Poetry: Shakti Pada Mukhopadhyay

Shakti Pada Mukhopadhyay

Eternal Voice

A fairy dame robbed in Palladium chain, 

was seated in a park in the drizzly rain. 

Her milky white skin contrasted with her 

atrous hair, with loose locks draping her shoulder.

Her whitest surcoat was bedecked with choicest gold

and the diamond kirtle made her bold . 

Her wrist, her throat and her hem were graced 

with diamond jewelry. Pieces of Platinum jewelry were placed 

on her breast. I lost all my senses 

as the fleur-de-lys had cast her ivory glances.

In no time I had found myself seated beside her, 

but she did not care. She looked afar

to the snowy white tree standing in the park.

Seconds and minutes had huddled in the dark,

but not a word she told,

making me sad and cold.

In a hurry for the office, I left with a depressed

look. In the office, my memories were refreshed. 

In my sweet dream she came, 

attired like a beautiful dame.

Next day she came to the same place.

But my morning bow didn’t light up her face. 

On her milky cheeks, as tears had rolled down,

she wiped her tears with her costly gown.

As she had informed me of her inborn blindness, 

I felt a lump in my throat with regret and kindness. 

Added she, “Man craves for beauty and pelf,

but visual disorders he dislikes for himself.

Beauty though skin deep, it sells to pierce

into his heart. But thinking of me as a burden, he fears.

My elegance is on resale in change of track, 

but my chastity and love do not crack. 

I have been deceived time and again. 

Am I an outlet for men for physical gain?”

With red hot face and fiery voice uttered she, 

“Why do you disturb me? 

To feel free with Nature, I come here,

but false adoration I dislike to hear. 

Though I can’t see,

please leave me alone and never come to me”.

My love for her had accelerated, but I never failed 

to restrain myself for someone with Homeric and veiled 

acuminous eyes, with an ability to measure 

trading indices of our Seven Sins’ pleasure

and the divine qualities of humanity,

love, chastity and sagacity. 

***

Not for Sale

“Where may we go?” Sheila, my sister, sobs.

With rising prices, we can’t survive without jobs. 

House and lands my father wants to sell.

The tale of our miseries we must tell. 

A beautiful yard we have with Hibiscus flowers. 

Sweet aroma Roses spread in the morning hours. 

Never fail to visit our garden from the hills, 

sunbirds, parrots, warblers and crossbills. 

Morning dew wipes out the gloom of the night. 

Delighted we feel in autumn at the sight 

of the bent apple tree. Snowfalls cover 

the meadows in winter and pruning is over. 

Spring creeps in and first buds peep

through. In April, the apple flowers keep 

the bees in joy. Harvesting starts from September

and touches its peak in November.

Looks gloomy our place

with the looks of the buyer’s face.

He raises our heart beats. We pray

to God, “buyers should fail everyday”. 

Someone quips, “kitchen is small”, 

but I retort, “ it is not at all.

It’s the place, whence we get delicious 

plates”. The buyer is malicious.

Someone says, “Study Room is dark”. 

I protest, “it is cool and up to the mark”.

Stream of consciousness takes me to the dawn, 

with eyes on the snowy lawn. 

Sweet poems we like to recite

and sparrows and parrots are in sight. 

Birds are our audience,

behind the window panes, sitting on the fence.

From the hill at night, a dove prays

to sleepy eyes for a break in study. Rainy days 

bathe the roses to bloom again.

Some people blame, “muddy roads in the rain.” 

“Rainy days make the same soiled”, I claim, 

“Nature we cannot blame”.

A person had pledged to pay money soon

and the next day we got out of bed at noon.

 

We had got up from the bed and heard

the birds quarreling in the yard. 

As I sat on the lawn, 

already the birds had gone. 

The apple tree standing near

looked frowzy this year.

But I was worried of my sister’s fever, 

since medicines had given her little breather. 

The Doctor had diagnosed a psychic break,

and on the sale, I promised to put a brake.

I had joined a part time duty 

and the lawn got back its beauty.

Soon my sister was without a fever. 

My home was as sweet as ever. 

***

Penitence

After committing a murder, Lee in disguise, 

fled to a village. Villagers took him as a sage, 

who had come to save them from the dry spell. 

He then started preaching sermons.

Violence soon broke out for a dearth of grains. 

And he advised them to manage the meals.

But rumors spread of a saint fasting for rains.

Folks had gathered to see the fasting seer, 

while cops went near to check the mob. 

Worried Lee had revealed his past 

to his confidant, but the latter took it 

as Lee’s game to evade fame and eminence. 

Lee then thought it best to cede to his destiny. 

Lee had continued his fasting and doctors tried to feed

ailing Lee with fruit juice, but in vain. 

Villagers had started prayers, but Lee fell down, 

quoting his last cue, “Rains are on the way”. , 

After finding the truth, cops bounced to nab Lee. 

But people had ruled and befooled the cops

to bury Lee with honor of a saint. 

***

Bio: Shakti Pada Mukhopadhyay, MA (English), was an Executive in a Bank. A lyrical drama written & directed by him has been staged with vast popularity. His writings have been published in a number of magazines like Borderless, Passager, Molecule, Better Than Starbucks, Tatkhanik, The Dribble Drabble Review, The Poet, Deep Overstock, Mindfull, CafeLitMagazine, Down in the Dirt, Academy of the Heart and Mind, Muse India, Indian Periodical, Bibekbarta, Shabdodweep, Setu, Dainik Statesman, Jugshankha, Linked Verse etc.

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Setu, July 2024