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Raghu Menon Jun 2018
Quiet flows the Brahmaputra
But violent and angry at times
At the ruthless manner in which
The man destroys the nature...

Quiet flows the Brahmaputra
But angry and turbid below
At the greed and arrogant manner in which
They carry out "development"

Quiet flows the Brahmaputra
But sad and lost
at the poor lives and livelihoods lost
At the hands of the rich who creates the catastrophes

Quiet flows the Brahmaputra
But helpless and depressed
At the ignorance and stubborn attitude
Of the people who aren't willing to learn from their mistakes.

Quiet flows the Brahmaputra
Sometimes overflowing and destructive
Time and again, to teach the humanity a lesson
In not learning from the past, learning from their mistakes
Because, history repeats itself..
And we are suffering today at the hands of the
People who are not creating a welfare state
But extracting, extorting, exploiting the commons
And the common people
To the benefit of a few, arrogant, "smart" rich...

There is something wrong somewhere..
Unless we learn ...
Unless we change...
We get what we deserve...

So if we need a change..
Let's change first ourselves..
Our action, Our decisions, Our choices...
There is nobody to blame..but ourselves...

It is not enough we give our choices
Once in five years ...
And then blame everybody else
For what we get out of our choice...

Quiet flows the Brahmaputra
He is a teacher, a friend, a father (and a mother)..
A brother, and a God (if there is one)...
Let us learn from him, the nature...

Quiet flows the Brahmaputra
So magnificent and great..
Angry at times..Destructive at times...

Still the lifeline of the people
Quiet flows the Brahmaputra.
Brahmaputra is a river in Assam, and having a male name unlike most rivers having female names. The river is known for its flooding and destruction year after year, due to the unplanned "developments" that is done.  Inspiration: My friend's poem "There is something wrong ..." https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2513480/something-wrong-need-to-start-it-again/
Jayanta Apr 2014
We had well-heeled days
With sprawling village,
Glowing crop field, homestead,
and flock of cattle !
We worked day and night
Made our life accomplish with fruits of toil!
Those were the days of amiable knot with everyone,
Spring was echoed with the   sound of ‘Dhol’ and ‘Bihu’!
Summer was fragrance with wet soil and mud of crop field!
Autumn was resonance with ‘Aoi-ni-tom’!
Winter was mirrored with golden Paddy!
Now, we are like a vagrant!
We work in other’s field
We are living on our landowner’s marshy!
“Have you seen that boat on the river?
  Our village was there!
Mighty Brahmaputra had carried away
Our home and glee!”
Now, we depend on our land owner’s marshy!
The river Brhamaputra flowing through Assam (a state of India), there are many places in the region where bank erosion takes place along with shifting of river course  and people lost their villages, home and livelihood. It is a great tragedy of the region.
When I visited one of the affected areas, a la-di-dah person belongs to Mising tribal community of Majuli River Island, shared this with me. Still, the drops of tears coming out of his eyes disturb me!

Meaning of the specific word used in the poem –
Dhol- a traditional drum (musical instrument), Bihu- it is a festival of the region and folk song sing in the spring season are also known as Bihu or Bihu Nam /Song, Aoi-ni-tom – a traditional folk song of Mising tribal community
Donall Dempsey Jan 2016
FINGERTIP
( for Shyam )

as a little child
I travelled

up & down the Ganges
its sister Yamuna..her brother Brahmaputra

their names
upon my tongue

my voice calling them
into being

awed by their sound
mantras for my mind

riding their waters
in the little ship

of a
fingertip

traveling only as a child
can

now
here I am

still that child
become this man

still offering
my devotion

from the Dev Bhoomi I come

tracing Shiva's hair
from here to there

"Ganga Ma...Ganga Ma!" I cry
herding the river

from Gaumukh
watching her

spread her fan
into the Bay of Bengal and beyond

still sailing the same old
fingertip ship

a bit old and
battered now

soon I will stand
on Indian soil

call all my childhood rivers
to me

bow as they
flow into me

their names
upon my tongue

calling upon
all the Gods to come

as
one

"OM!"
ConnectHook Sep 2015
ཆོས་ཀྱི་རྒྱ་མཚོ་

Bards of the bardo, hear my lay;
ye glacial Himalayas, sway.
Raise a warming toast in sake,
while my mystic muse gets cocky.

