Number 5 Tagore web -ontor momo
5. Bless thy mind blossoming to the degree of all these, brimming ashore
the fullest hymn, in the innermost shrine, pearls of wisdom and adore
Cleanse thy impurity, bless them a glow
Beauty, may the diva touch the unborn heavenly , beyond the creation
Awaken, prepare
for the gallant cause, intrepid
Do good to others, be active, make them sure and certain
Bless thy mind blossoming to the degree of all these, brimming ashore
the fullest hymn, in the innermost shrine, pearls of wisdom and adore
reach to the souls soaring higher in the flight in assonance
to remove the impediment of the voyage
Calm and placid a reach, to beseech humbly
thine speechless impeccable trochaic
The foothill and the fragrant Jasmine, make them a humble duo
be praiseworthy, be praiseworthy
be praiseworthy
Bless thy mind blossoming to the degree of all these, brimming ashore
the fullest hymn, in the innermost shrine, pearls of wisdom and adore
Copyright © Tamanna Ferdous | Year Posted 2025
5. Bless thy mind blossoming to the degree of all these, brimming ashore
the fullest hymn, in the innermost shrine, pearls of wisdom and adore
Cleanse thy impurity, bless them a glow
Beauty, may the diva touch the unborn heavenly , beyond the creation
Awaken, prepare
for the gallant cause, intrepid
Do good to others, be active, make them sure and certain
Bless thy mind blossoming to the degree of all these, brimming ashore
the fullest hymn, in the innermost shrine, pearls of wisdom and adore
reach to the souls soaring higher in the flight in assonance
to remove the impediment of the voyage
Calm and placid a reach, to beseech humbly
thine speechless impeccable trochaic
The foothill and the fragrant Jasmine, make them a humble duo
be praiseworthy, be praiseworthy
be praiseworthy
Bless thy mind blossoming to the degree of all these, brimming ashore
the fullest hymn, in the innermost shrine, pearls of wisdom and adore
Country life is simple,
Spacious and organic
Simple life is healthy life
Imagine natural beauty
Where you settle and established
Your family life and your future
Living the country is living with nature
Imagine your house in the midst of a valley
Beneath the foothill of a mountain
Near besides an all year round river
And grassy land for animal greasing
And access country village road
See, everything is accessible in your sight
The river where you can fish, bathe and laundry
The meadows, where you can raise livestock
The forest, where you can have wood and fresh air
The village country road, if you have a Hammer
Accessible to town for school, life and groceries
This country life is for good for retirement
This country life is for nature and humanity.
Up on a rocky foothill
I could see the canopy
of the forest,
a wind was pushing
green waves through
the thickly knitted foliage.
Not satisfied, I climbed higher.
On the high beak of a peak.
I stood,
peering over a wing-flying sky.
Between the winged air,
and the verdant waves below,
mind walked,
across God's heart.
the round foothill tops
cradled in the drifting fog ~
a soaring vista
I like pets, and we have had our share of a few.
Unfortunately, we never attached to the point of
seeing them as family members. Perhaps it's because
we were not together long enough to bond like family.
There was a shelty named Jack and a cat named Midnight.
There was even a bonny rabbit whose name I do not recall.
But still and all, they came and went away; and also died.
We were forced to give Jack away when the kids grew up
and lost interest. Midnight just disappeared. The bonny
died and we buried her so lovingly.
In a quiet community called Orangevale where
we resided for 4 years, if we had roses there,
I can neither recall nor tell. But we did have roses
in the village of Antelope which was our abode for
nearly 15 years. And I do know without a doubt that
we also had roses in The Foothill Farms community,
a place we called home for nearly 17 years.
Oh, there were other plants and flowers a-plenty, but none
so beautiful nor more plentiful than those roses. We had roses
with and without thorns, the most colorful and delightful.
They were all beautiful, and we named them ROSE.
082322PS
Looking forward all winter for my vacation
A three-day excursion put on by We Are One Nation
We parked our RV’S near the foothill,
then hiked and climbed top of the cliff and met Will
When the sign appeared Reggae Pon the Mountain,
we were quickly escorted to the water fountain
Come and jam to the tunes of the Marleys
Hanga-langa and check out the Harleys
The Jamaican food—colorful, soulful—sublime
One look and I knew right away I would need more time
to enjoy Reggae 'Pon The Mountain
We bought masks, jewelry and tasted the cookies
Ingredients pure, strong, overwhelmed—we felt like rookies
C’mon stay mon, enjoy the music all day, sangalanga on Topanga
You know the Canyon known for the rock-stars?
Three days of festive delight, tonight be romantic, sleep in your cars!
