The Quiescence here like his deep poems!
'Here you come to New South Wales'
The board by the roadside glitters!
And I got down from the bus
A limousine for the first time in my life?
O it's an unusual quietness in this burial grounds
Situated in a small town perhaps his birth place?
At last after roaming around
I found his humble tomb!
I touched and it's cold
Like frozen death,
Suddenly I woke up!
But I was not certain
Whether it's morning
Or still it's night and where I have been
With my teary eyes?
*[He sent me his two poetry books 'Poems that bloom in my garden & The ancient poet', few weeks before he dies and this was written on the back with his mischievous hand writing and the friendly signature! .................To Nimal, my brother & friend thank you for being who you are.-Paddy Martin]
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A parcel from Overseas beyond the Great Barrier Reef!
As a habbit, firstly
I check the sender's name & address
Oh! It's from New South Wales
Australia, My dreamy burial grounds
To rest in peace with Aborigines!
Guess who sent the precious gift?
Brother Poet & Humanitarian
Paddy the Martin!
Two pocket size books
His poetry Anthologies.
'Poems that bloom in my garden
And The ancient Poet.'
I have not started yet the reading
But that smells a rare fragrance of a flower
In the garden of Eden!
Where the Humanity began!
Thank you is not enough
For the soft soul's honest smile
And I add this; 'Let us be friends
And smile together until we reach
The Horizon, Zenith or Infinity
Whatever it is promise to shake hand warmly!
* Humbly to my friend Paddy Martin in gratitude!
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Paddy sounds Great!
I have your precious two books;
'The ancient poet and Poems that bloom in my garden.'
The Keepsake and my travelling companion!
I reread your boisterous handwriting,
' To nimal, my brother, my friend
Thank you for being you are.'
And the mischievous signature below
Like your innocent smile!
*P.S.
It's a great forward for the book by Patti Masterman of Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, U.S.A
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The frozen death in a quiet winter night!
['You can choose to live your life to your own agenda with a sense of personal purpose that gives your life ventures meaning and a feeling of fulfillment_This is called being at cause living from the inside out creating the life and reality you want.']-David R.J.Powell
Skeletal cypress trees mourn
for their offspring
At a stretch sleep the countless fallen leaves,
Quiet the hazy night and a small drizzle
with crispy snow that covers the helpless burial grounds?
I hear their babyish cries but I am voiceless?
I took out my pocket book and the pencil stub
and I address to my poor poet-God!
While a tear dropp hangs in my eye.
For you, I scribble this line Sir!
O I witnessed the frozen death
in this quiet winter night?
for my poet friend Pranab Chakraborty in gratitude!
Who's translated my few poems into his mother tongue Bengali and already published them in his co-editing magazine.
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The blind flower-seller
With the cane basket
and the white cane
She comes to the Sunday market
Sitting on the small bench
She sells different colors of flowers
Though she cannot see
By each fragrance of them
She knows the name and the pedigree too?
And I sniff a rare fragrance while passing
that comes from her hidden little-heart flower?
to my deceased poet friend Paddy Martin!
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And I write this on your white tomb with a piece of charcoal
When I see the twilight sky
I think of you and your poem paintings!
When I hear a bird's chirping faraway
on a tree, I count your unsung poems?
Whenever I pass burial grounds
I believe that you're still alive
and write?
But you're gone and it's certain.
Do you remember we made a promise once
That one of us do our Epitaph?
Yes, it's my turn and I write this
on your white tomb with a piece of charcoal
and who writes on mine in your absence?
I dedicate this poem to the celebrated poet Khalil Gibran for his love letters!
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If I had a Son?
When he comes from school
Definitely he complains;
'Dear Papa! I had a problem
in my geography class,
Teacher indicates this is North
That's South and this side is East
And that side is West.
Then I said that I won't agree.'
Yes my little unborn Son
I too had the same problem in my night school.
They made the Compass, directions
For their own benefits
But nobody could show us where's the Happiness?
Then one night after a nightcap in my dream I heard;
'Why don't you try my place the old man? '
The faraway old isolated burial grounds muttered!
A humble dedication to the poetess Susan Jarvis!
*[Is nothing in life ever straight and clear, the way children see it? ]
-Rosie Thomas
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Unseen Companions of the journey!