You who seek enlightenment
unto whom these lines are sent
open wide your spirit’s portal
(you – who are not yet immortal)

as we weigh a departed soul
and hurl a vajra – let it roll
with tantric thunderclap appeal
while startled Bodhisattvas reel.

Turn from the heights with sober eyes
and under less celestial skies
let us scrutinize the preacher,
pop-star and Tibetan teacher:

Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche
(born in a manger – so they say)
grew up deep in Eastern mountains,
fed by esoteric fountains.

Soon he became a monkish abbot
painting thankas, chanting sutra
in a saffron-colored habit
high above the Brahmaputra.

Later, the teacher headed west
suckling Maya‘s milky breast
selling used mantras on the way
to devas who came out to play.

Eventually, in Colorado
he rocked the Rockies, thrilled the Beats
Bringing to his own weird bardo
bolder moves and tipsy feats.

Crazy wisdom’s drunken master
clothed in smartly elegant style,
steered disciples toward disaster –
partying gleefully all the while.

He tantalized the Tantric flirts
by seeking Buddhahood up their skirts;
preaching, as their morals sunk
from The Tibetan Book of the Drunk

Meditating, glass in hand
life of the party (of the ******)
the master mingled with dakinis
deep in the bardo of red bikinis.

Leaving behind a score of tulkus
empty bottles, broken parts
books of empty words that fools choose
after charlatans steal their hearts,

Trungpa Rinpoche went down
shaman of shame, hung-over clown
and tried to mend his Karmic puncture
where the left-hand paths make juncture:

Axis of the All, he spoke
a massive Himalayan joke.
Chogyam’s sacred shambala
brought last laughs to the last hurrah.

When his Dharma-dream was ended
Trungpa woke in hell, a snowball;
karmic punctures still unmended
prisoner of the Bardo Thodol

Should you doubt the truths I tell,
the facts are documented well.
Crazy, isnt it? What we’ll take
from vajra-vendors on the make.
Limked version with images:
https://connecthook.wordpress.com/2015/04/11/vajra-cast-from-golden-heights/
Abhijit Oct 2013
The night sky was bathed with light
And the silhouettes became hills.
Peals of thunder rolled in,
As the first droplets of rain
Grazed against my face.
Over in the distance,
A storm brewed up,
While the train moved on.

The rumbles grew ever closer
The flashes of grey more frequent
The wind became chillier, but
All the weather did was,
Drive in the fact that,
I was coming home!

I took in all I that I could
The beauty of the mountains,
The sight of the rice-fields and,
The fresh smell of the earth
As the rain poured down.
The wind ruffled my hair,
The thunder roared, lightning snapped
While the train moved on.

The Brahmaputra loomed large,
In all its sheer majesty.
As I looked into the river,
A humbling awe swept through me
Only to be replaced
By the joy of coming home!
Alexander Coy May 2016
I did not die in the country I was born in.

I died much, much later;

had my American ashes
scattered all over Bangladesh;
traversed it's many vessels of water.

I swam the Brahmaputra River,
floated upon the skin
of The Ganga; the half-naked
children waved and I couldn't tell
if they were saying hello
or goodbye; but those
waves spread until
I was far out into the sea.

I was forgotten
as swiftly as I was welcomed;
and was loved as easily
as was I avoided.

I looked back on my American
life with discontent. I saw nothing
but tangled knots of thought
laced with consumption,
and accumulation; self-interest
and seclusion; even
sadness was commodified.

The discontent was the push
and pull of a rope
tied to my soul.

I died before I ever left;
but discovered another self
on foreign soil

It wasn't till I had aged
beyond the average life
span for someone like
me in America; did I realize,

I wasted all this time,

dependent on what others

thought of me; what they

expected of me; and what

they considered was best for me.

I was forever exiled from darkness;

