the soul's whisper - poems by biswajit dash

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The Soul’s Whisper Poems by Biswajit Dash

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The Impossible Utopia Biswajit Dash, 27th March, 2010 Now that we talk and teach Each other to remain in peace, Each one filling the other’s dream; There is a heart that listens To the beats of this night stream. Now not like a priest or a pope, We can dare to cleanse this soul As the virtue of our kind is to sail Through odds of the fate we carve. We will together dream again Of the utopia that never exists. When we meet, will surely greet With baffled and bleeding hearts That suffered in these dark years. We will stare each other for long, And then may pretend to treat. But our eyes will gleam with tears. Neither we nor our fate knows Where will we settle after now? But wherever there will be thirst There will be a dream to quench. Why after some dream we weep? We succumb and yearn for the end? Why breathe in this deserted drape? And remain speechless while we bend? Like Life, death too is a journey.





The Desert Odyssey February 28, 2010 I will make way for you; I will arise and go, Among countryside men and women; I hear the symphony so silent, so pure. What have I lost, and gained in this war? I stand now with corpses here and there, Scattered like vermillion on the floor. I see the musician playing flute so soft, And surreal strokes under the dead moon, I see an old cavern with light from heaven.

I searched for gothic gods in this desert, A woman and byzantine gold so embraced; There is no oasis in these dreams but hurt My heart with pain and long love laced. A Sun as bright as if no need for a second, A road so long as will turn a river full of tears. I listened to the furls of the girdle so wild. In winter this desert will be cold at night, With no creatures but the serpent’s hiss. I am unfolding this journey now or never, To see what tomorrow unfolds in light. After countless steps this journey doesn’t end, But just changes its meaning now to mend The woes of the soul, these occurrences so wild. Let me stand for a while and pray my stars, My God that has not lost hope in my tears, And my chiselled fate from here to guide. This odyssey will remain now on stones, To guide all souls that has covered miles Of agony, anguish and admired smiles.





The Last of Oedipus December 7, 2009

This poem is written to end the first collection of my works. It talks about the final stages of Oedipus’s life where he sees light amidst darkness and realizes nothing escapes from fate. All that is destined is nothing but the course of life and with their occurrences the journey is said to be completed. One who tries to stop it will not succeed but end at seeing the culmination of the oracle each soul is entitled for.

This small but eternal journey of mine, Makes me feel nothing changes the twine. I have cured plague and have moved, I who have seen storms and sailed, And unknown of the blood that I shine. Let no unknown folk talk about me, For known is the lives that lived here. Let all stars be there to guide me, When am gray, old and sublime. The tale of the self is an illusion, As each moment we lived is gone. Those moments shall not return, Nor shall I redo all that is undone. The demon is in holding the meaning, With intellect so uncured and untrue. I still sit on this wide crossroad Where three known roads meet. Every soul will sit here awhile, Then journey through tears or smile. Great warriors have surrendered To the fate they worshipped; For me there is no glory ushered In these false applauds of the world. The answer to the sphinx is man As the reason to the riddle is to live. I killed both to surge into a great war. There is no Corinth, no Thebes But the giant solitude everywhere. My deeds will not be pardoned, But will stand through for measure. In this temple of dark eloquence Let history only follow the Light.





I have to sing because am the song November 1, 2009

There are enough trumpets to blow In this forlorn land of muses; Enough lyrics stand idle to be sought And ancient rhythms of melody flow. There is no crowd of solitude here And no wandering eyes moaning. There is no dream here to come And no thought to end with tear. Emptied hearts and burdened souls Now fill the curtains and not rise From the trivial tests of fate. I have seen a fiddler in the meadow Now having stood for long to play And journey with my eternal song. And a pianist with shivering fingers Beside the lake filled with Mozart, Stands unheard among country tulips.

These are all but tinges of the last hope That glimmers through autumn winds And journeys through unpaved paths. Let time heal all to make this great song. This world is a great orchestra to witness; A great symphony of undying faith binds As I have to sing because am the song.





