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Best Poems Written by Brita Roy

Below are the all-time best Brita Roy poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Brita Roy Poem

Goddess Durga's Bounty

The booming sound of Dhak resonated through the air,
The children squealed in utter merriment at the fair---
Flaunting their newly bought ensemble of myriad hue,
Some were draped in saris, mod jeans donned a few.

The little girl roaming the streets, in a soiled frock half-torn,
Regretted sorely why in affluence she too was not born,
She too had a great craving to have fun and enjoy like they,
But heart-broken she was as she could not afford to pay.

For days she had been starving but she saw all of them eat,
She sorrowfully mused such blatant injustice wasn’t meet,
Some licked dripping ice cream, some gulped down iced coke,
But for her getting a morsel to eat seemed a pathetic joke!

Though Ma Durga with ten hands out-stretched was there,
Was cold and hard-hearted and for her seemed not to care,
A silent tear came rolling down her thin pinched cheeks,
She didn’t have a place to sleep for the past few weeks.

Suddenly a burly policeman roughly held her hand and said,
“At last we have found her, we had thought she was dead”,
“Now what have I done?” asked the girl panicking in dread,
Then freeing herself from his clutches, like a rabbit she fled.
            
"Your millionaire father has been searching everywhere,
After all our futile efforts, at last we have found you here,"
The girl in profound reverence, said softly a fervent prayer,
"Ma though you seem heartless, now I know you do care!"

Details | Brita Roy Poem

Culinary Art

Cooking is my hobby-it is the greatest pleasure of my life.
Besides, no weapon is as useful as a ladle or chopping knife,
I dream of cooking in my sleep, of cooking, when I awake,
I dream of rustling up a creamy mousse, or a chocolate cake.

I bet a seasoned magician cannot perform a better trick,
As fantastic and mind-blowing, though I admit, not as quick!
I’m very confident of making your mouth abashedly dribble--
You’ll agree I’m sure----there’s no plausible reason to quibble!

If you taste the delicacies, your craving will grow and grow.  
You’ll lick your lips and fingers too, still wanting more and more,
By just adding a nondescript herb, or sprinkling a spices few,
You can have an exotic Stroganoff, from an innocuous stew.

It is difficult to comprehend the fine intricacies of cooking;
How the Meat Balls become Patties is beyond reckoning,
Steamed Momos and Dumplings are virtually the very same,
A modest Biscuit and a Cookie are only different in name.

As “through the stomach is the way to a man’s heart”,
To win over my much-loved Man, cooking I had to start.
But my culinary expertise did not stand me in good stead,
For Alas, my Man is no more—long since gone and dead!

Details | Brita Roy Poem

A Lady From Bangladesh

There was a lady from Bangladesh,
Who wanted a bath to become fresh,
So she dived into a river,
But felt herself shiver,
So she swam in a thick woolen dress.

Details | Brita Roy Poem

Tell Me Why

I heard someone sobbing clearly, I heard someone moan,
Was it a wail, or a sigh, or was it more of a piteous groan?
It was as if a tormented human was tortured and left to die,
Was it my imagination? Surely I had heard someone cry!

The leaves were somersaulting, the flowers madly danced, 
The angry waves lashed and fumed and ragingly advanced,
The clouds were torn to pieces and whipped across the sky,
Why this tumultuous frenzy? Can anyone tell me------ why?

The birds in their nests trembled, the trees shivered now and then,
A rumbling sound resonating could be heard coming from the glen,
A subdued distant buzzing was followed instantaneously by a roar.                                
Why these inexplicable unnatural happenings, I would like to know.

Details | Brita Roy Poem

The Plight of a Little Puppy

I am a little Alsatian puppy- can you empathise with my wretched plight?
I cannot impress upon insensitive humans, my God given inalienable right,
As a scrawny tottering helpless babe, I used to suckle milk from my mother,
I slept close to her warm body and had great fun romping with my brother.


Men snatched me heartlessly without any qualm from my dear mother’s care,
She searched and searched for her precious offspring desperately everywhere,
They separated me from my siblings too, did they think I liked thus to be parted?
I am man’s “Best Friend”, but towards me, why are they harsh and hard-hearted!

