Ajit Das Poems

The poet says your children come through you;
you are the archer;
you let them fly as living arrows
to reach their goal in the distant future.
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Is life a narration of redemption?
In youth, you get chance to reclaim,
make amends, start afresh,
even reappear in a new avatar.
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Windswept, rain-lashed a tiny flower
fluttering high up on a mossy cliff
writes poetry on the sojourn of life.
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Do you hear the cries of the earth,
rising from depths of the sea,
echoing among mountain peaks,
dying down in acid vapours?
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What’s special about birthday?
When you came to the world,
you just filled in a vacancy,
creating another in the future
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The end of the day:
the still moment of hushed silence.

The sun sinks down the fringe
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As I scavenge the piling waste of life,
an obscure face,
a stolen glance on a crowded corridor,
a startled blush in a chance encounter,
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The morning chill cuddles up
to the slanting rays,
then lazing out, drifts
into a warming sun.
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The digital life: before the morning tea arrives,
switched-on laptop, relentless e-mails,
Facebook, Twitter feeds, status updates,
unstoppable, clutter the tiny screen,
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There lives the untouchable, consigned
to the outskirts of the village,
in insidious deprivation, robbed
of his dignity by an iniquitous process,
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