RAJASHREE MOHAPATRA

 

The Last Hour ...

 

Please don’t move away

Rather budge up to huddle together

The biting cold shall pass away

a while after.

 

Time now

that wicks in the lamp be incited

to burn with a raised flame

disseminating warmth undulated

The winter will be accelerated

And the chilled weather

of course will get evacuated

 

Just wipe out darkness

from under the eye lids

with the feeble light of the warming fire

Suck the body nectar

out of its glittering artistic attire.

 

Now almost the dawn is nearing

The shamefaced north wind

has started atoning

What for then it changed the attitude

It is just to remove the pathos filled solitude.

 

Oh my love!

It is now time to put off the lamp

Wish these splendid moments be spent

in tight embrace in our lap

The chilled atmosphere shall get itself warmed up

with the magnificent tepidity in close up.

 

May the lamp now be turned off

The dawn has set in

And the darkness is slowly going off ...

 

Another Love Poem

     

Indeed,

I am a lamp misread in a waxed night

As the tenebrosity deliquesces

I turn to be 

Infructuous and useless.

 

Yet, I feel

Your chilled and impregnable perceptions

Look for my benign presence ever

In each of its disclaimer

And abnegations.

 

But why?

Why? and What for?

When you take me to be impalpable?

and insubstantial insignificant,

yet trivial and meager?

 

Wish you realize

That Godhead experienced through extoling hymns

Is not the same as that in a total abdication

and ductile submission.

So also, that a lover’s portrait in a framed art in frigidity

Is never as like a live-in lover as in reality.

 

Oh, my dear!

I am often confused

If you know the gentle law of living

That the world is a spheroid

And every end meets here a new beginning.

In as much as

Every fire tends to turn to smudges for a next regeneration

And deep dark night fades away

leaving pace to a new dawn.

 

May what so ever be in mind

May what so ever be the confusion

Wish I go with a deep sleep

In your extended arms

Where in lieu of love I would opt to forget my depression

 

Oh my love!

May the world sleep with me in consolation.

 

Hey Ram

 

My dear ever revered Lord!

Now that the palace at Purushottam

Is blemished and in its ruins,

Right to death obviously is conferred on you,

As the stream of repentances

Warrants critical appreciation and regulations as well

Over self-own cloudy deeds.

 

Oh my Lord!

Please allow me

To wipe out and expunge

 the black spots rendered by the radiance flux of moonlight

From and out of your dark-skinned body,

To abrade your feet and remove the muds of dusky dusts

Just as illuminated light of Ayodhya wilts at dawn

And to rid of your memory

 associated there to.

 

Oh, the Lord

Evidently known

That you are the only aggrieved human of the so-called Rama-Rajya 

The holy waters of the river Saraju thus await for your sacred immersion

Just come and make a secret jump into it

No one will ever guess

Who jumped into the waters?

Whether a man or a God

 

Oh Sarayu ,

What the hell that your waters

are too icy to jump into.

 

RAJASHREE MOHAPATRA

 

RAJASHREE MOHAPATRA: Born in Odisha in India has received her master’s degree in ' History ‘and 'Journalism and Mass Communication' from Utkal University, Odisha. She is a teacher by profession. Being a post graduate in ' Environmental Education and Industrial Waste Management ' from Sambalpur University Odisha, she has devoted herself as a Social Activist for the cause of social justice, Environmental issues and human rights in remote areas through non-governmental organizations. Poetry, Painting and Journalism are her passions.