Echoes of Innocence October 17, 2009 Time is cruel that it doesn’t return Nor does it feel when the heart breaks. With leaves wandering among weeds Seldom there is an echo that breaks. We will not love again nor will dream; The faith that grows like an oak And falls from the tall beautiful cloak. Somewhere near we will see again The mundane eyes with tears filled. And someone whispering in the ears, All will but change so where does it end? Then a soul will stand, another will follow. The caverns of time will guide And gentle breeze will heal. The hoofs still beat and hunger stands Alone on this strand deserted for long. There is light and there is darkness. There is an eternal war to face within. There is peace in an unknown song, When melodies flap and ever embrace All monuments of race and empty hands. Someday on this acre of green grass With dew filled Tulips swinging A soul will meet its soul and pass The baton of love and care. Then there is no anguish and pain, No dream that is butchered, No wish that enters dark wheels And no moment that stands still. Is that what we call death? Is that the end of all desire? Flame beside flame will make way For this luminance that will stay. All clouds will clap and move, All stars will now fall in love. From the furnace I have come With no tattered piece in hand. These eyes have closed long before But the vision within still sees; The flowers of childhood still fresh, The fragrance that still echoes.





The robe is now clean and furls The soul of mine to journey Through these known woods of rose.





A Monsoon Dream October 10, 2009 It was drizzling in a small country side, and was an evening dark and lonely. There were paddy fields stretched on all sides with apparitions of old trees hustling here and there. The sky looked softly lit and birds who have returned after the winter, chirping on unknown boughs. All doors were closed here like everywhere else, small little lamps lit faintly with mediocre human beings surrounded. From somewhere there emerges a white smoke and sometimes the air is moist with occasional fragrance of flowers that grow in the forest. The generosity of this life is in the observation of the unseen fabric that fills the time we live in. I sat on the pavement through the night watching closely all. I am glad there is a hope for the day to break with a new sun and a new life growing after the monsoon. The possibility of life gets more strengthened with the visions of greenness around and experiences of vivid emotions generated in this small little world of ours. It is still gray as the night is not just over. The last drops of the last monsoon Wish that a great green earth is born, A phoenix tale from time unknown Gets played on this country-side. There is a tree in every being. It depends what tree you are. No rain, no Sun will ever help Someone who doesn’t wish to grow. No kind will come for help And no generation will remember. The more the branches the better. The green leaves will grow on us, And will take us into memory. To nurture, nourish the naive, Will make a melody for seasons. The ages of the romance is now gone; An age of unseen sequences arrive, For trees to grow and keep green. We are like the trees born with a seed, Grow in many seasons undefined. Yes and grow with a hope to be huge, To soon stand tall and amuse. Let conscience choose the right seed And be here with great future to greet. Let greenness bring enough fortune In these ever changing times. Through seasons let us journey and gain. Let’s stand together to make a forest again.





The Feeding September 27, 2009 Hunger is like a roaring lion Sitting with opened eyes, Dry mouth and distinct moan. There are houses in our city And people still unfed around. There are breads without butter And an ever gaining ground. Hunger in those eyes are sacred; As the illumination it touches is high. What does it take to share our food? To share the small little joys of life, To heal someone who is in anguish? The joy is unspoken then As peace comes through nature. We will not eat all nor will live forever, Our citadels will vanish and vapour. The plants we watered will be fossils And our deeds will get killed by clever. We will not mourn as after generations Will lie on distant land far away from now. To feed not the stomach but also the soul Is a deed that will remain here forever. Our stars will die, not the Sun in between. There will be stars again and a new sun. There comes a time when hunger is gone.





The world is like an oyster August 11, 2009 The world is like an oyster In deep sea that has seen storms; And we people covered with nacre. There is no patience among our kind, There is no dream for the pearl. There is great dazzle and shine, For the courage to wait and see. But our kind is just tough to witness And seldom listen to the guiding tree. Patience makes the life in the oyster Turn into an ever shining pearl. Our race is for being a witness And judge not the passing time But to dream for being valued. It is better to stay beside the reefs Six fathom deep and wait for fate And time to catch than get lost In the weeds and towering algae. With time the strongest shield cracks And the bright truth prevails. After me child to child will sing this As our ship of faith and hope sails.