but at least I got a little sun
in Bangladesh.
Leydis Jul 2017
Ven, que Cortázar aprueba nuestra entrega.
Ven, que muero de ansias por dormir contigo.
Ven, descansemos estos cuerpos muertos por la rutina.
Ven, que la vida nos invita a relajarnos entre mimos.
Nos inventa jugadas que puedan extasiar nuestras almas.
Nos regala palabras que podemos gritar hasta que los vecinos se enfaden.
Ven que la alcoba nos llama….ella nos reta--a ahogarnos las llamaradas.
Ven, vamos a escalar el Himalaya,
Ven, que el amor será nuestra mejor guía mientras la descubrimos.
Logremos derretir con nuestros fogosos cuerpos, la nieve que la decora.
Ven, que quiero ser tu “Hima” para que tu nieve enfrié mi canícula.
Quiero ser tu himno, tu gloria, tu mujer insaciable.
Quiero que tú seas mi “ālaya”,
mi morada, mi lugar donde exquisitamente calo en tu cúpula.
Que seas mi río Brahmaputra y que me emputes la impudicia.
Que desagües mis valles con tu dulce boca.
Que conquistes la cordillera de mis pretensiones.
Que derritas mis ventisqueros para alimentar mis famélicos deseos.
Ven, que nuestra alcoba nos llama, nos invita.
Vamos a subir la montaña Everest entre besos que excitan.
Dejemos que el amor nos quebrante sin descuido.
Nos embriague entre artimañas mientras escalamos hacia la cima.
Ven, que este amor se concomerá nuestras ganas,
empuñándonos en cada paso mientras escalamos esta montaña
de pasión, de devoción, de inaguantables salacidad.
Ven que nuestro amor nos hará invencibles,
cuando logremos al mismo tiempo colonizar nuestras cumbres
y la decoremos con una emblemática bandera blanca…...
Ven mi cielo a dormir conmigo,
que el amor, el calor y el deseo se están carcomiendo en nuestro lecho.
LeydisProse
7/7/2017h
ttps://www.facebook.com/LeydisProse/
Leydis Jul 2017
Ven, que Cortázar aprueba nuestra entrega.
Ven, que muero de ansias por dormir contigo.
Ven, descansemos estos cuerpos muertos por la rutina.
Ven, que la vida nos invita a relajarnos entre mimos.
Nos inventa jugadas que puedan extasiar nuestras almas.
Nos regala palabras que podemos gritar hasta que los vecinos se enfaden.

Ven que la alcoba nos llama….ella nos reta--a ahogarnos las llamaradas.
Ven, vamos a escalar el Himalaya,
Ven, que el amor será nuestra mejor guía  mientras la descubrimos.
Logremos derretir con nuestros fogosos cuerpos, la nieve que la decora.

Ven, que quiero ser tu “Hima” para que tu nieve enfrié mi canícula.
Quiero ser  tu himno, tu gloria, tu mujer insaciable.
Quiero que tú seas mi “ālaya”,
mi morada, mi lugar donde exquisitamente calo en tu cúpula.
Que seas mi río Brahmaputra y que me emputes la impudicia.
Que desagües mis valles con tu dulce boca.
Que conquistes la cordillera de mis pretensiones.
Que derritas mis ventisqueros para alimentar mis famélicos deseos.

Ven, que nuestra alcoba nos llama, nos invita.
Vamos a subir la montaña Everest entre besos que excitan.
Dejemos que el amor nos quebrante sin descuido.
Nos embriague entre artimañas mientras escalamos hacia la cima.

Ven, que este amor se concomerá nuestras ganas,
empuñándonos en cada paso mientras escalamos esta montaña
de pasión, de devoción, de inaguantables salacidad.

Ven que nuestro amor nos hará invencibles,
cuando logremos al mismo tiempo colonizar nuestras cumbres
y la decoremos con una emblemática bandera blanca…...

Ven mi cielo a dormir conmigo,
que el amor, el calor y el deseo se están carcomiendo en nuestro lecho.

LeydisProse
7/7/2017h
ttps://www.facebook.com/LeydisProse/
KHADYOT GOGOI Apr 2020
There should be a river here somewhere
In the valley of the never ending festivities,

The birds are comming back,
The fox-tailed orchids are blooming
In the  forking out branches of Ajhar,

Down the ***** of the proud hillocks
Along the banks of the Brahmaputra.

By this moment, you should have been greeted with
The mesmerizing tune of a trumpet of Buffalo horn;

But this time, you will not be allowed to enjoy even
The scenic beauty of an opportunist egret
Sitting on the back of an one-horned rhinoceros.

Yes,  it is the most untimely arrival of yours;
Here in Kaziranga,
Now, the spring is unwelcome.
Ajhar: An oak-like tree found in the north-east India in sub-Himalayan region.
Kaziranga: A national park of India, where endangered one horned rhinoceros are being preserved.

A spring festival Rongalee Bihu is celebrated during this time of the year in Assam. Thousands of tourists visit the region to enjoy its scenic beauty during this festive season. But this year. due to COVID-19, the festivities are restricted and the people are inhouse under "Lockdown".

— The End —