sohorey aaj brishti...

Cassandra fable...

Baby Cassandra...

Baby Cassandra bubbling high,
Who'll listen to a blurting child?
She is sweet, they call her cute,
She’s a doll, she’s no muse.
Life she knows little,
Little baby Cassandra.
Take her to the fairyland,
So the angels embrace her.


Bumming Cassandra...

A fable in the modern days,
On the roads of a metropolis.
Wandering about in search of nothing,
Who’s she ? A myth from Greece.
Picking up words from dingy lanes,
She weaves a fresh folklore.
You might spot her in the midst of a crowd,
But for sure she’ll ignore.
Don’t disturb her,
Though she is not busy.
Hibernating in the crowd,
She’s meditating.
She is not a native of the city you live,
But she knows this place more than you can feel.



Baleful Cassandra...

Don’t trust her,
The muse called Cassandra,
A demoralizing soul, an eternal predator.
She’s a witch, will enchant your sense,
The poor soul poet will become her pet.
She’ll play to him that she loves…
The day will come and he’ll be downcast.
Save your soul poet!
Save your words!
She is a venomous angel,
A skylark from the fog.


Babbling Cassandra...

Frittering in darkness at temple corner,
She is the princess who foretells future.
Phoebus Apollo loved her once,
Breaching vow she invited his wrath.
Cursed that no one will ever heed,
She is a relic of an ignored heath.
But; she is Cassandra, babbling around,
In a fiery island she was found.
An alternative vision to know your words,
She is not a deity, an ill-omened trollop.

a Parable

1
I am an innate rebel,
In a war with life;
Fighting the wrong side,
Where oblivion triumphs.
When we come face to face,
Life and me;
Conversation is very little.
But the eyes, when they meet,
(Somewhere) has the desire to be one.
Passionately we fight,
A blood feud you may call;
Merciless cynicism,
Here one has to Fall.

2
I am a born nomad,
On the road of life.
The alleys I often search,
Knowing not what I want.
Mourn over the things I have,
Cry over the love I find,
Unearth those ghostly souls,
That has left me apart.
If ever I could rest…
Those yellow feet,
The lips that have dried,
Whom the sun has kissed.
What would I find?
The wanderer me…
Caught in the mesh
Of a cosmic city.

3
I am a ‘myth’
(he says)…
Delusion of every man.
When I walk along the boulevard,
He calls by my name…
An “urban mythical icon”
He called me once,
But the divinity was not blessed.
Just another named one,
(you can say)…
Where, he looks for tranquility.

METROPOLIS

People call it city of joy, they call it sprightly
They show all it's splendor but I feel it unsightly.
What a horrible sight of those lanes,
Those dingy streets! Has nothing but filth.
I saw them standing in dark gloomy alleys
Where nothing remains but only obscurity.
Those who stopover, loves them not
But finds them to dump their debris in.
What a fearful sight is that, to see people
Vend themselves to take in others’ waste
To make those people happy
In exchange of a little expense.

No it’s not a city of joy!
It cannot feel their pain,
Nor does it heed their moan
Who resides on the street,
On which We build our mansion,
Knowing not, where these men will live,
We enjoy our lives, yes We, the affluent people;
But how many of us are well-off?
When we count our number,
We are nothing in front of them.
Then how can this be a city of joy,
When most of it’s’ people are in pain?
How can this provide pleasure,
When rest of the lot is in disdain.

It is a city of joy for them who affords,
Can spend their nights in club, can movie
In multiplexes. Yes it is joyful for them, who can,
Can meet the expense of their lavish lives,
But has nothing for those who brought them up.
They are sent to the homes where no dear ones remain with them,
Only few memories of their brood when they were children.

City of joy, city of delight, city of ecstasy,
This city has nothing to do with grief,
Nothing with melancholy. This city is unaware
Of the troubles it bestow to them who cannot afford.
Neither can it provide them with necessary support.