Biography of Dhiraj Das
Dhiraj Das, an author and poet (creator in his words) was born at Nimtita in Murshidabad, West Bengal. He has completed his MCA from IGNOU. Though an IT professional, his thirst of poetry makes his poetic style unique. He considers his poetry writing as his hobby of playing with words, thoughts and rhyme. Moreover, his poetic creed is characterised with an extreme fusion of emotion and reality, imaginative and factual truth and philosophy of manifestation of emotions from different dimension and with different resonance.Walking With the Dead is his first collection of poetry.
Dhiraj Das's Works:
Walking With The Dead
Dhiraj Das Poems
A fantasy to ignore the immortality - I do hope for, To accept my end as my beginning with smile; Reality, thats already there in my conscious heart, I would like to paint my whiten shroud juvenile.
My Thoughts Blind, Dumb And Deaf
The Traveller! Traveller, you are restless but happy with no gripe; You are steady, silent towards on the path of life.
A Savvy Embark
All of a sudden; my dim old thought, Become young and shine; Foreigner wind, knock right to my heart, To deliver the words, it has brought,
Peace, peace, peace may those words be - A long breath in, then a prolonged sigh, Then the silence as slumberous sea - And dream less perplex eye;
Still, the wind carries the song from fairy's land - That, I can hear sometime at midnight; A melody of frolic folk through the clock of sand - When, white moon reflects its celestial light;
An Ode To Jasmine Buds.
Wistful midnight hours of buds and blooms - Skylark of clouds up on starry sky, Late spring and blond darkness glooms - With lyrical note of Koels on fly;
I Self imposed freedom denied by nature, Nothing is there unseen and free; Fruits when ripe and become mature,
Walked With The Dead
Drenched With The Darkness, A Silent Uncanny Night, Crawling Through The Way Of Mine, Too Fast To Wade;
Self imposed freedom denied by nature,
Nothing is there unseen and free;
Fruits when ripe and become mature,
Bound them to drop from the tree.
Fames are the foam built by the shore,
And as the rainbow seldom we see;