SELECTED POEMS OF
DR. MAHENDRA BHATNAGAR
AFTER THE FORTY POEMS
[25 Poems]
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Contents
* Preface : Dr. Suresh Chandra Dwivedi
* Selected Poems Of Mahendra Bhatnagar
By Dr. Patricia Prime, Newzeland
POEMS
1 O Winged Steeds Of Destiny
2 Gift Of A Lively Faith
3 To The Condemned Woman 
4 Accept Me
5 The Offshoot
6 We Know It Well
7 Stop It
8 The Dawn
9 I Appeal
10 The Tremor Of The Trampling Feet
11 Many A Man
12 The Worship Of Art
13 What Is The Secret
14 A State Of Mind
15 Life
16 Through The Unwanted Moments 
17 I Accept
18 An Awareness Within
19 The Irony Of Fate
20 How To Suffer Pain : A Point Of View
21 The Incredible
22 Who Are You?
23 A Submission
24 The Dusk
25 The New Life
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PREFACE
Dr. Suresh Chandra Dwivedi
Dept. of English, Allahabad University, INDIA
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Of the many Indian poets whose literary careers were shaped by poetry in the post-independence India of 20th century , the name of Dr. Mahendra Bhatnagar is one of them. He is a progressive poet of renown. His poetic career covering several decades demonstrates his humanistic vision from beginning to end. In his works the thread of his humanistic vision can be seen vividly. He wrote poems to bring about a change in the world. His humanistic vision has its own distinction : it is connected with a world vision. He believes that a progressive, prosperous and purposeful world can be constructed. His poetry contains joys and sorrows of common men. He is endowed with the gift of free imagination dedicated to bring about change in our soulless heartless, dead, disintegrated, disunited, disillusioned capitalistic world where common man is foredoomed to be exploited, cheated and looted at every step. Prof. Mahendra Bhatnagar is a first rate intellectual, who analyses, interprets, evaluates and describes his emotions in the light of his humanistic vision. The forces of establishment and power – both Governmental and non-Governmental have crushed the hopes and dreams and ambitions of common people. A poet like Prof. Mahendra Bhatnagar uses irony to expose the fraud of exploiters. He has ultimately emerged in his poetry as a champion of the common humanity. He so often exposes the enemies of the labourers and the peasants of India. With his humanistic vision he constantly compels the readers to distinguish between power and propriety. He is alert, careful, and cautious, sometimes reminding us occasionally of Brecht, Auden, Pablo Neruda and of Carl Sandburg.
Like them he is a spokesman of the people, and he employs a rare sensitivity, a rare intellectuality and a rare humanity like them. Without the quality of their free imagination and immense love for the people Mahendra Bhatnagar's poems would not have seen the light of the day. A humanitarian poet he has always given his eyes and ears to his mother India. If one wants to know the sufferings and agonies of common people in India, he must give his days and nights to the poetry of Dr. Mahendra Bhatnagar. His poem 'Helplessness' typical of its kind reveals not only his own helplessness but also of the common people of India :
Thrust upon, undesired life, I lived.
Every instant, every step, shame I lived
History, now you ask me what
Folly and dirtiness of the world, I lived.
