Wednesday, July 1, 2020




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
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!
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


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.”

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