Hi everyone
I received this from Fay Slimm today concerning the death of our good friend Mary Martin. Please do go to the site and light a candle for dear Chrissy.
Thank you,
Patrick
I was shocked!
Mary Martin, your sad demise!
O it's really unbearable?
Paddy sent me two books before he leaves
And then you sent me his two photographs
Before you leave, how do I get things of Paddy now?
I realized life's a journey and not a race!
Tomorrow I am passing the 60th mile post
On my way to your new domicile!
We're in one family of this ridiculous segregated World!
May you rest in peace beside my friend Paddy and your best friend too,
Along this unending journey!
* I asked my beloved to light an additional candle tomorrow on my sad birthday cake and that's for you Mary!
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When Sun peeps through the tattered sky I saw dew on the grass!
Our daughter in Australia sent us a digital camera.
Thank you very much!
I ran to the faraway burial grounds in my dreams
To take a photograph of my poor Mom & Dad!
Then the Cemetery Keeper who's smell of Liquor
Stopped me and said; ' Leave them alone as they're fast asleep.'
Still it's a dilemma the skinny drunkard whether he's dead or alive?
*I dedicate this poem to my shadowy friend Paddy Martin who's fast asleep!
Please have a rest as the War still goes on here and there?
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Withered grass on the playground
In the morning I dropped my grandson
to the Kindergarten
And I watched a Father plays football
with his daughter.
My inquisitive mind traveled
to the bygone years,
How my poor Mom was sitting in the tuck-shop
and watched my acrobats in the playground?
I like to go to school again
But my loving Mom I don't know your whereabouts
with my old books?
I am old now and see the nearby burial grounds
Some stray dogs play with their puppies?
'No man is poor who has had a godly mother.'
-Abraham Lincoln
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Strange Fragrance of Withered Flowers!
Hibiscus syriacus is the national flower of South Korea!
Dear Kim, I try to bring you that flower?
Summer breeze dragged me to a Korean burial grounds here
And it's really a living Paradise on Earth!
The beautiful tombs greeted me with a familiar smile.
The flowery characteristic letters on tombs I cannot read
That resembles the Japanese Hiragana?
I was very anxious to see at least a Korean relative lives here
Who could talk with me politely?
I walked further and all of a sudden found a tomb
Letters written in English and he must be a Korean-English scholar
Comitted suicide at his young age?
This was written;
'Hey! My stranger friend did you bring flowers and candles?
If not never mind leisurely we could have a chat.'
I was ashamed and looked around, all are dead souls
Except me only the breathing Corpse?
I took my pencil stub from the hidden pocket and scribbled this;
'When I come here next time I'll fulfill your humble expectations Brother! '
I hear my talkative wallet murmurs;
'Master why did you give broken promises? '
'Hey! My friend Man is a broken soul
And you cannot expect solid gold? '
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I am a pen
A fountain pen made in an unknown country.
But nowadays they leave us alone
And prefer the ballpoint pens?
My Boss with thick glasses
An old fashioned gentleman
Who writes a love letter it seems
After a long time?
He filled my belly with ink
Oh! I felt very cold.
He's seated on his ebony chair
with tears in his eyes
Looking towards the faraway burial grounds,
Then he writes;
'I see your tomb like an unexpected invitation!
Please let me know the party time
I search a humble present for you
And I want it to wrap
with a smile! '
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The dream of gifts!
She hugged me wholeheartedly
And gave me a bottle of Multi-Vitamins!
I kissed on her forehead and offered a second-hand book
From a junk shop.
'Kama Sutra! '
*For my shadowy friend Paddy Martin!
Here few Oxygen to you and I want to see your resurrection soon.
[ Go there, watch the Sun set over the land
You and I loved so intensely.
Taste the scent of Eucalypt
Carried on the evening breeze.]
'My Eternal Valentine'-Paddy Martin
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He tries to drag his boyhood scribble~
When I touched my heart
I think of you!
Because you're the only one
Who knows about the sobs,
The pains, sad laughs and the whispers
Hid behind the rib cage when you're gone!
And when I spoke to my soul
It's not clear as earlier.
The mist still frozen in my eyes
And I am not sure whether you're alone
Or somebody else accompanying you?
In that small wooden box you gave me
Half eaten toffee's still there
Let ants finish the rest half
And I close the book of bitter past!