('Helplessness')
I have quoted this poem because this is a poem which reflects his free imagination and humanistic vision fully. The poet opposes those forces which resent change. The last 110 years have been the years of wars, terrorism, apartheid, exploitation, unemployment, violence, criminalisation of politics, betrayal of godmen and bureaucrats. The dynamic poet Mahendra Bhanagar powerfully attached to this period of moral degeneration and disintegration. He is rightly of the view that this period has been a period of shame, helplessness and corruption all over the world. Dr. Mahendra Bhatnagar's poetry mirrors our era of shame, helplessness and corruption. As an intellectual he stands on earth and questions, examines and tests terrestrial things. He employs irony and understatement to expose the enemies of people. He does not spare even those who are at the helm of affairs. Like Mulk Raj Anand and Premchand, the novelists he takes the side of the people and not the fascists, dictators and capitalists. We do not find servility syndrome or tendency of hero-worship in Mahendra Bhatnagar. In his several volumes of poetry, he emerges as an artistic reporter of the agonies and dreams of people. His poems have authenticity and sureness of death, and dynamism, truth, beauty and goodness of life. His great and valuable poetry should not be underestimated because of the fact that he is a Hindi poet and originally wrote in Hindi. Indian criticism does not have that free imagination, love for people and humanistic vision which creative writers have in abundance. Critics are either slaves of ideology or write with some selfish motive to please Academies or some gods. But a poet like Mahendra Bhatnagar is always free and has actively participated in the drama of mankind. The humanistic vision of Mahendra Bhatnagar is broader than that of Muktibodh and Kedar Nath Agrawal. His humanistic vision often combines compassion of Gautam Buddha, martyrdom of Jesus Christ, love for common objects of Kazuyosi Ikeda, commonness of Auden, skepticism of Brecht and involvement with mankind of John Donne. He is a fine poet of people's consciousness and his volumes of poems confirm this. Each poem gives a definition of life; each poem gives a clarification of life. He uses people's thoughts, consciousness and their language adeptly. So far as sensuous comprehension of thought is concerned, so far as love for people is concerned, so far as exposure of fascists, tyrants, terrorists and enemies of people is concerned, he is second to only a few. So far as quality of depiction of criticism of life with a sense of poetic truth and beauty is concerned he is second to none. He is clearer than Muktibodh, wider in emotions than Agyeya, deeper than Kedar Nath Agrawal and more readable than Shamsher Bahadur Singh.
Dr. Mahendra Bhatnagar does not belong to any group or coterie of poets and critics. All his poems as well as his entire corpus suggest that man belongs to a large family. Man cannot live and should not live like an island. Man should choose to love and help each other and fight against enemies of people, country and democracy unitedly. Every man is a part of mankind.
Last but not the least, Dr. Mahendra Bhatnagar knows Indian people and their pathetic conditions. He has given an authentic poetic record of the common humanity of India. He is a good observer of the life around him. His honesty, integrity, sincerity, authenticity and brevity are appealing and so are his sensitivity, subjectivity and tempestuous poetic capacity. He is a prolific poet whose books cannot be forgotten. He observes everything through his free imagination and humanistic vision. One is astonished to see the wide scope and vast canvas of his poetry which surveys all the occupations, classes and regions of India. The poet is seen shaking hands with the crowd, talking to them and rubbing shoulders with them. His books of poems reveal the collective wisdom of the people. The wisdom lies in synergy, cooperation, unity, collaboration, hard work, naturalness, peace and in Auden's thought – "We must love each other or die." and Arnold's thought – "Oh love! let us be true to each other." Mahendra Bhatnagar is a great poet of 'living moments and people alive.'
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Selected Poems of
Dr. Mahendra Bhatnagar — 2
by Dr. Patricia Prime, Newzeland
In his Preface to the Selected Poems of Dr. Mahendra Bhatnagar, Dr. Suresh Chandra Dwivedi says, “Of the many Indian poets whose literary careers were shaped by poetry in the post-independence India of 20th century, the name of Dr. Mahendra Bhatnagar is one of them. He is a progressive poet of renown. His poetic career demonstrates his humanistic vision from beginning to end.” This is praise indeed for a fine poet, a significant voice in both Hindi and Indian English Poetry.
As we shall see from the poems, Dr. Mahendra Bhatnagar seeks a “universal” or “collective” self, uncovered through poetry. In part this takes the form of a search for cultural roots, while producing a literature of revelation and prophecy that speaks in equal terms of the grandiosity of the universe and at times of the self. Bhatnagar’s work closely centres on an individual experience and voice. Poems such as “O Winged Steeds of Destiny”, “Gift of a Lively Faith” and “Accept Me”, lament the transience of youth while celebrating the individual’s place in a greater cosmology. Maintaining a tension between human consciousness and the world beyond it, Bhatnagar’s poems read as myths of creation and metamorphosis, which bring to mind the poetry of Auden and Neruda. Throughout there is an elegiac quality to Bhatnagar’s poetry that while communing with the greater universe, its generation and renewal, allows a subdued lament for the individual’s mutability to escape:
I throw open the gates
Of my small habitation
To give shelter to the life and honour
Of those who are hit
Hard by Nature’s ironies,
Or, by worldly ridicules.
