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Susanta Pattnayak Poems
She dreams, no more. The rise and the fall of the waves, the dancing of the breeze, the symphony of the wind,
When from its nest, the babyish sun Nestles in my window, curls Into my room, snuggles Down into my blanket, cuddles
Flowers and the Stars
High above is the garden Wide and long, far and beyond And when on earth the night falls With its velvety veil
When dark drops down through the pine pins And when a baby dove Closes herself to her mother's warm wings Then, through the stripes of the coconut leaves
My Universe, So Is Yours
Stars, galaxies, clusters and super-clusters This is my universe of some billion light years, So is yours.. Riding a light beam, I darted for yours,
On Sixty-Sixth Independence day
Sixty-Five and I'm hearty and strong My Children, you'r so young Young 'r your dreams Fearless your mind
I may die unknown Buried, burnt or may be thrown Into some corner of a hell Than to long for a life
Forest Has always been a thrilling mystery to me Mysterious as the tells, told by my Nanny In many a moon glittery nights
-1- Sea, My wife and I
A Bright sunny day after days of incessa...
A bright sunny day After days of incessant rain When thin silvery clouds pass leisurely Wind is also in no hurry
O thou internet thee my confidant be my ambassador ferry my bashful silence
The herons, flamingos, the stocks Leaving winter behind their shoulders Shedding memory moisten feathers Fly my lake in flocks, high over
O' Sculptor With your hammer and chisel carve my body granite chisel my lines and the curves
A cool winter morning, dawn gently approaching the doorstep, when I set to the open surprised, to see my lawn, turn
Comments about Susanta Pattnayak
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
She dreams, no more.
The rise and the fall of the waves,
the dancing of the breeze,
the symphony of the wind,
the colors of the seasons,
the twilight, moonlit nights
all cease in smoke
under the suffocating arms of
some demonic beast
who ruptures her to dust.
She dreams no more.
Dreams have gathered dust
also a thick coat of rust.
Blurry in her mind, the day,
when she was caged
her voice was squashed
her wings were clipped
and was passed from hand to hand
for mere amusement and joy.
She dreams of
her mother, her ...