Wednesday, June 1, 2022






Truculent Cries ...


Every now and then

Scenes with brutal horror ungrudgingly appear

In front of my eyes,

My sense of visualisation is shattered

With mounting pain and truculent cries.


I regret to remember

That  we were once the torch bearer 

For peace and tranquility

Yet we cry now out and out

For  sympathy, empathy and humanity


The world now seems to be set on the flames

Savagely disturbed with sounds of bombs and bullets

And we are left with no option than to be with  despair

In the arms of stressed buffet..

Consequential changes in the viscinity and atmosphere

For bruished edifices and wild fire

Causes resultant  ups and downs in the atmospheric pressure and temperature

And confines young and the old, men and the women, children or the adult

To the boundary of unscertain weather , leaving every one to shiver.


The dawn now appears astonishingly impure

And the dusky sky bears shades of blood stains

Enforcing all that our heart  and soul ever captured

To vansh like troubled dreams of our brains.


Come on, Get up all in cohession

Come closer with hands in hands and judge

If it Is the reality of current civilizations !


Death continues to engulf  lives in tacit

Is it for reasons that  history repeats?



The Women In The Portrait. 01


Oh my Country men!

Have  you ever seen the woman in the portrait

Hanging uncared on any of the society walls

With  coarse garments and tangled hairs?

Did you ever focus

On  her blackened and wilted lips

And her  lined forehead drenched with her sweat?.

A careful observation definitely

Makes you to read

Those as  evidences of  her mounted sufferings.


Her dreamy eyes

Tell her ever untold story of decades of humiliation

And raise doubts if ever she smiled in satisfaction

Yet confirms her  promises

To reach her goal undaunted and ungrudged.


Her face glitters

When she thinks of her fallen foes

Her dogged determination stands unperturbed Even  in  defiance

Suggesting  her political madness

In an atmosphere of restless suspicion


A shrewd observation of her portrait

Confirms out and out her  goal

Through the a pair of artistic eyes

When hung as a painting on the smooth walls of a museum

Speaking her determinations to regain

And rise again to enlighten the earth

Out of heaps of  frustration torture and humiliation.



The Woman In The Portrait .02


Oh Dear men around the world !

You invariably cry and yell

For  liberty, Equality and Fraternity

While you plead every revolution as noble 

And  yet an act of morality.


Please have a look if you do not mind

At the struggling hands of women

You may of course find

The year old picture is not yet changed

And l they are bowed with labour and peasantry,

Continuing in  a poor state that they cannot refrain.


With strong muscular hands

They try to clutch few stalks of grain

As a matter of pity and compassion

After the so called god-father – A man of course

Snatch away the harvest leaving a handful balance for them to glean!!


The panchamahabhutas

Soil, Water, Space, Fire and air of the ages

Shall confirm as witness

The story of a woman from the age of

Adam and Eve to as on date

Beyond doubts and suspects.




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.

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