(“Gift of a Lively Faith”)
Bhatnagar expends equal energy to his philosophy as to his Indian heritage. His poetry is a combination of sublimity and wisdom, and is a way of exploring the meaning of subjectivity and of pursuing philosophical beauty. The poet figure is presented as a humanist, visionary and compassionate ideologist. Spiritually-minded, and open to the greatness of feeling and experience through such vistas presented by the Indian landscape and its people, Bhatnagar’s work offers a relentless and vitalised search for the fullness of human experience, and the fulfilment of destiny, as we see in “the Offshoot”, where we are not to stunt the new growth and development of humanity:
So do not come
In the offshoot’s way.
Do not interfere
With their growth;
Let them sprout and grow
In the sun,
In the open sky!
“We Know it Well” and “Stop It” are two of the outstanding poems in the collection for their understatement and clarity. “The Dawn” is also a very sharp expression of the pathos and beauty of the poor who dream optimistically of a new dawn:
But they dream of a new dawn
(Can ever groans eclipse faith?)
as increases the cold,
Nearer moves
The ember of a new life;
The eyes will behold a little while hence
A new dawn, a new millennium,
And the passions of a new life!
In some ways a political poem, “I Appeal” speaks more directly to the politicians and bureaucrats on behalf of the exploited:
I appeal today
To the millions of the exploited world;
To the sighs of the starving,
The naked and the oppressed,
The helpless ad the hapless ones –
Do not grope in the dark any more;
Oh, do not cherish in your eyes any dreams
Open your eyes, my friends!
“The Tremor of Trampling Feet” offers a wry retreat from the grander movements of history and struggle of the oppressed to the slighter, though just as meaningful, struggle of the downtrodden:
When the thick walls of the exploiters’ citadels
Cracked with the reverberating sounds
Everyone thought –
There rocked the earthquake
But lo! that was the tremor of the trampling feet
Of the downtrodden!
The poem “Many a Man” satirises the man who, although thirsty, refuses to drink the water of the new Ganges, believing it to be poisonous and dirty, or the many men who shiver despite the new breeze of freedom blowing through the land:
The new breeze blows
Through the fields and barns,
There are many who breathe in freedom;
Still many a man shivers and sighs!
For Bhatnagar’s politically acute acceptance of life and its inconsistencies, I am left a little humble. Here, political and poetic “truths”, give way to the facts of life, the everyday and psychological survival. Some part escapist, some part realist, the speaker is profoundly conscious of humanity’s actions and reactions to his environment. It is a politics that centres on the community as much as it rejects hypocrisy. The final image in “An Awareness Within” is as skilfully crafted politically as it is tellingly human and real, and a recognisably truthful and exact presentation of the community where everything is shared: hardship, short-comings and pain:
The clouds
With the deep salty sea
And the destruction beaconing storm
Have knocked your doors,
Extend them
A hearty welcome.
Accept them gladly
Who have brought for you
A gift of pain!
Sustain on your weak shoulders
The great mountains!
Fill deep the heart
With anguish
And the compassionate eyes
With tears!
For his part, as a humanist, Bhatnagar develops a poetry of metempsychosis, by using poetry as a vehicle through which the speaker not simply communes but merges with the natural. Where “The Irony of Fate” acknowledges the desire to cause “the bewitching birds of fancy / - like silken slips of multicoloured cloth / To fly free in the immense sky!” – “How to Suffer Pain: A Point of View” charts the experience to speak of things as themselves, and not as metaphors, within the transformative nature of poetic language, creating a meditation that while desiring realism recognises its impossibility. It is a masterful piece of writing where language and the “real” are set into play evocatively.
