The Tainted Sorrow
The tainted
sorrow in the lives
Of children of
Gaza strip
Surprises the
world
With each one’s
heartbreaking
story of loss
and grief.
Around a million
of hands are stretched
Beyond the cage
of apathy and detachment
Despite that
children don't have anything
To do with war
and conflicts
The scale of
violence is massive
Difficult to
escape airstrikes
Lives live under
blockade
Children hear
the brunt of escalation.
They suffer
because of
terrifying sound
of explosions.
It concerns
That every child
irrespective of
Cast, color,
creed and nationality or language
Is exposed to a
brutal violence
And the world
witnesses
That children
suffer from evil Being unaccompanied
and separated.
We must call on
to shape this madness
Insusceptible Love
LOVE is immortal
And not
susceptible to any
wheal or weal.
The heaps of
cluttered papers around
The Tear quailed
pictures scanned in memory
The twinkling
stars and the planets in the azure sky
Proclaim aloud
the ultimate story
Of life and
death
Of betrayal and
trust
Of, love, hatred
and apathy
Love dazzles as
the plinth of existence
Of the universe
That reflects
and inflects the wave s of passion for fraternity
And that remains
clasped to every heart and infuses divinity.
A soft
observation of the rules of the universe
Reaffirms the
eternality of Love
That never dies
but intensifies the notes of fervency
Of goodwill and
reverence.
Carved Tears
A solitary lad
With leaning
hopes for mercy
and assistance
Spreads her mat
institutively
Under the open
sky,
And keeps on
sleeping
With rolling
tears seen carved
On her chapped
cheeks
That touches her
rosy lips.
When hopes appear
flaccid and droopy
She on the altar
of disgust with tattered robe
Stretches her
hands to the void
In anticipation
of drops of compassion
And benevolence.
She stands alone
in the crowds
And in the empty
lanes and gullies
Having a sweat
heart to feel proud
Kneels to pray
every morning
At par with the
rising sun
For a hopeful
day ahead.
Jingle Bell
In the deep
woods resembling life as a whole
The rustle of
dry leaves
Sing the songs
of the frozen statues of feelings - the memories of
The wavering
past.
The rhythmic
jingle of ankle bell
Pricks the eyes
with a long list of events
Out of the
drollery of memoirs
And the past
brightens gradually
Under the
twilights of
The fire in the
pyre of hopes
and hatred.
The lamps of
optimism flickers
On the alter of
faith.
And drags to the
dregs of aspirations
Breaking the
hearts to bits
Yet there exists
something
Most omnipotent
That teaches not
to lose heart
And keep trying
Success is at
next door.
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.
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