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Dr subhendu kar

Rookie - 154 Points (Bhubaneswar, Orissa, India)

Biography of Dr subhendu kar

I am Dr.subhendu kar born in a state of orissa, India, basically an environmental consultant under the INSTITUTE OF ENVIRONMENT, by profession and my fascination is poetry but depth of affiliation to the world of poetry is yet unknown to me, interestingly something from within always impulses me to scribble about my feelings looking to the world around me- the soothing blue sky and its smooching whisperings to the moon by the rainbow across the vast void. I behold the
blue mountain by the beauty of its divine grace, the ocean in its ravishing waves of blue thrill and the jingling cornfield across the grin of the green that promise me to smile all along while trudging through the path of my journey in the midst of eternal stream of my time and space in this universe. At times tears glean in eyes by the sorrow or heart swells by the joy and happiness in a most intrigue manner baffling me by my existence across the known and unknown crowd and my mother taught me the alphabets and the abacus to know the curve of this world. with hope of love and peace unto the last dreg of my communion...
as I do exist nonexistently upon this earth with all my belongings, the men and matters, I have tried to express my self being roasted by the emotions extruding from me within and those are in the process of print as my footprint to the posterity.I do have half dozen of English anthologies of poetry and few in my own language of Oriya, apart from that I edit a literary journal called- IMAGE for constant communication with the people around me....

Dr subhendu kar's Works:

1. GOLDEN SHADOW.
2 STEPPING INTO BLUE SILENCE.
3.DISTANT VOICES ON OTHER SIDE OF THE SEA.
4.EKANTA TARANGA.-(INDIAN REGIONAL LANGUAGE.-ORIYA.)

PoemHunter.com Updates

SOLITUDE OF MID-SUMMER

As I walk into the footprints of known unconcern
Concerned unknown from the legions remembering
Of those golden voices in my solitude of mid-summer
I stuck up for a moment with little tired bloods in hand.

when I browse through the tears of their toil wistful
across the winds of days lost-achieve dispossessed
The nostalgia raucously recoils over their walks
And the folds of beauty of the gets embittered.

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