NAMITA RANI PANDA

NAMITA RANI PANDA

Dream

Don't you ever dream?

A lovely dream?

Dream that floats in your beautiful blue eyes,

Like a lump of tinted cloud in the sky,

Dream that spreads a rainbow on your dry lips,

Dream that like a bud of hope opens petals and spreads fragrance,

Dream that like the lovely moon silently soothes with her silvery beams,

Dream that like the cool breeze reminds the touch of a loving hand?

At the end of the day close your weary eyes like the petals of poppies

And with that the leaves of life full of woes and worries

And fly to the world of love and light, rainbow and sunshine in your sweet dream

To welcome life with new zest in a new morning.

# (c) Namita Rani Panda

My Red Flamingo

One day I'll knit a pull over for you

Of bright red hue

And you'll look like an American flamingo

With bright red feathers

Non migratory and monogamous

You'll hover around me only,

A lake of transparent love

For nesting and rest

And some privy moments,

Or you'll look like those rose buds in my garden

With bright red petals, slick and silken

Kissed by dews

The envy of my neighbours

That scatter beauty and fragrance,

That uplift my spirit and fill my life with happiness,

Or you'll look like that distant red planet,

Though unfading attraction of thousand astronomers

You'll orbit around me only

Ceaselessly

Day and night

As that orbits round the Sun.

Yes, one day I will knit a pull over for you

Of bright red hue,

If only I develop a design in my dream with much love and care

Exquisitely unique and rare!

History Beckons:

From The Cellular Jail

The moment I set my foot in the premises

Of the puce coloured monumental structure,

Built brilliantly with bricks brought from Burma

To cruelly crush the spirit of freedom

As if the cruel claw of a raptor

Smeared with the blood of its prey,

I could feel the fragrance of patriotism in the air

That ran fast through my vein,

Till date invigorates me now and then.

The tools of terrifying torture:

The different kinds of fetters,

The wheel, the pestles, the execution chamber,

The small suffocating solitary iron gated cells,

The living hells of inhumane isolation,

Where shackled prisoners

Spent their evenings with utter loneliness

As their sole companion,

That tell tormenting tales of barbaric brutality

Shivered my soul and chilled my spine.

The hands of the ill fated prisoners

Must be looking redder than this structure

Covered with their own blood

For monotonous motion of pounding husks

To produce back breaking quota of fibers

Or like the bruised back that bore the callous whips

Who failed to fulfill the cruel quota of coconut oil

After turning manually the large wheel

in scorching sun for hours together like bulls

In throat tearing thirst and aching hunger.

So much suffering for one's mother land!

Incredible!

When I looked at the tall tower in the middle,

The symbol of surveillance

That now boldly bears on its bosom

The names of those brave martyrs,

Each name, a living legend of selfless sacrifice,

Unshakable conviction

And undying passion

For his beloved nation

History became alive

As each brave soul paraded in front of my eyes.

The echoes of their soul stirring slogans

In praise of their mother land

Rang incessantly in my ears,

The iconic colonial prison

That failed in its purpose

To vehemently put down the valiant spirits

To fight for the freedom of their nation

Continues to sow seeds of patriotism in the hearts of millions.

How pitiful is their condition now

Being confined by their own people

In the small black letters

On the pages of history

To be read to just posses a degree

Or in films they appear as a mere source of pleasure

And forgotten forever!

Can these indomitable spirits ever break open these cells of black letters

And relive to lead the future leaders?

So that they must pilgrimage to such sacred places

To feel the true meaning of patriotism and selfless sacrifice

Then their every beat will boast the glory of their nation

Their tongues will never turn to curse and condemn their nation

Following the footprints of these brave leaders

They will crush countless brutal Berrys

Who are busy in sucking the blood of their own brothers,

To quench their insatiable lust for position and power.

Will such a time ever come

Future will respond when History bekons

Future will learn from History lessons?

#(c) Namita Rani Panda

NAMITA RANI PANDA

Mrs NAMITA RANI PANDA is a poet, story writer and translator from Sambalpur district of Odisha, India. She now works as Vice-Principal of Jawahar Navodaya Vidyalaya, Cuttack under the Ministry of HRD, Deptt. of School Education and Literacy, Govt. of India. Her three published Anthologies of poems are Blue Butterflies, Rippling Feelings and A Slice of Sky. Her signature words are love, optimism and self-confidence.  The main themes of her concerns are social injustices, love and other issues related to life. She is an active member of Cosmic Crew, a literary group of women poets in Odisha working with the motto “My pen for the world.”