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Unknown Painters & Paintings!
Tiny kettle whistles in the kitchenette
and the rusty alarm clock cries
on the bedside table.
She must have woke up early
with a bad dream?
and prepares the morning cup of tea!
I too woke up lazily and wiped the frosty window
with my criss-cross palm?
O the faraway gloomy sky's covered
with heavy winter clouds!
Invisible Master! Have you done
this Masterpiece?
The entire life I tried but in vain
and my painting named 'Depression'
Not finished yet for the Exhibition?
['Nearly everyman who develops an idea, works at it up to the point where it looks impossible and then gets discouraged.That's not the place to become discouraged.']-Thomas Alva Edison
to my poet friend Nightmute in gratitude!
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Squirrel my little friend!
I watch your jumps from tree to tree
with that bushy tail
And your song I try to understand
If I write this way
Is it okay?
Man raises his bony hands and questions
from the dumb sky of his future?
Sky's helpless as she cannot stop the clouds
that wander here & there?
Man tries to hide his wealth in the river
But river flows to the sea ever?
Man sketches his sky scrapers
But nobody stays here and his offspring
fly everywhere when they grown up
Leaving the old sick parents there?
a humble dedication to my poet friend Narain j.p!
A Buddhist faces death not as a crisis in life but as a normal event, for he knows that whoever is born must suffer, 'decay', and ultimately die. Or, as someone so aptly puts it, 'Everyone is born with the certificate of death at his birth.' If we could all look at death such an intelligent and rational way, we would not cling to life so tenaciously.
'Ayamantima jatinatthidani punabbhavo'
This is my final birth and there is no more rebirth for me.
(Dhamma Cakka Sutta) . -The Buddha
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My Moon
Once you talked
from your sleepy eyes
Then smiled from your
cold heart?
And suddenly waved
like in semaphore.
If you have decided to say
Good bye so soon
Then why did you
invite this nameless
little star to your
dreamy sky
My Moon?
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unkempt illiterate flowers along the Varsity avenue?
This is an off season
But the tiny flowers
in bloom!
An undergraduate
who desperately drowns
in their smiley tears?
dedication to a dreamflower that never blooms in a real garden!
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A twitter bird cries?
I hear early in the morning
on a Cypress branch
That covered with snow flakes.
O this sad song!
'How do we bear all these pains
and we have little hearts
One of our friends
passed away two days back
a songbird!
Is God too dies? '
to Harriet Beecher Stowe for her 'Uncle Tom's Cabin'!
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Max Reif, I would like to hear again after a long lull.
Just give a shout from your hiding place dear friend
and do you remember this comment you made for my poem
'St.Patrick's day' a long time ago,
We met once and I would like to hear that song again
'Stars in your eyes'
Please Bring your tiny mouth organ
and the precious guitar.
In this cycle of births and deaths
We meet in different names brother!
Max Reif (4/3/2007 3: 10: 00 PM)
How did they get your phone #, Nimal? Is this a saga I should have been following? How did you ever get to America? Are there poems of yours I should read, that will tell me? Did David bring you? Have you been posting on The Forum (which I seldom read, these days) about your travels?
I'll try to catch up. Please let me know which poems or whatever will help me.
Hopefully, these are just idiotic, empty threats. And hopefully, you are seeing a different world-as I did when I went to India.
Much love, many blessings, prayers for your safety and well-being (and continuing 'poet's education' in Love and Beauty and the Oneness of all beings!) And passing on what you receive!
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A homeless became a house owner for a while?
[I got myself a sleeping, walking, crying, talking Living doll.]-Cliff Richard, 'Living Doll',1959
A manor by the riverside
Black Swans mate and drift with ripples
in the Moonlit night,
And the dumb ferryman
Who sings a sad song
in his deep voice?
White washed Church stagnant
and the bell tolls to the strong winds
without a bell-ringer?
And he suddenly woke up to the moisture
As his cardboard shack got totally wet
Heavy rains started late in the night
And he sees through his blurred polythene window
Lightening makes sorrowful designs of life
in the dark barren sky?
*I remember while I was in California, one night a homeless smiled with me and he muttered; 'Long time no see? Sorry brother, I have a non-filter cigarette otherwise you could have a small puff into the patchy lungs if you don't mind? '
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