Kautilya or Katyayan,
They were the best examples in their own essence.

Khana or Galileo,
Couldn't be to become too dear to many.

Van Gogh or Jibanananda Das,
Society did not recognize them, all were delusions.

Sukarno or Kamal Ataturk,
Have they got the real happiness of freedom?

Asking questions back to whom today,
To answer these, who remains there!

Perimeter is perimeter-
Its diameter, radius is constant.
And for the necessities of life
Around that perimeter,
Continuously coming and going.

Alas destiny!
Do you want to return without any need?
In the twilight hours, or on a catastrophic morning.
Will I be able to see you.

What a zero perception!
Ah, what a repetitive format -
Torn pages of a fragmentary novel,
In the bitterness of summer, in the footsteps of memory
There was a murmur,
However, it is very indistinct.

Shrouded in the thick fog of thought,
That destiny-
Cannot be seen even in successive incarnations.
That is indestructibly invisible!

a feeling i once thought was lost,
is blooming in me
just as though i’m a flower in a spring.
reborn again,
loving myself again,
and again and again choosing me.
sprouting up from the seeds
and nurturing my needs.
as the grass starts growing
and there’s blooming in the trees.

Finding poetry writing materials-
It is as if the walls are surrounded by an unknown dream.

Before the end of the story of Konakchampa,
The fragrance of Yuthika, that floats in the air, leaving well.

Content seems not as comfortable as before,
Yet the heart is full with the joy of emotion.

Let's write about vivacity, passion, and radiance,
If not, something about unbroken spring-
In the midst of unhappiness, but likely to be of joy,
Let the words of the poem float, as it were everywhere.

Sitting still with emotion,
As time goes on, so does infinity.

However, it seems to be why,
To the hungry street child, white rice is more demanding.

There is a pile of wood by the side of the oven.
Today's cooking will be using them.

Chewing-*******-licking-drinking,
It is easily conceivable to be fond of eating.

They are devoted souls in burning,
This is their best salvation in the world.

This is how they burn the entire day in the oven,
Their self-sacrifice cannot fail.

Next to it is a fallen log of a tree,
He is different, so why he is so proud.

He said jokingly, "You see,
I am unharmed yet”.

The housewife's eyes fell one day on it,
Suddenly her face became gloomy.

She said, Oh! wood, of no use,
Get away from my kitchen.

She threw it in the yard and kept it there,
Seeing that, the piles of wood, were surprised!

It becomes ants nest, even eaten by termites,
He was left alone, helpless.

If you are not big at work, big at words,
One day it will come, will fall in danger.

By far
thoughts are sometime hollow,
perhaps,
they are not that easy
to swallow.

May be they could be
in the realm of extreme,
or, could they be
part of an unusual dream.

In this hazy world
nothing seems to be perfect,
or, could be real true-
Even though people
more or less
rely on their thoughts,
due, or undue.

Perhaps, it is the reflection
of a soundless dream,
or, may be the perception
of a reality
or, could be the deception
of a dementia.

Sometimes, it is the perfection
of an ignorance,
or, would be the illusion
of an inertia
or, might be the delusion
of an eroded idea.

People chatters, smatters,
clatters, flatters-
and sometime hugs,
as fake as their smiles.

They dilute, salute,
pollute, elute-
and sometime thugs
as ingenuine as their personalities.