Bhatnagar’s work is open and vulnerable, but couples this with a sort of ebullience, a hunger for experience that sometimes tips into anxiety, as if signalling the source of his energy. Central to the poetry is the desire to know and understand the self, to place the self in the deeper context of community, history or politics. For Bhatnagar, the poem is often a space of self-interrogation, where melancholy is mollified, and where the persona is an actor on the stage of life as we see in “The Incredible”:
Inside the auditorium
There are no spectators
It’s only me –
The actor,
The hero!
Some part dialectic, Bhatnagar’s poetry affirms a self not at odds with the world but unlocking its rhythms, accepting its limitations and nature, not making-do but witnessing and celebrating. “Submission” and “The Dusk’ richly evoke brief moments of the persona’s experience and the questioning of how it is we are in the world, and the knowing of its particularity and fleeting nature.
Finally, in “New Life” a short play in verse is taking part on stage where a young man sings in “a pathetic tone”. Poems such as this make experience and emotion almost tactile, while drawing the reader into the shared space of the poem, the shared space of being human and knowing helplessness.
Reading Bhatnagar’s work is one of those rare moments of discovering a poet whose voice and experience seem wholly integrated, so that in the reading not simply communication but a kind of communion is achieved.
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[1] O WINGED STEEDS OF DESTINY
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O Winged steeds of Destiny!
Holding thy reins
With confidence
And with firm hands,
We will pull them
To give ye direction,
Every time!
Lustrous and indomitable,
We are the sons of the soil
We stand by the toil
We cherish the youthful vigour;
We will pull
Thy bridle — mind you —
To give ye direction,
Every time!
O ye, the sentinels and the stars foretelling!
Our labour is marked with brilliance,
We will pull out
Thy light undecaying;
For, we can reach
The inaccessible Space
Through endurance and steadfast endeavours.
O ye, our stars!
We will, forsooth,
Take away from ye
Thy brilliance!
O ye, the moving invisible hand!
Thou art the invincible citadels
Echoing the distressed cries
Of the ill-fated ones!
Bathed in sweat
We will wash
Thy ominous lines,
And singing sweet the inspiring music
Of hard work,
We will break through
Thy citadels
Of distress and destruction!
O winged steeds of Destiny!
We will hold thy bridle
And give ye direction!
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[2] GIFT OF A LIVELY FAITH
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Lots of Love — love
That I have treasured all my life —
To each of those
Who are distressed
Either by Fate or the ways of the world!
I throw open the gates
Of my small habitation
To give shelter to the life and honour
Of those who are hit
Hard by Nature's ironies,
Or, by worldly ridicules.
O ye,
The downtrodden, distressed, dejected ones!
I welcome you
With the fragrant gleeful bouquets
Of new hopes and a lively faith!
Covet your life with beauty
And fill your heart
With an earthly fragrance!
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[3] TO THE CONDEMNED WOMAN
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O fallen woman
Condemned by the world
Come!
Me would give you cinnabar
To wish you blessedness!
O you,
Who have only known
Deep sighs and wailings
Me would bless your voice
With sweet melodies!
O you,
Who are rich
With the ironies of life,
Come,
Me would bless you
With the mirths of life!
O you,
Who are drooping
Being excommunicated,
Come!
O come,
Me would give you
The abode of lotuses blue!
O you,
Who are deprived of every-thing,
Mocked-at woman!
Come,
O come,
Me would feelingly
Tickle my fingers
Into your rugged locks!
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[4] ACCEPT ME
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My wishes :
Like the twinkling stars
On the breast of the blue!
My passions :
Like the bright streams
Of the fast-flowing 'Bhagirathi'!
That rises from the Himalayas!
My feelings :
Like the most beautiful garlands
Of red roses
Fresh, fragrant and blossoming!
I offer these to you
In adoration;
O celestial Beauty!
Every little bit of my heart
Is filled with
Your beautiful golden rays!
Accept me,
O accept me,
Even in my life of mundane existence
I offer to you my purest love!
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1- Name of the river Ganges.
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[5] THE OFFSHOOT
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The forward moving force in man
Grows. The offshoot breaks
The hard crust,
Withstanding the onslaughts
Of the whirlwinds
The brilliant sprouts into a new life!
