Assamese Poems

Dresses To Look Nice

   Your looks to carry your first impression:
   Your dresses ! Onlookers to appreciate.
   It is said ‘ Choose food on own decision,
   but select dresses on choice of associates.’

    Your looks to lie on eyes of beholder.
    Dress must fit well and also to look nice.
    To tailor or give ready made order,
    priority : how you look, not the price.
   
    Several dresses, my closet to hold
   uniforms, traditional, or casual
   for summer, rainy season or the cold,
   fashionable, formal, occasional.

   I choose dress to look smart and elegant.
   suitable, if made for an occasion.
   Selection of dress ! Very important.
   Dress to advertise my first impression.

   I wear all types of dresses : typical
  Bengali and North or South Indian
  Assamese, also morning walk special.
  Even feel free in some dresses : Western.

  India - born, me specific Bengalee.
  USA : my second home more or less.
  I feel comfort in Jeans-Top, in Saree.
  Long skirt -blouse : my most favourite dress .

A Cup of Tea

Just one cup in the morning; no added flavor
Ceylon tea or Assamese is my preference
Each drip and each sip I so favor and savor
Betwixt too light and too strong. This makes difference

Its red-black-orange mixture I fondly adore
My chocolate face waves betwixt its white-ash smoke
There's a fragrantly sumptuous taste in its core
To sip this nectar with me join a few townsfolk

It's poured into my cup in a hundred-degree
I start sipping. It does not hurt my lips or tongue
The process goes on till I, finally, could see
Not a tinge is left, and I feel extremely young

A cup of hot black tea is the day's protector 
Can't I compare it with the heavenly nectar...?


09 February 2023 
A Simple Pleasure Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward

Rongali Bihu

Rongali bihu

Rong cascading down
the days around April fifteenth
jotted over the almanac
(Rong bihu or Rongali bihu, the Assamese gala)
luring New Year for the Assamese peeps and their culture 

Rong gleaned from Vishuvam - the Sanskrit word
Rong elucidates vernal equinox
Rong typifies joy
like lovers discreetly conclave in the cavern 
when two bodies melded with one soul 
Rong caught a whiff of fresh kopou phool perfume - Foxtail Orchid or Dove Flower
Rong is humble abode of the shameless parasites Cuckoo 
enduring the rythym of Assamese peeps and their culture 

Rong is the dance of life
Rong is the food celebration 
Rong is the offspring of love and happiness 

#and in background, I can hear my beloved 80's hit song - 'O Xun Toradoi Nasaba Morom Lagakoi' (O My Dear Beloved Don't Stare Adorably) ...

Mekhela Chador

Mekhela chador

I was too hurry and overwhelmed 
To embrace the attire
"mur maa rr mekhela chador" ( - "my mater's Indigenous Traditional Assamese Dress")...

The days in kindergarten,
I cherish the attire, in her wardrobe enhanced and ironed 
The dining hours,
I often queried her, to own the attire 
And in festive tyrant,
She dressed herself in the silken weaving attire 

The onset of puberty;
My body and soul celebrated draping of the attire 
From my breast to my waist to my ankle 
For the first time, I engulfed the feeling of being a woman (and beautiful)
All coyness and tenderness are ornate as my fragrance 
The attire was made of silk in creamy white and cherry thread
Like droplets of cherry-red blood unfurling the snowy linen
And the ears heard joyously whispering me
"mur maa rr mekhela chador" ( - "my mater's Indigenous Traditional Assamese Dress")...

Khar

Khar!
or
An alkaline extract!
my mouth drools 
o! momma
everytime I think of the dish
whether it is the beloved 
amitar khar (i know as papaya khar),
tiyohor khar (i know as cucumber khar),
khar dal (i know as khar with lentils),
not to quit
sometimes with dry fishes or meats 
dish itself is the contentment when served
i call it as 'quintessence of Assamese Cuisine' 
elixir from the ashes of burnt dried banana peels
hey
when imbued
the khar dish with platter of steamed rice
whether i am glued in Assam or anywhere on this earth,
my heart's cravings...
portraits the way of a yarn-
'the viridescent melody muffled the white snow mountain dance in folk tales'
o! momma
khar with some rice

Twilight At the Graveyard By Kuldip Medhi

O' Soul, why is the sound
Of heart break so desolate 
In the dead wind by the overflowing river-side 

As if a gaggle of wild ducks flew away 
Carrying ripe autumns at their beaks 
The moonshine fainted by the mirror 
In the midst of 
A dream's course 
The moon sank 
In the landslide 

My Soul, everything's over now 
Twilight has descended on the graveyard.

(Translated from the original in Assamese "Morixalit Kalsondhya" by Prof. Anita Baruwa)

Three Thoughts By Kuldip Medhi

1.

Autumn is in the air
The naked trees gaze up at the sky
As evening descends 
Like a deep sigh.

2.

Midnight's station
The trains bid a tearful farewell. 

3. 

The storm has blown away
A single autumn leaf 
Still hangs on.