There is a home calling! July 26, 2009 It’s dark enough to close my eyes And listen not to this world around. What I can hear is just a distant echo; A chorus with hymns from childhood, And the days filled with innocence. There is a home other side of this river From where I belong and was born. I see apparitions there that shiver As have grown old and are in need Of a shoulder strong to rest upon. In dark I listen to the loved lullabies My mother sung on summer nights, And the warmth of winter evenings That she rendered on the river bank. But with time’s cruel intention, Innocence breaks and broods. And grows old with the shepherd’s tale; Here is the world on the other side, Where nothing heals but the memory. A thinking mind brings misfortune, And judges nothing but profit; The world grows older with us And in us it finds a waning moon. But there calls the same bird On the same bough to get back And restore the glories of our past. We will not journey together But on parallel ships with coloured mast And find enough wind to whack; And courage to listen to the bard. There is a home calling!





The story of Bluebard July 12, 2009 Not far away from here Does a tale survive, That hymns the summer and winter Of an adorable love alive. The bard drooped under the sun And walked over the uneven earth; And now is an embodiment in misty morn, Where no faith will ever be forlorn. I will tell you the tale of Bluebard. In autumn he was born And in winter did he live. All else is least seasoned As the tale is of a man to mourn. On his birth near the lake A vision of cobra did it take, That over water moved to earth. But the world is more venomous? Perhaps that day all planets Stared at what did they make? Will it be a life full of errors? Or what attire will it take? No one ever guessed or gambled As the sinking star isn’t worth a penny. As the cold became intense Green leaves turned pale. With lifeless form like a tree he stood, Beside him the way of the world moved, On which crowded salmons rushed. Salmons become lifeless on this road. But in the evenings he was amused By the mermaid that appeared in mist. Soon all leaves left the bough And the tree stood with arms wide open. Who knew death was about to feast? While in dark the creature appeared, The mist got filled with fragrance, And the water smelt purest love. Soon the mermaid turned violent And in the battle ended the romance.





Now that the bard is alone Longing for that whiteness around, The winter has ended and lake vanished, As yawns and yells the greyest hound. The selfish world never pitied Not the whitest swans flown To that unending eternity. The bard has seen the wraths of time, But strange it is still in him That he longs for the mermaid to return. Now as the sun is harsh and to burn The roots have gone ashes But the bough still longs. The bard being the son of the muses Kept silent as the crowded way amuses. Strange it is but true that all lives Do not end, some remain forever.





In a season of dismay July 6, 2009 In a season of dismay Mermaid to mermaid speaks In desolation what counts, Not the alibi grown from mind But the patience born with time. Beside the sea with caracal streak In an evening filled with silence, And trees swaying on mad mounts, There is a brutal storm we will find. The mermaid will see waves beating And dying on black and rough rocks. There is a sky up there casting A real night with scattered illusions. There is breeze flowing and meeting The foams on the shore and flocks Through the maddening gyre. There is a puppeteer up above Who inspires and is in love; But with strings so discordant Gets tired of humans and demons, And harmony becomes a dream. Freedom is being free from death; And not clinging in the dying clocks. A mermaid or an angel’s repertoire Is not freedom but a broken oath, The song of an eternal crime choir Where choristers are amongst us. To live in peace is a promise made In heaven not in the breaking earth; My life leads in that sea of hope As every moment dreams gallop.





On a winter evening June 25, 2009 It was a cold evening and I waited for hours; To see you I had enough patience to stand. There was a crowd that crossed me And there were few citadels and towers That stood gazing me long with no land, No air to breathe and no love to see. I had the roses on hold and a gift to give, Never knew I had just few days to live With you and those theatres that we visited. Looking back there are actors still standing As mannequins with questioned shade. They still hope those bells will someday ring. Now I am not there, not here And not even on that crossroad Where we had the last adieu. Years have now passed, years to see; But I will still choose to live As every new day brings in more. How soon can all these fly? Memories and your words give The courage to stand on this shore Where dreams like muses dance And the gray brain goes into trance. There is enough that this world sucks, Life is not in living but to love. A death without you is as unquenched As a life that I have lived without you. But someday when we meet Under the same lush green tree We will not dare to talk or greet As our old tears will flow free. I will but still wait and try to speak The days I walked and nights bleak. I will take you to that blessed dome Where life would feel at home; A journey well ended is a joy And a life like ours is time’s toy.