As it grows into a plant
And dances with the winds
In arrogance,
Ominous forces of destruction
Lay down their arms
With a sense of frustration;
And those that wished to sap the energy
Of life — abundant, though —
Give their way.
So do not come
in the offshoot's way,
Do not interfere
With their growth;
Let them sprout and grow
In the sun,
In the open sky!
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[6] WE KNOW IT WELL
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We'll march removing hurdles,
Cleaving the dark
We'll march!
For, we know it well —
That lightning flashes not in the blaze of noon!
Awake, incessantly shall we proceed
Erecting an edifice anew.
For, we know it well —
That youth falters not — no, never!
The opposing gales will gaze in wonder,
And the adversities will then quickly end;
For, we know it well —
That the breaths of the undaunted
are wasted not — no, never!
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[7] STOP IT
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This is not the voice
Of the down-trodden;
the starving and the naked,
Nor, is it the voice of the human rights!
This is not the voice of amity and accord.
This is not the rescue-boat of the struggling man
Who is caught in the tempest-torn sea!
When you've in your hand
The naked carcass of culture;
When your vulture teeth are red
With blood of the teeming millions
And your breath smells of a deflowered virginity,
How could you talk of human rights,
Kicking the oppressed in their chests
With your iron-boots?
Oh, stop your dirty slogans of peace!
The night has now crossed over the exploited world
And there comes the light flooding in;
Paint not the paper-walls
With spurious colours to deceive —
There they are to speak for the human rights.
The mansion of your meaningless 'humanitarianism'
Will crumble down!
Climbing up the remains
Will each man sing
Fearlessly,
The song of equality!
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[8] THE DAWN
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In the snowy nights
Those who lie
Under a foggy blanket
Like bundles
Drawing their knees unto their chests
Are drowsy and anxious;
But they dream of a new dawn
(Can ever groans eclipse faith?)
As increases the cold,
Nearer moves
The ember of a new life;
The eyes will behold a little while hence
A new dawn, a new millennium,
And the passions of a new life!
For, never shall extinguish the lamp
Of hopes and ambitions,
Of the toiling millions!
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[9] I APPEAL
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I appeal today
To the millions of the exploited world;
To the sighs of the starving,
the naked and the oppressed,
The helpless and the hapless ones —
'Do not grope in the dark any more;
Oh, do not cherish in your eyes any dreams,
Open your eyes, my friends!
Ready to greet you, peeps the morn!'
There sings the cuckoo
In the groves,
Time and again, in her high pitched voice —
'A new dawn comes,
Comes a new millennium,
And the world is completely changed!'
I appeal to those who
Climb up the Himalayas
And tread the thorny path
That their goal is almost near hand
And they will certainly attain it soon.
Then will end the long prevailing
disease of exploitation
And the restless faces will beam in cheers.
There will blow a fresh, unpolluted wind
And the mosquitoes that suck the blood
And spread disease in the world
Will then go to the distant, dark corners!
I appeal
Oh, hail the new era,
With an irrepressible, sky-tearing voice;
Let thousands sing
The victory song —
For, the iron strength of the masses
Has this day got the better of the citadel;
Pray, such moments long prevail!
I appeal to those who worship life,
Those who are the living angels on earth,
Who lend their might to the common masses
Dig deep the soil
The Mother Earth has been waiting for years
To welcome you,
With the gifts of silver and gold.
Strike, strike,
The turn of the poor has come at last!
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[10] THE TREMOR OF TRAMPLING FEET
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When the dormant ocean of humanity
Was stirred to life at the beckoning call
Everyone thought —
There struck the thunderbolt
But lo! that was the thunderous noise
Of the downtrodden!
When the thick walls of the exploiters' citadels
Cracked with the reverberating sounds
Everyone thought —
There rocked the earthquake
But lo! that was the tremor of the
trampling feet,
Of the down trodden!
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[11] MANY A MAN
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The day dawns —
Yet, many a man is sleeping,
They are harvesting the crop —
Yet, many a man is weeping!
The new Ganges flows today —
Yet, many a man is thirsty,
For, behaving like Chatak1 they hold
The water to be poisonous and dirty!
