‘A taal is a time cycle which is divided into distinct parts through the aid of accents thereby creating an effective rhythm’
A cycle of time – divided into distinct parts is similar to the time span of life divided into the distinct parts of birth, childhood, adolescence, youth, middle age, old age and death.
The cyclic nature of the taal – cycle is like the cyclic nature of life that exists through subsequent generations in an identical manner.
A cycle of time – divided into distinct parts is similar to the time span of life divided into the distinct parts of birth, childhood, adolescence, youth, middle age, old age and death.
The cyclic nature of the taal – cycle is like the cyclic nature of life that exists through subsequent generations in an identical manner.
My first heartbeat outside the confines of my
mother’s womb took place on the 20th of
October 1966.
My memory of that day is quite vivid. The water in my mother’s womb was thumping away a strong lub dub lub dub and I was languidly floating up and down. Quite peaceful and relaxed, if you ask me, kind of like in a smallish bathtub just passing away the time listening to a faraway din of indistinguishable sounds.
Service that day had been a little slack with food not arriving quite on time and the air supply not quite as regulated as usual in spite of these slight boomers the mood was relaxed and I was gradually falling into an ennui. Life had no major complaints and I was at peace in my haven.
My memory of that day is quite vivid. The water in my mother’s womb was thumping away a strong lub dub lub dub and I was languidly floating up and down. Quite peaceful and relaxed, if you ask me, kind of like in a smallish bathtub just passing away the time listening to a faraway din of indistinguishable sounds.
Service that day had been a little slack with food not arriving quite on time and the air supply not quite as regulated as usual in spite of these slight boomers the mood was relaxed and I was gradually falling into an ennui. Life had no major complaints and I was at peace in my haven.
I was very uncomfortable adolescent. Uprooted from the United States where I lived with my parents till I was 6, I took a long time to find my groove.
There is no other country like India on our planet. It is not her spirituality, her landscape, her diverse people that makes India different from any other country. It is her contradictions that make her so special. If you’re looking for a comfortable khushi life, India is not the place for you. If you like, on the other hand, to be tossed and turned by life like a roller coaster then India certainly is your country of choice.
There is no other country like India on our planet. It is not her spirituality, her landscape, her diverse people that makes India different from any other country. It is her contradictions that make her so special. If you’re looking for a comfortable khushi life, India is not the place for you. If you like, on the other hand, to be tossed and turned by life like a roller coaster then India certainly is your country of choice.
I am told that I was a very thoughtful child. I was fun loving and loved company but I would spend a lot of time submerged in thoughts. I remember my thoughts were mostly lofty clouds that I would ride around on. A part of me still tends to do that. Only, the clouds I ride on today skim the surface of the earth and it’s not so often that I find myself flying really high chasing a bird or looking down at tiny trees waving frantically at me aided by the erratic wind.
Being an only child is a lonely experience and to fill in the gaps, the imagination comes handy! So I guess I developed a whole world inside my head and was able to visit it whenever the need would arise.
Being an only child is a lonely experience and to fill in the gaps, the imagination comes handy! So I guess I developed a whole world inside my head and was able to visit it whenever the need would arise.
(2013)
There’s nothing new about me.
I’m just the shimmering sunlight on water
I’m just a quivering leaf on the tree
I’m the unheard word hanging between people
I’m the memory you never got to see
I lived in a house, in a parent , in a child
I housed a heart, a fear, a desire
I loved someone’s dark eyes upon me
I burnt like any ember in a fire
They said I was different, I was Special
As time piled up like wasted soot behind
The mirrors turned too frosted to see
I am the interplay between black and white
I am the vision between darkness and sight
I am a passion that rises and ebbs
I am that convolution within a million webs
There’s absolutely nothing new about me
I walk over a thousand footprints I fit
I have a name but it changes spelling
I have a withering visage, ever so completing.