The Reunion June 22, 2009 I see a spring after a decade’s fall, A song that’s now here to stay; Time is like the oak green and tall, Love repeats love and pray. In despair there is earth for hope And my fate is like a rain drop; A tattered cloth and sunken cheek That I carry for a decade and seek The right to live and love forever. I heard the voice I craved for And the soul’s sweet words That I was missing in this abyss. There was a dialogue roar, And how has time been Meaningless with no axis. I was sure love would never return As love never left this beating heart. There is grace even in her mourn, As poise is in her loving art. She queried all that I had assumed, There was no error on either side, Still we suffered and are consumed By the kind we belong and stride. True it is we are now miles apart And have miles more to cover. There is enough love in my heart To wait for you when life is over. When there is only solitude left, I will still smile and welcome. I can’t leave this life or the being, As have to serve the beings bereft. I am sure you will meet me When I am old and grown tired. We will talk about the years, The world, the tales and rhyme; A great love that time admired. From there we will voyage To a far and prosper land Where profit is not by age But with moments so grand. I will wait there till you come, And we build our only home.





An invitation for Life June 18, 2009 There is an island not far from here, Above the errors of time and beyond. No life so no death; and no fear To lose as all that is gained or found. I am in darkness but still can see The apparitions I wished years before. In that island there are books of love; And legends smoothly move around. Tales that I have read long before Stand with serene smile and profound. Who says there was a mistake? Who says we were friends? Mountains stand tall side by side, And never whisper their agony. This height they have reached, In solitude they will break. Now there is no return, Now there is no correction. Time is the only truth that stands. I will write till I live, And I will sing aloud. What harm can I do in these times, With a wretched house, broken rhymes And a defeated soul that can’t sing? I will like sit on the stone And like Oedipus narrate to all; The romance in the air and hymns, Graduate every soul to love more. Peace is the boat and dream an oar, To reach that island of Love. We will be together on that voyage, We will live and love forever.





War or Peace May 18, 2009 On a horse wild, burgundy and smart, He travelled miles to catch. Through cotton fields and the blue sky; He followed the dragon’s shadow. A vow that he spelt, the oath he lived Had glimpses scattered of a martyr’s heart. There were shepherds who saw him, And Paths that have heard his horse’s hoof. Somewhere when he stopped to see; There were lives miserable than war. Somewhere yet again there is a dream To defeat the huge wings of misfortune. Through the woods and the rivers, Cutting the greenery apart like in verse; There is a great truth to witness. There is great peace, greater gain, Not in war but in love again.





A letter before the last song May 1, 2009 What pleasure you draw among these choristers? Among these sweet meadow and rough flecks, When I trod the trodden and listen to the mermaids, Father to father sing all dazzles and the twisters. In Love there is initiation and a Sun that shakes. The wind is restless, the fragrances galore; I will sing till the end, or till I sleep forever. Those evening wanderings on the museum floor; Are now hymns in the woodland living ever. Let me pluck no daffodil again nor smell, The bouquets don’t live what beauty I intend. Let me be drunk and sit alone in that vale Or sing the greatest ballads to the unseen friend. Your joys live in you and sorrows pass, Like a sudden undreamt flush of sea. I will what I can on this gleaming brass Write as much in pain for you to agree. We will not be the frozen tears decree. All flecks gathered make the same impression, But none gives the warmth I dream. I will for sure till the end sing and see What ears you can lend to these years gone. I will stand up and sing what I dream.





Prayers in a summer night April 28, 2009 How long can I walk to hide the shadow? Where I move it moves, when I sit idle it creeps, To walk, to move, to journey the subtle trail. I dreamt of the muses and the years grow All that can live forever and sweeps The age old paradoxes of life and death. What is not dreamt ever is achieved. We will grow together and together shall live In the citadels of well-lit intellect. Where to begin and what to thrive, All hymns sing and all perceived. In tribulations we will find our faith.





An encounter with all that is lost April 22, 2009 These foliage of the past have bragged And are now among the repercussions Of grandeur undefined, untouched. The king plays the flute and a soldier Sings the paradise, the victory attained. The sword lies unheard and the shield rusts; No war can heal, no talk can solace. The symphony around the swans, The lush green paddy fields and The floating of a satin from the castle; All run in these dreamy veins. On a sepulcher now all will rest And announce the romance of time. The satin now is a distant dream, With the shepherd lying unheard. What will heal are the old fathered herbs For the stones still bleed and battle cry. An Oedipus here and a Homer there; I see all the muses in this old satin. What breed will time grow? What tides will rise under the moon? Let me anchor these feelings; You will sing them in solitude soon And long to meet someone and show.