They brought me captive to a mansion cold, and kept me within its encircling walls, 
 They expected me to be satisfied with silly, inane toys, and a few multi-coloured balls.
 In the fields I was free as the untrammelled breeze-- I would then frolic, roll and play,
 In nature we lived happily in a close-knit pack, not in solitary confinement all day.

Now I am forced to chew on artificial bones and in a secluded house I must stay,
But it was so much fun to be with one’s kith and kin, this I can now honestly say, 
Even when I’m hungry, I have to make do with whatever portion they deign to give,
The same processed unnatural food daily, isn’t appetising, to be had as long as I live.

My master gorges on lip-smacking food which I would have also liked to munch,
I too would have relished digging into juicy flesh, for breakfast, dinner and lunch,
 My jaws and teeth were meant for food, other than the machine-made dog fare,
 Thoughtless men assume they are doing a lot, that we’re treated with a lot of care!

Men should realise how much they’ve been unfair in unreasonably torturing  us!
Why should they expect us to submit to their senseless training, without any fuss?
If men could become the wretched dogs and dogs could turn into “God’s Chosen men”,
They would certainly understand our miserable plight, without my having to explain.

Details | Brita Roy Poem

If

If I were a little flower, my colorful soft petals I would flaunt,	
Purest nectar within my heart would be fit for the baptismal font.
The sweetest of all perfumes I’d always spontaneously exude,                           It would not be for self -glorification, but for the common good.

If I were a little unpretentious bird, just perching on a tree,
Or hopping from branch to branch with no one there to see,
I’d still have my duties to perform, all for the common good,
From the seeds I’d scatter, baby plants would sprout a shoot.

If I were a little worm, I would do my duties well-known.
For plants I would enrich the soil, and churn it up and down.
If I were a little cloud, I would generously bequeath to all
Pearl-like drops of water, sparkling as they would daintily fall.

If I were a little babe only gurgling, chuckling and cooing,
I’d bring a smile to your lips without your even knowing.
If the darkened world is brightened up by my little ways,                                Little acts of yours are needed to make it a better place.

Details | Brita Roy Poem

A Weird Man From France

There was a weird man from France
Who seemed always to be in a trance,
From the tree one got,
Doughnuts he thought                                                                                   So he planted them in his garden once.

Details | Brita Roy Poem

A Man From Australia

There was a man from Australia,
Who in life was an utter failure,                                                                         So he married an Aust-rich,(Ostrich),
To get rid of his glitch,
Then he became a billionaire.

Details | Brita Roy Poem

An Image of the Traffic In Kolkata

An Image of the Traffic in Kolkata                                      
“Be careful, look out, swerve to the right, you’ll hit the oncoming bus,
 Go slow, a rickshaw is in the way, don’t speed, there’s a frantic rush!
 Honk, honk! A man is crossing chatting merrily on his mobile phone;                        He is insured; he doesn’t care losing a tooth or fracturing a bone!!”

“Look out”! We all shout, a speeding auto comes crashing head on,
 Traffic ahead is stalled for Chief Minister’s visit from early morn.
 The Up road is blocked; a procession is on its way for Victory Day.
  Streets are choked by raucous hawkers cheekily obstructing the way.    

The heritage trams, the rickety trains, the daring cyclists go past too,
The vehicles, the prized museum pieces invariably come into view.
 Hear Cars sputter or else stutter, some dilapidated, a few brand new.
 Don’t be surprised if you see a mangy dog or a monkey from the zoo!

 It’s the daunting traffic in Kolkata, is what we may term “unique”.      
To drive here, I warn you, one must know the skillful PC Sorcar trick!                                                                                                      After the relentless mental shelling, soothing music one must turn on,
Stay unruffled amidst the cacophony, then your battle is surely won!

Brita Roy
8/D1 Loch Tower

Details | Brita Roy Poem

A Frail Man From Japan

There was a frail man from Japan,
Who tripped and fell whene'er he ran,                                                              He walked with a chop stick,                                                                             As his bones would squeak, 
And used his fingers to eat his flan.