— Ram Prasad Prasain
Retiring the tiresome day
He bid and told me,
Wrapping up the all conversations,
“Sir, don’t send my body to my country”
“Why?”
I was in grave consciousness,
Continuously vibrates my auditory drum
“Coz, my wife has no ways to run my funeral rites and rituals”
Striking at celebrated celibacy of silence
Again, he threw another hypnotic epiphany,
“I planned to demolish my second son in the womb”
He murmured again, “He came; and he lives a living death”
“Kids were thrown into being”, Yes, I know.
To prove my masculine potency
And, her fertile blossom, “They are our ego gratifications”,
Without being asked a single question
And, again and repeatedly
Without bearing a single alternative solution
No permission was granted before their arrival
Neither were they welcomed after their emergences
Of course, “He must be an outcome of common game”
That deserves to be an end game
At the brim of the promised dream
Nurture the NATURE
NURTURE the EMPOWERMENT
Dig a pit to unplug the minds of consciousness
Cover the chasm to fortified differences
To rejoice fractions and cracks
To verify falsification
And to justify the verdict underpinning ration rather than REASON
Change the change
Change the cloths
Change the genitals
Replace a stone in your heart
It will revitalize climes and dimes
“Cultivate a willingness to change”
Foster a culture of communications
Deviate from the norms
When my grandpa was eating apples
Newton rejoiced innovative taste
His mind valley was brewing the beverages
Of consciousness and ratiocination
With the untangled labyrinths of alcoholic intoxication
A scream in vacuum
“Walk the talk”
“Talk the talk”
The first line of defense
The sky is falling
Cloudy and misty lands unwind my spirits
As a winnow churns out the chaffs from green paddy lines
Prosperity empowers chewing gum factories
Through the optical fibers of our nerves
The retina of fragility ensures strength into the inner core of regular beats
Where the germinated seeds
Are being blooming on your bald pumpkins and gourds
Where happiness is harrowing wheel barrow of sensations
Perception is received
Uncle Rip Van Winkle
Setting fire nearby the tomb of Uncle Tom
Deeply sleeping in deep desert of monotony
Where the Sun is holding a mirror
An elegy of dead death has been engraved
At the cherry orchard of lively living alive life
Lurking latently towards the Whorfian vision of semiotic and symbolic
Eternity of lacing entirety of flux, mutability and full-fledged lovely life
The green leaves are fluttering around us
And we stand up
We are green with greenery
We became greenery and we found blooming green buds
Wrapping up the all conversations,
I was in smoggy way of memoirs and consciousness
And, I remembered Subru,
“Sir, don’t send my body to my country”
“Why?”
I was in grave consciousness,
Continuously vibrates my auditory drum
“Coz, my wife has no ways to run my funeral rites and rituals”