Hope Knows No Control

They want everything to move in equal spells
that is not thrived yet, and
as days are passing, bloodshed is mounting,
bullets want bullets, bullets of bullets pouring
and thinking is loosing intellect
and everyone is blind with enmity,
anger fills the air,
reasoning and living are bleeding.

They are not blind of good integrity
and try to knock down the dark.
Leaves are falling as season turns.
They make no mistake in floating venture.

A pious soul goes forth
into longing of filling the empty vision.
Its dead body cannot return,
it burns and mingles with
the other world, anger is not living there.

That daredevil man who sings with bullets,
and fights for the sun
when aggrieved ones make defense,
there they are, summer lets them warm.

Mirror is not there, bullets hits are signs of the wall
changes blazed like burning sun
Images cannot lodge complain of the ills
but portray tears.

The poor can take everyone close to remember
those days when meteors are made with splinters.
Think dear state father, people are not dying bakery.

All ills, curse cause people bleed.
Yet they believe in fresh breath.
They want to see darkness has a beauty
They all want to live with you, you as delight.

–Asim Kumar Paul

Songs of a Broken Glass

I see anger in their eyes
as they move in bullet rains.
I am withered away
bullets hit me
pebbles hit me
fists hit me
I cannot tell them to go home
it burns,
its inhabitants face death.
Unrest is there.

My owner is good
he is delicate
always in pyjamas
sticking fingers
on my body when he works
loves me
washes me with water.

I cannot see his eyes
they are old but bright
I feel gentle
when his hands touches me.

I see him hit with bullets
that penetrate me
I withered then
I think
I can save him
if I am hard like steel
but I am not that
I let him die

For him I am the grave
I am fragile.
–Asim Kumar Paul

Songs of Apology

I live in mind
when it fumes.
All over body
anger takes a run
on every limbs.
I live in mind.

In late adulthood
when state father is
in anger-doge
I dream of green plain
but he discards me
and shouts:
“I am the thunderbolt
I am the lightning
I am the living mighty
I am the great father.”

I am still inside him
lying thrashed there
like blank cartridge.
I cannot dress him up.

He is always in anger,
he believes only in him.
On the blood-soaked corridor
on the ruined castle
he is still on the war path.

I am always with him.
He never utters my presence
I have no space to run away
even there is a turmoil.
He still utters no words about me
even faintly he moves
and ignores me on the graveyard.

Rage, Rage, everywhere is rage.

–Asim Kumar Paul

The Youth

You certainly know:
youths can turn an image into a window
youths can make a slate to a garden
youths can question about tirade’s rebirth
as sounds of war mar with brothers’ carnage.

You certainly know:
youths do not move by instructions
as these bear mistakes binding to a mirage
they know someone is feeding his own pocket
Youths do not go through details of sufferings.

Yet sunlight does not cure closed-door syndrome of mind
and on morning the cloudless sky cannot feed the dark mirth.

Youths then become breathing promises of life and visualization.

–Asim Kumar Paul, 04.03.2011

I Make Your Dream Aspire More

I make your dream aspire more
in its prime source, I admire you.

Both you and I do wish our fates
to make us not to fall out of our peers.

In our loving zone, one moderator
comes to make as slave to his whims.

Both of us learn to hate him, as
he tries to put enmity between us.

One day we learn he comes from royal
anarchy to beat us in grudge in his way.

He always believe we may revolt
when we have no path of freedom.

Our message is to make him alert
and to guide him to abandon his grudge

and be friend with us for love
that he mistakes to feel the pulse.

And he brings one gun to fire at us
thence comes the anger that builds the earth.

–Asim Kumar Paul, 04.03.2011


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