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  Dec 2014 Bassam A
Jayanta
When it flows
It Moist the heart
and smiles manifest around!

When it dried up
Heart slice up with have and haven’t
and tears emerge around!

It is called marvel of head and heart
and hoard of past, present and it’s around
It is fragility to everyone
It is reminiscences around!
  Dec 2014 Bassam A
Jayanta
It is a tell of
two adored in historic past

“Their life was bumpy
No one allowed them to tie the knot!

They were lucky
Times permit them to get nearer!
In the fullness of time,
They are happy
Since  
Their new life is starts up!

They are starry
As
crops in their field are growing up!

They are brawny
Seeing
Her haulage to a new hope!

Their hopes are turns to gusty
Draught spread out
Crops ruined up
and in the bolt from the blue
He breathes his last!

She is becoming leggy
Tears and torn encircled
People started to blame!

All of a sudden
A magic brings Mosey
A birds comes in and
tell   ‘I am here now,
Going sing everyday for you
and our up bring!’"

Then onwards
People in the hills
label birds calls are
the songs of their dearest one !

Now, birds are becoming honey
to everyone!!
Based on folk tale of ‘Sermaya’ community a sub-group of ‘Halam’ tribes of a inhabitant Tripura, belongs to North Eastern Part of India
  Dec 2014 Bassam A
Jayanta
There is a turning point on the road
Where three different roads are connected to a point
One lead to holiness of eternity,
One is towards wisdom to explore through vocation,
and another one is towards world of embryonic market
to eat, drink and muddle!  
We are standing on this turning point
from a historic past,
Searching and researching
to identify the apt way to step forward...
Probably it is the great chase of life.
Based on the interpretation of Mr Changse Kanglom about life and its discourses. Mr Kanglong is village priest of Dihing Kinar Nocte Village, Assam, India a habitation of Nocte tribal community.
  Dec 2014 Bassam A
Jayanta
There was a day,
When,
Water is flowing across hills to the valley
With the water, wave of sound is scrolling
melody of song and dance
Sprawl from hills to plains
everything glint up
‘Hoi la lia.... hoi la lai ..... ‘!
Rivers said to its people
In the hills “Barat’ is going on
Their women are determined to safe their nature and children!
Winds are blowing
From valley to the hills
In the wintery evening
Everything drenched by the aroma of new rice
The winds also carry the hum of ‘Mai Pathala’
Hills said to its people
Their young men are processing harvested paddy!
Now?
“Only sterile hills are there
Only sluggish waters are there”
People?
They are weeping around
for land, water and food.
‘Barat’ and ‘Mai Pathala’are two specific activities associated with Tiwa tribal communities of Assam,India. ‘Barat’ is rituals where women go fasting and praying to almighty for the safety and security of nature and their fallow members of the family. After the break of fasting a celebration is organized where everyone sing and dance. Mai Pathala’ is process of separating rice grain for its plants , where paddy with plants are arraigned on earthen floor above which young boy sing and dance . Ultimately owners are happy and new paddies were collected safely.
  Dec 2014 Bassam A
Jayanta
Bring to an end of this
Game of killing!
Bring to an end of this
Game of power to exploit the hard-up!
Bring to end of this
Game of censure each other!
Starts and look forward for opulence of all and sundry
Standing hand in hand
Working with head, heart and hand
No one can stand alone!
Give us a chance,
to live in concert !  
Bring everyone closer!
Bring new trust to moving together!
Transmit and get going vocation for concord and goodwill!
Probably 2014 going to end with all mistrust and everywhere killing and atrocities spread up! All news paper and channels full with news to lost hope! Let us give a chance to compassion,goodwill, concord, togetherness to hope for new days on this eve of christmas and   new year !
  Dec 2014 Bassam A
Tiara Prasad
When I was young,
I used to draw.
My lines were a wriggle,
My sketches were a scribble.                          
My colours were a rebel,
Of unmatching lights.
My sky was red.
My trees were blue.
My grass was violet.
Hanging from the dew.

And then I went on,
And learnt to grow.
They taught me, or they say so,
How to draw.

I draw now.
The lines I draw are straighter now.
The pictures I make are neater now.
The colours I fill are existent now.
'What have I learnt?', I ask myself.
You say you've helped me grown. So.
This is what I learnt. I answer,
I drew them a perfect box.
And painted it black.
  Dec 2014 Bassam A
Crystal Erickson
Words can not undo what has been done
Desire can not unset the sun.
Time never stops, never pauses, never slows.
What happens next we don't get to know.
The world spins on, oblivious to chance.
We can sit it out or chose to dance.
Lingering in bittersweet memories past.
We long for a truth that will forever last.
We find ourselves crying alone in the night.
Chained by mistakes we long to take flight.
Trapped from within and tortured forever.
Until we let go and look back never!
So goodbye my dearest, my lover, my friend,
Goodbye seems so permanent, Is this the end?

© Crystal Erickson 2008
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