The new breeze blows
Through the fields and barns,
There are many who breathe in freedom;
Still many a man shivers and sighs!
A new world has emerged though,
Some take it still to be an evil world;
Scared of their own shadows,
They are caught in illusions wild!
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1- A mythological Indian bird which drinks only the rain water under the ‘Swati’
constellation. Here it is symbolic of a static and conventional attitude.
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[12] THE WORSHIP OF ART
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Why, the worship of Art
Fills each heart
With love!
Sing,
The stone will turn into wax,
The hot desert into a tidal sea.
Sing,
The whirlwinds will calm down;
The dark night
Will turn into a golden day.
Sing, O sing,
The birds of life will chirp
In the lonely valleys of death
And the desolate, dreary faces
Will gleam in moonlit smiles!
The worship of Art is meant to lit
Candle in each heart,
Or, fill it with the fragrance
Of sandal wood.
The worship or Art is meant to fill
Each heart with love!
O sing,
The world shall excel the Heaven in beauty,
No man will suffer old age;
A man will only an angel be
And a woman,
A divine damsel she will be!
Sing, O sing,
That the spring may come
To the distressed life;
The boughs and flowers may dance
In mirth;
The eyes may cherish
The sweet dreams.
O sing,
Playing on the world's harp;
Stir each mind
With the priceless tunes of love.
The worship of Art is meant to rouse
A sense of beauty
In every man!
The worship of Art is meant to fill
Each heart, with love!
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[13] WHAT IS THE SECRET?
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The wind is cold !
The night is still
Listless like your lips !
What the matter is ?
What the mystery is ?
That asleep is each ripple !
Slumber keeps vigil,
Harrowing darkness deep,
Shooting pain is afoot !
The wind is cold !
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[14] A STATE OF MIND
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My desires are oppressed
And restive
To find expression!
My lustful desires
Are carefully preserved by me
In a lone, hidden place,
In the hope
That they will find
Their fulfilment.
My lustful desires
Are restive
And oppressed;
Yet, they are keen to actualize
Themselves
In all experiences.
But, somehow,
The atmosphere is laden
With tear-gas,
Leaving me to weep
Unto myself; Or,
Suffer wrath of the unfulfilled desires!
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[15] LIFE
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All is being lost;
Nothing gained.
Life is like
An ill-arranged and lonely closed room
Or, like a yacht
On the distant sands with its bottom-holes.
Knotty problems
Tightening their grips all around
Evade solutions.
Life is nothing
But an unwanted comet;
Life is like Sita1 —
Stigmatized and distressed;
A vast river with great whirlpools
And full of swelling waves accursed,
How to cross it?
How to bring peace to the restive mind?
Life is like
An ugly canvas
Full of mud and dust
No world of flowers blossoming it is,
For, that is all a dream.
Destiny always takes us on the wrong path
Leaving nothing for us to cling
Yet I live
On the bed of fire;
Yet I live
Holding a mountain on my head!
Yes, I live in the manner of Siva2
Drinking poison unto the neck!
Life is intricate, complex, too
It's not so easy, not that easy!
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1- The wife of Lord Rama.
2- Lord Shiv is known to be the destroyer as well as the preserver of this world.
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[16] THROUGH THE UNWANTED MOMENTS
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O giver of life,
Give me love,
If you have given me thirst
Give me nectar to drink.
When the soul is blessed
With a physical mould,
Give it shape, give it beauty;
And fill the heart
With the tidal waves of feeling!
Oh, deny me not the natural emotions,
For, that would make a hell of life,
Or, mean the passing of years without a song
Of love or beauty.
Oh, deny me not the happy Savan1
If you have opened up the eyes to light
Let them rock the countless dreams;
Let my consciousness enjoy
A whit
Freedom from pain or sighs
Oh, tighten not the strings of helpless moments
Let the broken wings of desire play
For a moment before they die.
Oh, do not fix the nail of vile hatred
Into the throbbing heart
Do not reciprocate the fire of anger
For the fire of love.
O giver of life,
Let me taste the sweet smell
Of every flower,
If you have given me life
Let me relax on a creeper's lap
Free from all inhibitions.