(Translated from the original in Assamese "Tinita Stabok" by Mrs. Ranjana Sharma)

Pessimism By Kuldip Medhi

Let the cold be more intense
The chill passing through every vein
Till blood congeals

Let the chill make its home 
In every home
And the city sleeps
In shivering cold

You must now be lying in the bosom of your lover
Basking in the warmth of love

The cold sheds its tears, 
Drenching the leaves and branches of every tree
Sorrow surrounds the city
And falls as dewdrops of despair

Let the cold increase
Let its intense chill spread through every vein
Till my insides turn to stone! 


(Translated from the original in Assamese "Kobir Hataxa" by Mrs. Ranjana Sharma)

Only For You By Kuldip Medhi

The conch and temple bells ring
The offerings lay out with fragrances and flowers
Unknowingly, you and I 
Are drawn towards each other
You hum a tune
While I listen
Slowly the sky transforms from azure to darkness
The clouds pour down in a torrent
You are drenched by the downpour
I am the umbrella
You lie asleep on my bosom
I dream on
We now are an integral part of each other
Wrapped in an unbreakable bond
Exchanging-
Your eyes are mine, my heart yours
My hands are yours, your feet now mine
Releasing two thirsty souls
Into the open sky, 
For a handful of sunshine
We are now complete

The conch and the temple bells ring
The offerings lay out with fragrance and flowers.
Without knowing it, you and I
Have become a burning lamp of love! 


(Translated from the original in Assamese "Kebol Tomar Babe" by Mrs. Ranjana Sharma)

Last Word By Kuldip Medhi

Met her first 
Where 
The meadow stopped 
Behind the mountains 
Benched on the buffalo's back 
A cowherd 
Played a riverine tune 
Where 
The bow-shaped river 
Flowed north 
The white yachts 
Were sailing east 
Like the shadow of 
A flight of cranes on water 
Where 
At the market near the river 
Away from the crowd 
She clutched herself 
To keep selling tears 
Folks haggled 
And gladly bought 
The pearl-like tears 

It was then I asked her 
The reason for such discounted sale 
She accounted - 
A tree's tears have no value 
Only to be burnt to ashes 
A seedling grows into a matured tree. 


Translated by Prof. Anita Baruwa from the original "Xeh Kotha" in Assamese.

It's the Beginning By Kuldip Medhi

It's the beginning 

From here the road 
Takes a bend 
Like the horse-shoe 
Towards west 

From here the stretch 
Of bare meadows 
On both sides of the path 
The tufts flying hither-thither 
Shadows from the lined trees 
Seem lost somewhere 
A heron in the pool's mud 
Seems to search for food 

Looking back from here 
Nothing can be seen 
The dust of the path 
Rubbing their eyes 
Bounces back 
Wild flowers at the foothill 
Seem to beckon someone 
Can hear a distant echo 
Of a chopped tree's voice 
Piercing the heart 

It's the beginning 
Hereafter nothing more 
Nothing furthermore 
Here is the end 

Skies of the evening 

The blaze has 
Smoldered to ashes. 


(Translated from the original in Assamese "Eyar Porai Arombhani" by Prof. Anita Baruwa)

I Long To Be By Kuldip Medhi

Keep the door to your heart open
Flowing upstream all night on the Bhogdoi
I long to be the flute
That plays for you at dawn

Like the hum of a honey bee
On your moist lips, 
I long to be a melody of love
To be cherished for a lifetime

(Bhogdoi- a river name; which is in Assam, India) 

(Translated from the original in Assamese "Muro Mon Jai" by Mrs. Ranjana Sharma)

Fragrance of Love By Kuldip Medhi

Love means a wild whistle
A soft breeze through the window
Creating ruffles in the mind

Love means patter patter rains
Echoes of spring, dance of rongali

Love means the sunshine of aahar
Dreams of painting green on a brown scrape

Love means waves in the water
Wish to hold onto the sky

Love means moonlight magic
Unknowingly discovering the Buddha

Love means eksaran
Self-submission in his intoxication

Love means acceptance
Shivering dewdrops on sewali

Love means rebellion
Konwar being hanged, tears of 1857

Love means a blood bathed
Afternoon in Gohpur of ‘42

Love means the fire of ‘83
Dying to keep love alive

Love means the smell of bokul
Kept inside books
Somethings tried to be forgotten
But unforgettable…! 


Original in Assamese: ' Bakul Bakul Gondho Amar Ei Bhalpuwa' translated by Prof. Anita Baruwa.

Dark Dreams By Kuldip Medhi

The evenings nowadays have become gloomy 
Across the bridge, a bright patch of light 
Disappears behind a curtain of mist

Fields lie fallow
After a day of festivities
And roads wind their way
With desolate minds

Not a soul to be seen
Only the whistling voice of the cricket
Fills the evening

He waits with a pale face at the end of the day
As evening descends through the leaves and branches of trees
The black chill of the night penetrates his clothes 
And fills his sleep with thick darkness
A dark dream! 

(Translated from the original in Assamese "Kola Sapon" by Mrs. Ranjana Sharma)

Assamese Poem Jontronar Jokholare

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