Food for dinner when I'm to choose
I won't lose fish as most favourite item.
Salmon, tuna or any kind, I won't mind .
However I must take boiled rice or bread toast.
Also, chips of either potato or raw banana
Notably I’m strict to the point :
Dinner should be always light.
Corn or carrot soup I really prefer.
Habituated to take at start.
Important to include boiled peas and beans.
Pretty menu, enough for me.
Simple yogurt to finish dinner.
They line the streets
In a shanty confined
The cemented floor
A cold refuge
Embracing disgusted busts of energy
Lost in the wilds
A strange world
The Privileged ones…
What can they do
To assuage this continuing distress
About 1.7 billion
Held hostage in
This grueling tunnel
Manifest in varied dimensions
They lack voice
Human dignity violated
Insecure exclusion of individuals
Habituated in marginal environments
Astronomical cost of living
Must be apprehended
Cities and states must be
Built on God’s foundation
Harbingers to this state are:
Scarce basic needs
Unwilling governments
No economic freedom
Weak rule of law
Bureaucratic burdens
Lack of industralisation
Ailing financial services
Contaminated tendencies
WATAMALA
A wind-induced smile greets me. Cradling the baby’s head, floccose like a ripe raspberry; I’m both filled with wonder and dread. The fragrance of the care products is a stark contrast to the latibule I’ve habituated for many years during my tours of duty. How am I to care for this fragile being when mankind is hell-bent on extirpation? The eminent threat is daily updated on the Doomsday Clock. Paradise razed by conflagration like the residue of a charred batch of jam: irredeemable! I can but sigh while I vow to protect him and his mother to the best of my ability.
The Date
Growing up you are forced to learn the dates
Write in your notes book today’s date, , learn your birthdate and know each festive date
Then some dates turn into annual celebratory days - birthday , Independence Day, anniversary day
Before you know it, you get habituated to remember every new milestone date
But what do you do with dates that caused grief , loss and pain - An annual reminder of what life could have been if that day did not meet its fate
Am I to tribute it or talk about it or just toss it away as it was nothing
But it did mean something and changed everything you know even if you hate
How I wish society also provided a manual for such dates
When how courageous or such a brave face you put up since that day my mate
I can probably never put in words how conflicted it feels -
Knowing some grief will never really heal and an annual reminder that will always open a new flood gate !
Born into a culture,
conditioned by belief,
we pray as we are told,
deepening delusion,
from birth till we grow old.
Born into a culture,
following ritual,
we trust the holy book
but if we pause to think,
we’ll see we were mistook.
Born into a culture,
we’re habituated
to feeling we are right
and all others are wrong
but have we seen the light?
Born into a culture,
we just follow the herd,
asking not who we are,
as that that transcends form,
our soul’s luminous star.
Dead to the world
he turned to face the wall,
it was an interesting wall,
it had a painting
of his semi-naked ex-wife
hung upon it.
Usually that wall picture
made him both sad and happy,
but this morning he groaned
like a man giving birth
to an unnamed sorrow.
He had become ennuied,
habituated to this strange demonic world,
where he was a criminal without a crime.
In a strange way
he longed for some jail time,
just as long as he could take with him
that portrait of his ex-spouse.
habituated to joy currents
we encourage bliss magnetism
to dance within our body as it likes
but it's pain that we choose to resist
and therefore feral residue yet remains
within feeble form, as delusion unresolved
just like the unshapely jagged rock
we prefer the river's gentle caress
that smoothens edges over time
minding not laboured breathing
in our decaying organic form
the slow path, definitely
why then complain
14-December-2022
Habituated in a rain-spell
Crowned which lesson to bide
Is with relief, as bright-faced
Sky-bursts the other side
Bear, too, this short episode
Down-weeping, for sorrow
Can you, in just the same way;
Matching what does follow.
December did not call him out
to the creek,
it was a prod from a walking god
whose legs had grown stiff.
The softening stream is smoky,
a recuperating sun is unlocking the frozen,
slivers and floes jostle to be one
with the melt and miasma.
He watched water rats playing tag
with each other’s tails.
