Tag Archives: poetry

Old Toys, A Poem

When children grow older, Their toys hang around
As old memories.
And we as parents
Look at them wistfully, recalling all those
Soiled nappies,
Tearful visits
To pediatricians,
Struggles through creches,
Schools and PTMs.
Phew! So many challenges,
And of course, the happy days that finally brought us
Here today.
Well, who knows,
The toys may just
Get reclaimed again…

This poem is now in poemhunter.com, see URL below.


Staying Together, A poem

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
But don’t you worry, dearest.

We’re going to stay.
And together
Grow old, dearest.
Through torrid rain,
Glaring sunshine,
And the chilling winter.

Till death pulls us apart…

A Musafir, A Tattoo & A Poem

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;
On our way to the other

Dignity Of Life – A Poem

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.”

The Apocalypse – A Poem

Like last year,
This year
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
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
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/

Angels and Demons

blue sky

Demons of December
And January
Have gone.
with them are pollution,
Smog, chills, mist, and fog
Angels of February
Are coming in
with their clear blue skies,
Bobbing flowers and soothing breezes…

Let’s celebrate,
My dear Friends.
Enjoy being alive,
Even if
It is only
For a little while
For this too
Shall pass
And Harsh Summer
will be in…

My Beloved Country

India, my beloved Motherland
Is a richly endowed, vast
Gifted with a talented, fast
Breeding population
of colossal proportions.
But human tragedies
Too occur in colossal proportions.

perish here in man-made disasters.
But their lives.
Have little value
Because their space
Is soon gobbled up
By twice as many.

Faulty bridges,
Rough roads,
Illegal buildings,
Cramped houses,
with no fire safety measures,
Child laborers,
Huge fires,
Huge disasters
Well, who cares!

Certainly not
Our selfish, corrupt politicians
with evil agendas,
Jingoistic inclinations,
Hankering only for vote banks,
Moving foolish Bills,
On rollercoasters,
Smuggling refugees
From neighbouring countries.

Insensitive, callous,
They rape my beloved country,
Like a crazy, horny
Bridegroom on his first night…
Well, who knows when this
Dark night ends,
while the callous
Juggernaut of Time rolls…

This poem is now on poemhunter.com also. Link: https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-beloved-country-5/

Here is today’s screenshot of the site today, 15 December 2019. It makes me feel proud to see that I am still quite popular with this poem showing as the latest addition…☺️

Rhyme Of An E-rickshaw Driver


A few days ago, in October 2019, on my way home from work, I heard an e-rickshaw driver calling out in Hindi,

“Chahiye ek savari,
Halki ho ya bhari,
Nar ho ya nari!”

His co-passengers were giggling. I also chuckled as I mentally translated this into English. The translated version too sounded very good.

Here it is.

“Need just one more passenger.
Of whatever gender.
Lighter or heavier.”

Like plants, even poems sometimes spring up in the most unlikely places, don’t they?

Well, I stretched the poem a little bit more. It was so much fun! Here you go.

Fellow Traveller,
We will move further,
Ahead, past the boulder.
You are sadder or happier
Today, it doesn’t matter.

See if you can add some more lines to it. I would love to know.

Diwali (A Poem)

After months of planning,
Washing, cleaning,
Dusting, polishing,
We welcome Diwali
Into our homes.

Like a swaggering bridegroom
He enters our homes
With unruly, drunken friends
With their dazzling,
Noisy, earth shattering crackers.

For a brief period of time
We forget our sorrows
And we celebrate
Like we’re crazy,
Like the world is ending.

But before we realize it,
Diwali is gone.
Left behind are the staring deities.
With sore throats, congested chests,
We steel ourselves for the harsh winter ahead.

Post Diwali Hangover – A Poem


For a Delhiite,
A post Diwali hangover means
Smudged rangolis,
Dried up flower petals,
Dewy mornings,
Cloudy skies,
Sore throats,
Congested chests,
While Lord Ganesha looks on,
As we prepare for another harsh winter ahead…