Yet I feel anew with the rising sun
I feel anew at the brink of a dream
I live like none other when blessed by love
I’m just the shimmering sunlight on water
I’m just a quivering leaf on the tree
I’m the unheard word hanging between people
I’m the memory you never got to see
I lived in a house, in a parent , in a child
I housed a heart, a fear, a desire
I loved someone’s dark eyes upon me
I burnt like any ember in a fire
They said I was different, I was Special
As time piled up like wasted soot behind
The mirrors turned too frosted to see
I am the interplay between black and white
I am the vision between darkness and sight
I am a passion that rises and ebbs
I am that convolution within a million webs
There’s absolutely nothing new about me
I walk over a thousand footprints I fit
I have a name but it changes spelling
I have a withering visage, ever so completing.
Yet I feel anew with the rising sun
I feel anew at the brink of a dream
I live like none other when blessed by love
(2011)
Let’s talk about roots, Let’s talk about roots
There’s so much to say, oh so much to boot
Without those vines in the soil undermeath
Then what are we but bones and teeth!
O nothing in our body here survives the heat
But teeth and bones and a heritage wreath
The first grey hair, the first loose tooth
And earthwards we turn to face our root,
The truth of our tale is beneath the ground
In roots that define our aura around
Hey – think – of what – a root might mean
Not vines beneath – nor heritage been
It defines who we are, what value we bear
A foot and a print in an ageless affair
Our souls or our bodies, derived from our past
Do trance every cell from a story forecast
Let’s sit and think, steal a moment from our race
To what we aspire , what dreams we chase
So often we forget what defines our being
So often we cloud what we should be seeing
A tree without a root is a man without a soul
who burns without passion like a fire without coal
So think a little while to take stock on whole
Can a tree grow far from its root on its own?
If you think my contention has merit dear friends
Do give your roots their due credence
O live our life with your head held high
With pride in your roots and the limit is the sky.
There’s so much to say, oh so much to boot
Without those vines in the soil undermeath
Then what are we but bones and teeth!
O nothing in our body here survives the heat
But teeth and bones and a heritage wreath
The first grey hair, the first loose tooth
And earthwards we turn to face our root,
The truth of our tale is beneath the ground
In roots that define our aura around
Hey – think – of what – a root might mean
Not vines beneath – nor heritage been
It defines who we are, what value we bear
A foot and a print in an ageless affair
Our souls or our bodies, derived from our past
Do trance every cell from a story forecast
Let’s sit and think, steal a moment from our race
To what we aspire , what dreams we chase
So often we forget what defines our being
So often we cloud what we should be seeing
A tree without a root is a man without a soul
who burns without passion like a fire without coal
So think a little while to take stock on whole
Can a tree grow far from its root on its own?
If you think my contention has merit dear friends
Do give your roots their due credence
O live our life with your head held high
With pride in your roots and the limit is the sky.
(2001)
There appears a void
A nowhere out of everywhere
Circulate, like a beloved
in my veins, permeates my soul
Breathes into every knock of my world………
Is it a vacuum
or a sense of endless time?
Is it a rage
or a ravage of the army of silence?
Am I to play the chords,
Or should they play on without me?
Why do I suffer
from an illusion of self?
From the Dilemma
Of an intrigue understood less and less
Of a labyrinth encompassing
The Human Souls
Ceaseless Strife
Why not accept
like the beheaded shores
The reign of a mindlessness?
Of immortality steeped in Justification
where sands and waters
are churned in succession
in a riot of mortal ideas?
Accept I must……..
The churning of waters.
A nowhere out of everywhere
Circulate, like a beloved
in my veins, permeates my soul
Breathes into every knock of my world………
Is it a vacuum
or a sense of endless time?
Is it a rage
or a ravage of the army of silence?
Am I to play the chords,
Or should they play on without me?
Why do I suffer
from an illusion of self?
From the Dilemma
Of an intrigue understood less and less
Of a labyrinth encompassing
The Human Souls
Ceaseless Strife
Why not accept
like the beheaded shores
The reign of a mindlessness?
Of immortality steeped in Justification
where sands and waters
are churned in succession
in a riot of mortal ideas?
Accept I must……..
The churning of waters.
POEMS BY
BICKRAM GHOSH
BICKRAM GHOSH
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