Our host thanked us and said Jah be with you, Rastafari
We waved as he drove off in his Ferrari
We’ll be back tomorrow for the Caribbean callaloo
where we’ll stay all day and enjoy the hullaballoo
A music festival up on the mountain
At night
a shot or two
rings out.
Vartan turns over
and looks at his wife
safely on the side of the bed
away from the window.
He senses
the difference between
sounds of alcohol fueled rounds,
and those from long ago, booted
hate filled men.
Sunland-Tujunga.
The late night discharges
of aimless despair.
Most early Saturdays,
he leans on the same white wall,
black grilled windows, no signs,
no numbers.
The corner of his street and
Foothill Boulevard.
He and his friend, Marhar,
smoke in the morning sun.
They are disturbed only by
an occasional car with an emboldened exhaust.
They know from passed down stories
the deep chill of Zeitoun,
the snow,
the shooting,
the running.
The hiding in caves.
The red lines in the snow.
They know in their veins
who they are,
even against this warm,
white, unblemished, smooth wall.
They are all the lost brothers.
Boys.
They shiver.
They weren’t there.
It was too long ago.
They were there.
Instead, one tells a story
of last night’s
Knuckle-Bones game
and what they won
or lost.
It is a better
to laugh,
shake the head.
Not bury one
on top of the other.
A bluebottle’s tale.
Flies, dark a biblical curse flew, over Alexandria
darkened the sky and hummed hell´s song.
This was not butterflies, in a summer glade.
A bluebottle got to a small hole in the window
they were bringing profanity upon the world.
I looked into its intelligent eyes a soldier drafted
to bring wars and hunger to the world,
(No, not a locust plaque that for its own sake
headless exists.)
to make wars and split nations into many pieces.
God had fated humans should remove each other,
he had made the error given humanity free will
and refused to be held responsible for this fault.
Since we are at the foothill of doom
His will be done.
A new breed of mankind, with small brains and no imagination.
of a Zarathustra or Jung, to give us the idea that we deserved
a better way to find harmony and everlasting niceness.
Dance of a spring storm brought some rain along
Sparkling mountain tops with glitters of charms
Decorating foothill trees with fluffs of knick-knacks
Caressing blooming plants with respect from heart
Adding further to rivers, reservoirs, creeks and ponds
Carrying exuberance to rejoice, appreciate and dance
Acrid smoke in the scientist’s bell jar
Blankets of chenille-covered snow
Crystalline carbon diamond star
Drips forming stalactites grow
Effervescent waterfalls’ dreams
Frothy-topped cappuccinos
Gelid surfaces of lakes and streams
Halos of angels in holy repose
Icebergs splitting from their source
Jasmine-covered pergolas in Spring
Knuckles clenched in fear or remorse
Love’s purest form sobering
Mandala patterns on frosted window
Newly-born flamboyant flamingos
Opalescent lustre of pearls on show
Pineapple-licious snow cones
Quills of the porcupines’ defense
Ringlets of great-grandparents’ hair
Steamy hot springs vapor intense
Trailing wisps of London fog air
Undulating winter foothill maze
Veils of fine tatted lace purity
Wieliczka Salt Mine passageways
Xilinous spider webs artistry
Yahrzeit candle flame in memoriam
Zephyrus ballooning sails on a whim
If I were a foothill
I'd live in Tennessee
settled close would be a windmill
beside my dainty stream
I wouldn't be eroded
for a balance would be there
my soil would be loaded
and a terrace we could share
Even though I'd reside with plateaus
settled in the mass
people would live in chateaux
and play in my lofty grass
The certainty that I am piny
wouldn't matter in my plain
for even though I'm tiny
the mountains discern my name
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)
In a quiet noon of a fall
A cadence of wind spread along the
Foothill of the blue mountain!
My memories flashed back to a same fall noon—
That day we hiked side by side on a trail,
Whenever I looked upon your face
I saw there a white pigeon of love,
Its adorned artistry beautified you,
Your heart-beats whispered to me
With a synchronized music of wind,
That evening had sprinkled crimson hues!
That night was shined by a moon,
That starry sky kindled the lamp of my life,
I was beholden to you,
Still I am.
At the foothills of fantasy I live
Keeping away from reality I live
Where ignorance is blessing I live
On dat beautiful level of existence I live
Day dreamer dey call me
I m
A seeker of dreams
I m
Not bothered of labels, carefree
I m
I belong to myself
Self obsessed
I m dream or reality
It may b anything
So b it
The biber of dark honey
So b it
A dark uncertainty gathers around
So b it
For
The chain dat binds the skies
I have
No flowers get pure perfume in my hand
I have
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