Debendra Sahu after post superannuation from UCO Bank as
Chief Manager floated into writing. His poems/short stories have been published
in more than thirty national/International Anthologies including e-publications
in StoryMirror, Best Poetry and SETU from Pittsburgh, USA etc., apart from
being awarded Order of Shakespeare Medal by Motivational Strips, Gitesh-Biva
Memorial Award for Short Story by Asian Literary Society, Prose & Pictures,
OnFire Cultural Movement etc. and felicitated in various international poetry
festivals. He is also a Literary Colonel of StoryMirror. His book of poems is
scheduled to be launched at 2nd ALS LitFest, New Delhi. At present,
he is a fulltime writer.
Final
Journey
I
have just disembodied and begun to fly
But
wonder, why me as I don’t wish to die.
Whoever
up there, can I have one more morning
As
I wish to live, can I have one more evening ?
Flowers
are yet to bloom in my garden
Fruits
in the trees are yet to be ripen,
I
wish to sing and see the sun rising
I
wish to smile and gaze the moon flourishing.
I
have not yet loved the rains
And
their random appearance,
I
have not yet liked the stars
And
their twinkling grandeurs,
Never,
I have kept my windows open
For
breeze to come in,
Never,
I have fed the pigeons when they
Flock
on my terrace often.
I
am yet to see a boat floating clueless
Amidst
the squally winds on the sea,
I
am yet to win a game of dice
Pitching
the right numbers as per my wish.
I
am yet to stand alone on a snow-filled mountain top
Stretching
both my arms as far as I can,
I
am yet to experience the clouds
Caressing
and kissing me loud
Then
hopping away like a deer adolescent,
So
can I have one more rising sun
Or
even few moonlights.
That Evening
Evening
was spreading the wings of darkness
While
the solitary sun was setting outside to vanish
Behind
the mountain until the next first blush
I
didn’t care, whether the day was getting dark
Or
the sun was tripping or hiding behind the horizon
I
was at verge of being dissolved in the depths of her eyes.
Oh
my god, that was such a hot and boiling wisdom
We
were being endeared and coming close indolently,
As
if, ocean was melting and crawling towards the shore.
How
could the shore behold without being enticed
When
love was inebriating without any plea,
How
could we contain our hidden desires, those
Erupting
from the depths of hearts to outer surface.
My
heart like a frog thumping inside me thick and wild
Without
a doubt, it could yawn out with a dull sound,
I
was feeling as if someone was perforating a fork inside
To
weed or twitch the heart out, no more it would pound.
We
were moving closer, much closer to coalesce
My
nose, embedded with sweat-drops was to touch
Her
sizzling nose, as if centuries have passed
The
tempests of breaths were squalling inside out.
An
invisible yet infinite force was pushing my sultry lips
Towards
those mildly quivering pink petals of her,
Both
my hands creeping around her waist bringing deeper
There
was no jerk, when I dragged her blazing body closer.
Something
was positively boiling within me
Something
was apparently stirring inside her
It
was for sure, not lava or a flowing volcano either.
I
didn’t know, how and when I perished on her tropical lips
There
was a blast, which flung all my senses in the midair.
A
hefty man in uniform and stick in hand was patting my back
“Sahab
ji, Getting dark, Park-gate will be closed now.
Both
of you have to go.” Thak thak….. Thak
thak….
He
thumped the wooden bench with his stick.
He
was discourteous and rude, I thought
Both
of us were rudely taken aback.
Solitary
Bird
The
lone bird has since flown far off
In
search of a nest on a tree over a mountain top,
Although
it has found the decrepit tree
The
branches there are feeble and dry,
The
sticks and hay gathered for the nest, couldn’t fix or hide
Hence
the bird has alienated, floating far and wide.
Few
decades back, they all say
This
bird was young, not as rudderless as today.
He
once fell in love in the garden of sandals near a bay
Wished
to knit a family, remain happy and always gay.
But
happiness was like writings on the sands near sea
Waves
would come repeatedly to wash in tandems.
Take
away everything inside for never-ending burials
The
bird’s writings on happiness were buried in the sea.
For
the solitary bird, age is not like wine
It
doesn’t get better with passing of time.
No
more sun rising in the eastern side of ocean tantalizes
No
more the oldest myth called love fascinates.
The
bird has turned off the thinking side of the brain
He
doesn’t care whether it dusts or it rains.
The
solitary bird still drifting in the sky
Under the
non-existent tutelage and by the by.Voices Within-2020 :: Setu, February 2020
