AJU MUKHOPADHYAY

AJU MUKHOPADHYAY

TIME WHISPERS IN MY EAR

susurrus over the vast undulating grass

tumbling of water in the forest river at night

cackling of hilly meandering streams

flowing of molten lava down the ravine

spewing of ash;

volcanic eruption at unknown site

spread of forest fire with a strange beam

spreading rapidly with the wind,

desert storm changing the face of the sand dune

without notice;

rains and rains in the rain forest again

in the country sides and cities, rolling of water bodies;

seeds sprouting, trees growing and dying

again and again;

sibilation of nature’s shifting phase;

nature is at work without rest in every nook and corner

in every pore and cell, near and far;

time whispers in my ear

that with nature it flows with all its belonging

to the events forthcoming

while consciousness keeps its progress in everything

constantly rolling towards the future;

time whispers in my ear

that past never sits in its forlorn chair

but leaves its essence for assimilation;

time whispers in my ear

that the ethos of the bygone ages, their zeitgeist

can never be recovered by any strategist;

the world may be seen in the grain of sand

but the flow of sand is constant;

infinity may be guessed in the palm of hand

but it cannot be gripped by any standard;

time whispers in my ear

that everything passes on forever.

THE DAYS PASS BY

The days pass by

With the quivering Sun on the leaves

And the tinkling of the spoon in the cups

With many a domestic tale

Like the last farewell of the spring-

The days pass by with soft footfall.

Accepting the warm love heartily

From the one who came offering it silently,

With a huff of the lover who was

Refused many a time earlier

The days pass by like the far-going birds

Leaving me all alone.

Ever moving from moment to moment

From every point, time remains indivisible

Like the unending waves of the sea

With the quivering Sun on the leaves.

With many a domestic tale

The days pass by to come back again

With soft footfall.

The golden dust of the time remains

With the air, in the sky, with the breath,

Whether it’s me or whoever else that is,

It comes back among the golden ripe paddies

And the undulating grass.

WHAT IS IMPENDING?

Is it the shadow of a growing dark cloud

over the pond in a moonless night?

Is it the voiceless echo of a sound

flashed in the dark announcing the flight?

© Aju Mukhopadhyay, 2018

AJU MUKHOPADHYAY