Cascade of poems and Rivulets of fiction

 Photo credit: Sudip Bhattacharya   Petals wonder! Enclosed within sepals, Green sustains life, Inspires creative ingenuity, But isn't abundance of green become redundant at times! Why can't we be like the Sun? Glowing red in its inception, A scarlet touch of passion, Enhancing spirits to rise high to emerge as a winner. What about that yellow! Brightest and vibrant, An acrylic brush on the undefined, limitless canvas. Why not that layer of red defining boundary surrounding the melange of white and yellow! A newness for the eyes to devour. We die for the soft blush scattered in the midst of cottony clouds, Smiling shy; eager to receive our beloved, the butterfly to caress us with a kiss sucking the nectar, a crescendo too high to bear. Oh! the mighty Sun, We beg you to let the colors seep through the sepals, Let us be different, An identity for each in the sea of green. Songs we sing together with green, Dance begin with the rhy

Painting by Sejuti Biswas Sweeping across is the gentle breeze, I walk along with a pack of sheep, Following the narrow dusty road, Wondering; what I gained, what I lost. Never knew a mother's love, Never slept on her lap, Never cuddled when trapped in fear, Never tasted her delicious platter, Never the fingers boxed the ears, Never the handkerchief brushed away the tears, Never heard those words of encouragement, When down with misery and discontentment. Never ever going was easy, Step mother's cane was always ready, Spineless father's pin drop of silence, Every day a bowl of gruel, Bled, when begged, Reckless with hunger, For a loaf of bread. Grueso me ten years, Then a flight to nowhere, Walked and walked, Met the shepherd, Grandpa he is, Tears cascade, A plate full of rice, Gatte ki sabzi and fries, Grandpa's fingers, Playing with my hair, A toothless smile is always there. Next morning, A bag full of books, Taking his hand,

Mantra: Om Namah Shivaya (I bow to Lord Shiva) Fountain arise from a mass of matted hair, The jatta; captured was Goddess Ganga, Her pride was her tumultuous flow, Shattered; gently she flows with Bhagiratha, The pious king; washed the ashes of his ancestors in the holy Ganges for salvation. Divinity shines, The snake round his neck, Manifests evil courting death, Unaffected and unperturbed, Embraces light and darkness in eqanimity, The mountain of Kailash, His abode, The eternal yogi meditates, Nilkanth, the saviour, Swallowed poison; released, when the ocean of milk was churned with Vasuki, the king of snakes, as the rope. Kindness so profound, In company with lesser mortals, To instill a sense of belonging, Faith in complete surrender to God, Devotion he seeks, Wishes fulfilled when pleased with prayers from demons and humans alike. A woman's pride is his pride, Sati's humiliation was his disintegration, Bereaved by her death,