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1- One of the months of the rainy season.
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[17] I ACCEPT
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O Large-eyed
The Khanjan1-eyed
Pretty one
The curse
That you have inflicted on me
..... I accept.
O bestower of benedictions!
The life-giver
The poisonous gift
That you have given me
..... I accept.
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1- Wagtail; often used as a simile in Indian Literature for depicting beautiful,
playful eyes.
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[18] AN AWARENESS WITHIN
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Fill deep the heart
With anguish
And the compassionate eyes
With tears!
Agony is your only fate
Why, accept the hand
Whose lines foretell of a tragic life;
Accept the ice-benumbed, yet lovely, hand,
It has fallen to your lot
Accept it cheerfully.
Why, accept the grief-stricken life;
The tiring moments —
The dark, dirty and tearful moments
Of a darksome life,
Accept them cheerfully.
Yea, fill your iron-heart
With anguish,
And fill your barren eyes
With tears!
The clouds
With the deep salty sea
And the destruction beaconing storm
Have knocked your doors,
Extend them
A hearty welcome.
Accept them gladly
Who have brought for you
A gift of pain!
Sustain on your weak shoulders
The great mountains!
Fill deep the heart
With anguish
And the compassionate eyes
With tears !
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[19] THE IRONY OF FATE
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In the flower-beds of my heart
I caused the fragrant flowers to bloom
All, all my life
The flowers of feelings!
All, all my life
I caused the bewitching birds of fancy
— like silken slips of multicoloured cloth
To fly free in the immense sky!
I wished I could
All, all my life
Bring the sun and the moon
To the deep most valleys
Of my heart
To kill darkness!
But, why this error,
Oh, Providence!
That the body is tightly tied
with countless snakes
And is encircled with sharp thorns;
That the persistent strokes of the gale
Give gifts of vain venomous dust!
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[20] HOW TO SUFFER PAIN : A POINT OF VIEW
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Smile
If the heart aches.
If, however, the pain
Finds its expression
In the slightest wrinkle on the face,
Or, when its expression
Is even half-consciously
Disallowed —
It is only condemnable
Fie it!
It is unmanliness!
Sing
If the heart aches;
Sing with such an ease
That none can ever get at it,
Sing with the honey-soaked voice
The mirths of life!
Let not the dead, pale leaves of autumn
Even slightly rustle,
Oh, sing
The songs of spring!
Sing,
Burying sobs and sighs,
The tinkling, reverberating melodies
Of the ankle-bells;
Sing —
Being oblivious of the sad and painful moments
Of a lonely life —
The never ending laughter
Of a boisterous life!
Sing
The songs of love
Love, that is a great boon,
Love, that is priceless,
Love, that smells like Life's
sweet scented shrubs!
Smile
If the heart aches :
Smiles that are milky white,
Smiles that are immaculate white,
Smiles that are silver-like,
Smiles that are moonlight-like!
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[21] THE INCREDIBLE
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Inside the auditorium
There are no spectators
It's only me —
The actor,
The hero!
Whose life —
Far from being delightful —
Has been most woeful and tragic.
It's really me
Who lives up to the main story
And sings
In broken voice
It's own requiem :
It's so pathetic, monotonous and uncharming.
I am the 'Bhojak'1
The 'Bhojya'2 too,
Soaked in sorrow,
Made of blue tendons,
Tediously and slowly grown plot;
The introduction, the middle, and the end!
But
Who are you
Like an intoxicating side-plot?
Are you 'Rambha'?3
Are you 'Urvashi'?4
Who deviates so sudden
From the main plot?
yes, its all too sudden
So out of place
So unnatural!
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1- A person that rouses an emotion. [A technical term in Sanskrit poetics.]
2- The comprehension of a sentiment. [A technical term in Sanskrit poetics.]
3- A divine damsel.
4- A divine damsel of the court of Lord Indra.
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[22] WHO ARE YOU?
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In the solitude of this darksome night —
Who has poured
Into my poisonous, bitter self
The sweet words of great consolation —
Sounding like a charming musical note,
Coming from a distance,
Springing a pleasant surprise?
