When jobs are destroyed,
And applicants are many.
Humanity
Flies out of the window.
All that is left is exploitation
And cruelty.
Only God knows
When humanity
Will return.
Jasbir Chatterjee
No one is more powerful Than Mother Earth. Life begins and ends With Mother Earth. See this picture here. Even the great Almighty Sun Leaves its starry abode For obeisance to Mother Earth.
In gratitude
With folded hands,
this lily stood,
While the Sun rose
In the sky.
With the entire world
Lighted up gloriously,
It opened its petals fully, Proudly flaunting its beauty.
This poem is now on poemhunter.com also: https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-gratitude-to-god/
See below…
This poem is now on poemhunter.com also. URL: https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-gratitude-to-god/
Sometimes the Sun
Turns into a curious child, clambering over walls
To touch the lovely flowers.
Naughty monsoon
Has arrived in Delhi.
Look how it blows bubbles
Into the huge sky,
Turns them into colossal
Rain clouds.
And the Sun laughs and joins in.
With whoops of joy and laughter,
They draw funny figures,
Miracles that disappear in seconds,
While we watch with wonderstruck eyes.
This poem is now on poemhunter.com: https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/miracles-in-progress/
Inspired from this pic I clicked on 18 June 2020, I wrote a poem. Read it below…
Staying Together
You may forget me, dearest,
And I may forget you too.
Our children, friends
Have all slinked away
And we’re the only ones
Left.
But don’t you worry, dearest.
Together
We’re going to stay.
And together
Grow old, dearest.
Through torrid rain,
Glaring sunshine,
And the chilling winter.
Till death pulls us apart…
Three years ago, I spotted an extremely enigmatic one-word tattoo behind the neck of a pretty girl while traveling in the Delhi Metro. I wrote about it in my blog. URL:
https://jasbirchatterjeephotoblog.wordpress.com/2017/06/16/a-pretty-tatoo/. The pic is on top.
What struck me most about the tattoo was its profound meaning expressed in just one single Hindi word ‘musafir,’ meaning traveller. And for a fleeting second, I wondered if the wearer was a poet or a writer or a philosopher or all of them together.
Today, as I recall this incident, I feel more concerned about the tattoo’s owner. I hope and pray to God that the girl is safe and healthy, staying at home, and no longer a musafir…
There are so many rich people on this earth who own huge houses with many bedrooms and bathrooms that they may not ever use properly in their lifetime. And in contrast, there are many who lead almost their entire lives on pavements with no roof, no walls, no privacy. But everyone ultimately has to drop everything behind and move on to the next birth. So it all boils down to one thing: we don’t really own anything. We’re all musafirs, travellers…
And now, here is a poem inspired from the tattoo.
A Musafir
Are you a poet?
A writer?
Or a philosopher?
Or all of them together?
I don’t know.
But yes, about one thing,
I am sure.
Like you,
We too are musafirs;
Travellers
On our way to the other
World…
We grew old,
Sick and weak.
And before we could guess,
What was coming,
We lost our grip and fell.
But our Master was kind;
Gave us a cushion,
To soften the blow.
With eyes shut,
A subtle smile on His lips,
Oblivious to our joys
And sorrows,
He said, “Goodbye.”
Like last year,
This year
too,
Delhi’s spring flowers,
The semals
Are in full bloom.
But their sensuality, Voluptuousness,
Riots of dark, passionate colors,
Their thick, exposed flesh
No longer give any joy.
They bring on a lump in my throat,
Bringing forth images
That I keep kicking
Into the dustbin of my mind.
Last year
Too,
Many Semals fell everyday,
Making way for more.
Those that went, returned.
And those that returned, went.
No gain, but no loss either.
So it was easy to accept
As God’s will,
Mother Nature’s special way of rejuvenation.
Their sight aroused great joy and elation.
But this year, their blooming, falling, getting swept aside
Forces me to dwell on the hidden meaning,
The horrors lurking around surfaces, around corners.
Well, who knows.
Next year, the semals
Might be the only ones
Around,
Freed from the forever greedy, tormenting human eyes.
—Jasbir Chatterjee
This poem is now on poemhunter.com also. https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-apocalypse-7/