On having a dialogue in the dilemma April 16, 2009 There is a juggler in the streets of sadness, With a bag full of mundane surprises. With this arid melancholy resounding, Will this world come into play and sing? A clown claps with tattered cloth, With dry hay here and there. On Rustic and mediocre genre This race of owls fit with no vision That the hatched egg loathe. The audacity to chirp and fly to the blue, will be the most childish passion to grow. The last romantics died and few Near the lake never bred strains or crow. There is no wilderness far, it’s in here. People living together but with fear.





Sisters of Mount Helicon April 7, 2009 In the subway I saw Erato lying. Her yellow and orange tattered gown, Now inherited the souls of brown. Erato! The muse who inspired Love; How can you be dead and your rose dying? Daughter of Zeus, mother of a thousand tales, You have lived for ages and strove To join this mad band of gales? For long I stood amazed in the burrow; A soul filled with solitude and sorrow. The stained wall, may be never painted, Showed apparitions of flying muses fainted. The green and blue clouds are not seen, For long they have left Mount Helicon. Oh! Homer, and men and women Who have seen these muses alive? Tell me what they talked and gain A life full of love as for ages will thrive. There arose a white apparition, With soft pink satin around. A spirit so free and unbound From the frivolities of aberration.





The Oak of Wisdom April 5, 2009 In these hours of colossal ruins, When nothing almost heals or whispers; I welcome all men and women and their kins, To live and let live and then disperse. What breed will all salmons grow with an oiled ocean and spilled death? A more green earth, a passage so slow; Let us live those generations of faith. The tranquil waves and ripples so smart, Let all gather no moss but a possibility. Our books have spoiled the beating heart, And parentage is looked upon with agility. Where reasons die and rescue ashamed The wreckage of glory and memoir spread. On an unending journey will we march Or settle down for a civilization profound? Let us all promise once again before the Ides, We will face together the changing tides. Under the Oak let’s have our pledge now To be wise and loving as we grow.





From an abandoned seaside April 4, 2009 The ringing bells and the singing shells I gift you o blessed friend of mine. There is enough boredom in these citadels; Where life doesn’t live nor die. These plastic smiles and thirsty mackerels Around they live and leave others to die. What if this cycle is broken? The several lives that we have lived, The several deaths we have died. The several things we lost in the wild And the few good wishes we filed. Will all these come into play? I can still see you on the mad sepulcher waiting for me, with a dead plant beside. To lit your destined dream and desire, May I call upon you on the seaside?





From Nowhere March 25, 2009 A great journey, a devout soul; ends in the quiet pages. Life is a great tale of the glories, and the ghosts that sound fowl. It’s fate that a being fights. From nowhere rises the wild tempest. From nowhere we earn the crest. A move well taken, a journey well pursued. From nowhere to somewhere, Time accompanies the brave. Sitting in these metro racks, Greenery is a distant but only dream. From nowhere to somewhere, This dream gets flesh and blood to live. A thousand wishes drive. A great journey, a devout soul; Is all what a being dreams. But somewhere this journey ends. And somewhere this dream breaks.





Confession January 5, 2008 Where do I find you, O blessed friends of mine? Time will pass without a clue, leaving behind ten and nine. Our smiles and our tears all will move with us till eternity. The battle is over, the winner declared. But will echoes of the night-cries not follow? A battle is lost and a battle won. But the corpses falling from the sky; Will not they swallow? O Buddha teach me love And teach me the tests of time. let me be ever blessed like all.





The Lonely Traveller January 5, 2008 The lonely traveller of a path whose soul loneliness is, finds for the imprints on the sand that were left years before - But true it is that goes in hand, Relations are prints on that sand, that can’t be found ever.





The Soul’s Whisper January 5, 2008 “Walk alone, For the towers may fall, And rivers may stop; The lights may quit and statues may hop, But the graves will never lie, For time’s infinite gusts Have ruled upon them. Man is forever to mourn Over his spring and Fall, Man is forever to cry Over the iron monuments that rusts. Caverns lie as caverns only, The sage never dies in it; He moves to the other world with joy, with bliss, with ecstasy, For he had once heard his master’s say – “Walk Alone! Walk Alone!” Is this the Phoenician story of my Love Or the beautiful and eternal journey Of the Sisters of Mount Helicon?



the soul's whisper - poems by biswajit dash

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