Oh, who is it
That opens the closed windows of my heart
To peep in
Like a spark in the dark clouds
Of a gloomy life?
Who is it
That moves
Into the charred sky, or
Into the sultry suffocating world,
Like the moist-laden east wind?
Oh, who is it
That stirs my consciousness
To mitigate my sufferings?
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[23] A SUBMISSION
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The flowers that fade away
Without beaming full smile
On the branches of the earth
Stir my questing spirit!
O my love, forgive me,
If I cannot sing these days
In thy praise.
Forgive me
If I cannot appreciate
The fragrance or the golden beauty
Of the physical mould.
Forgive me
If I cannot smile
At your enchanting beauty!
O my lovely love!
When the flowers are fading
And the world looks like a widow,
What meaning could there be
In the beauty-aids, or
The jingling of the ankle-bells?
Pray, Oh, Pray
That the buds may blossom
And the branches quiver with love!
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[24] THE DUSK
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On that hillock —
Hesitatingly sprawls a massy stone,
Black and nude and crude.
Hesitatingly — yes, perhaps,
Someone may now come
To lie on it.
Someone — yes,
May be a lover of heavenly bodies,
May be a poet,
Or, a deserted lover,
Or, someone fretted with the world!
All around the hillock
On the dark soil
Spreads a big velvet;
May be a blanket, if not a velvet,
That covers the one who 'sleeps'.
Nearby, there is the lake :
The rays of the setting sun
Weaken their embrace of the soft ripples,
Reassuring them to visit them the next day,
Say —
'Like the home-bound birds of twilight sure
We'll visit again,
Now you go to sleep!'
A soft breeze blows
As if dame in georgette sari
Crossed this way. Oh,
What a charming scene! But
Before I could enjoy it,
A rustic painter slowly but callously —
Painted it black!
It can't be redeemed —
May you, however, smudge the white
Several times
On the blue sky
It can't be redeemed!
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[25] NEW LIFE
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[On the stage, a young man sings in a pathetic tone. His hairs are dry and dishevelled. Its' dark on the stage; the young man's face is, however, dimly lighted. As he sings, soft melody of an instrument — quite in tune with the song — comes from behind the curtain.
Man's life is filled with helpless moments;
The days and nights are all dark and dreary
And the stale talk of those dire needs
Rap my heart —
How long will it take the rains to come?
The song of life is left half-sung — never done!
My life is given to helplessness!
The same old dreams deceive as yet,
And the heart is filled
With those very lusts, throbs and commotions —
How long will it take a new world to bear?
My life is filled with dreary moments!
My life is given to helplessness!
[The background music becomes a little high-pitched and a female voice, as yet subdued and indistinct, is heard, also echoing the tune of the song. The young man continues to sing ...
The hot winds blow
Howling at the nests,
Scaring me to wonder —
How long will it take the spring to bloom?
My life is fading amidst autumn's dead leaves!
My life is given to helplessness!
[The approaching sounds of the ankle-bells accompany the melodious voice of the lady and the instrument. The voice of the young man becomes soft; but all the same he goes on singing ...
My fatigue-intoxicated body aches
And my heart is rendered
Weak, helpless and demoralized —
How long will it take to beam a smile?
My life becomes a show of skeleton!
My life is given to helplessness!
[A young and vivacious lady appears on the stage. She is basked in colourful light. She is the symbol of a New Life. The young man looks at her in amazement and his song abruptly stops. But, he background music becomes somewhat sharp ...
Man's morrow is bright and gay,
Be it though not a better path,
Strewn with thorns, an intractable path,
But he tramples down the thorns
Alleviating adversities comes then
the New Life beaming smiles!
Mitigating darkness comes then
the New Life showering light!
[As soon as the words, 'beaming smiles' are heard her face beams with smile. The young man, singing the background music, approaches the Lady of Life. His dry hairs wave in the air; and the Lady of Life holds his hands into hers. Then the melodies of the instrument, the song and the ankle-bells linger to reverberate for a little while.]
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