims itself supreme.

M – the mind

sets aside all claims

of emotions, senses;

looks for level-headedness.

S – the soul

stands aloof from

the ego and the mind;

eyes fixed on Soul beyond.

When E and M shrug off

the vanity,

a Heaven dawns

on Earth sheltering the soul.

As man wakes up

to this reality,

he is on a way to “imminent

and inevitable future.”

2. Birds of Peace

Caught the words

gyrating

in the sky.

Tried hard

to pin them

on paper.

These escaped

my hands,

Flew into sky.

To my surprise

they changed into

birds of peace.

3. Covid-19

What weird times

queer disease dogs man

the world thunderstruck.

Humans dying

hundreds and thousands

superpowers on knees.

The world locked in

all roads, picnic spots wear

deserted look.

The maniac race

halted awhile

peace reigns Supreme.

Parents and children

estranged for years

live and smile together.

Pass time in new

recipes to savour

tongue and time.

Nature replenishing

with pleasure free of cost;

nature lives free to roam.

Tears well up, those

engaged in nature’s cure

lost their bread and ale.

Clean air rivers

even seas and oceans

mountains invisible

from some hundred meters

visible now from hundreds

of kilometers away.

It’s come not mere

disease but a boon to teach

humanity sanity.

4. The Bliss

A sweet and beautiful birdie

Hit by the flowery arrows.

Being young and full of warm blood

Could not spurn the offer of bliss

No less than the Moon in the palms.

Before the deity, lay down straight,

With eyes on the honeyed bliss.

Breathed breath with breath; hot as furnace.

The world without vanished in blue;

Undid time in sea of concord:

The phantom fear so overblown –

Some meteor may stray to ram,

Wash the flood of hearts so young!

5. A New Song

When exploitation and coercion

cross the bounds of humane humanity,

it becomes must for Nature

to restore the natural justice.

An ideologue buds forth from among

the grass and sets on drive with neo-mythos

to balm the wounds and stop the bleeding

blistering in the open sun.

Those left to bewail and bemoan find boost

and breeze to their disconsolate nerves;

they begin to rise like the slumbering

followers of Satan; become his fire.

The wind turns into gale. The fire – wild fire

when they join hands and move in the valleys,

on the hills and the mountains. There dances

devastation. Revolutions result

from ruins of mansions great and powers high.

The grass soaked in blood stirs from slumber;

picks up the reed and sings with wind’s fury

A new song of sonority and hope.