He had argued with her
and was kicking around a grievance.
Peevishly he lobed small stones
at the rats;
they dived into the banks for cover
but soon come out again
to enjoy the spate of the stream.
Water rats seem immune to
prolonged caution and fear,
maybe they are as forgetful as goldfish
or simply habituated to risk.
It was then that he knew
that he had to go home and apologize,
mend what was broken, hold her close
until she melted and flowed again.
Bound to form, habituated to conditioned patterns of experiential thought and aspirational imagination interpreting sensory signals, yet recognising the inherent limitation of such stuporous indulgence, awareness gradually unshackles itself from these narrow fetters, embracing the omnipresent life pulse in an unbroken flowing continuum. Hollowed out form, empty and magnetised, imbibes the divine elixirous currents, automatically & osmotically assimilating the soma nectar into each pore of being, in a manner as ordained. There is no doer and thus no doing, the divine being the mover facilitating blossoming, awareness in witness mode, simply looking at boundaries between form & formlessness merging, into an unending wave of ecstasy in motion.
Who comes and who goes
No one here save pure presence
Vaporised as bliss
Opened door and window
My dissected chest on the top floor of the building
I philandered with moonlit just once
The Dim light was over there for a while
Vague all around the sleeping town
I laid in paralyzed body and enthralled-
With my drunkard eyeball,
with your departure to rampart for another
Fatigue all speeches of farewell were bleeder
All mounds of happiness were there
Twin thoughts of love were together
Our neighbors were there and there were-
Our night parking seat, greenly straw
Varieties trees, owls, whistle of night guards
Some drunkards passerby, barking dogs
Lonely night singers song; some jazz music sounds
Some quarrelsome housewives quarrel with householders
And some habituated householders quarrel with housewives
quiet pool and sportive fishes
The lamppost, the dim light- red, green, yellow
The street beggar, the homeless family
All were there on the way of your departure
But with your departure to rampart for another
Fatigue all speeches of farewell were bleeder
- December 2012 Chattogram
Is it important that to someone we must speak?
Is it wise enough to open up when solitude makes you weak?
Is it really okay to make that person so important?
Is it even possible to be habituated and not dependent?
Is it really necessary that secrets we must confide?
Is it fine, that actually it's we who, their priorities, decide?
Is it really so unclear, what their expectations are?
Is it because our vision isn't clear, distant and far?
Is it so obvious that we want them never to leave?
Is it when they really do, that, they aren't ours to grieve?
Is it really that, letting go, remains the only option?
Is it our ego, that we wouldn't call first, fighting the temptation?
Is it just normal to let that person slip away?
Until finally we realize, that person meant more,
than our big ego, someday.
I'm sorry for being a bright blue sky ,
stretched out for you to fly.
I'm sorry for being a bright orange sun,
to which your days had begun.
I'm sorry that the earth is brown,
and you were too down to see,
how majestic the purple flowers sprout.
I'm sorry that your bed is lofty now,
for the ones who made it,
knew not how,
how badly your back ached.
for you were already habituated to
the hardness of this low concrete life.
To money
With your power you do many a thing
Like rocking monarchs who ruled over the land
Powerful as you have passed into dust
Rich or poor depend on you for a grand
You seem reaching the needy walking on
Cores of hopes gleam upon many faces
Smile soon disappears when you move away
This is happening since long in races
Do you play games? Ask a common person
You never stood on your legs with any
You may be habituated to wheels
Never mind we if you stay or move on
Enough of you we enjoyed though tested
Won’t you make us live a happy life?
Look carefully into those struggling eyes
Enrich with abundance complimented
Inside the depth of her heart
In some hidden corner
There cries a little girl
With her tears that never stops.
Under the harsh shades of emotion
Her tangled feelings
The worst nightmares
Her life that suffers.
Every other day she smiles
A cute little chubby cheek smile
That hides all her pain
All her heartbreaks, all her tragedies.
Her blue shiny eyes
That speaks her untold story
Her silence,her peace
That shows, she learnt it all.
Never she complains
Never did she question her heaven
I'm habituated to this pain
Tells her painful silence...
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