independent, literature, man, mortal, poetry, writing

Man is Mortal

By- Pijush Kanti Deb

In my soft childhood
my father, teachers and others-
all were hard in saying to me,
‘’Man is mortal’’,
I accepted
looking at the kite flying in the sky.
Now I am an adult but confused
made by one of my friends-
a scientist, a user of inductive process
in putting two and two together
for any brain-beating matter,
who regrets for all those unknown men
living outside his known orbit
far away in the caves of mountains
and the darkness of unexplored forest,
whether mortal or immortal-
just an unanswered query to him
and is reluctant to accept the proposition,
‘’Man is mortal’’
and happy in hearing my clapping
on his thoughtful logic against the proposition.


A Magic and its Price

By- Pijush Kanti Deb
Somehow it’s very pleasing
for someone else
to extend his thirsty hand
to another commercial hand
once in a month for blooming
smiles on many hands
extended to him every day.
But its price needs
a month-long unabated conversion
of blood into sweat,
strong patience to run after
the dogmatic commercial target,
selling of daily spring or autumn
in exchange for a family-pack amulet
against daily winter or summer
and production of sweet oil
for a deep-fry of his boss
and a light- fry of himself too
yet in the beginning of a new month
his rest-less feet
stops near the beloved office counter
and comes back smilingly
with a bundle of magical papers
and starts feeling the thrill
of automatic evaporation of his
a month-long accumulated  tears and tiredness.


The Common Longing

Composed by —Pijush Kanti Deb

The common longing for belonging
something good like a paradise,
maybe, a dream
knitted in peaceful slumber
or a pet
kept in the safe cage
to enjoy the sweetness
and playfulness of beautiful nature
but needs all earthly efforts together
to set it up on the land
as a token of self- consciousness
as the sky is incapable and helpless
to germinate even
a tiny flower plant in the space.



By – Pijush Kanti Deb
In the last chapter of his biography
a macro-conscious great man is ill-fated
to repent throughout his sub-conscious journey
on the way to his final destination,
to conclude his life-long sacrifices
as incomplete and ineffective
in putting two and two together
regarding his solicitation
to better sun-rise for the mankind.
Indeed, he regrets from his depth of heart
witnessing the presence of the dirty hearts-
full of garbage of selfishness and cruelty
still left untouched and unwashed,
a few glasses of hemlock in their hands
ever-skilled to pour into the nectar
prepared by him with great care.
A feeling of repentance
starts sucking his last drop of life
and as an atonement
he becomes a piece of stone
exhaling his last breathing
and the people leave him alone standing
in a public place of interest beneath the open sky.