Long Assamese Poems
Long Assamese Poems. Below are the most popular long Assamese by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Assamese poems by poem length and keyword.
In the cool, damp breeze of early dawn,
the courtyard lay silent, as if asleep.
Suddenly, the fallen jasmine blossoms smiled softly and said—
“Why have you left me lying on the ground like this?”
The courtyard breathed in silence and replied—
“You were once a star of the sky,
a dream that spread fragrance in the darkness of night.
I am only your final shelter.”
The blossoms said in a shy tone—
“Final?
Does everything that ends still carry such sweet fragrance?”
The courtyard smiled faintly,
as the morning light fell gently along the walls—
“Fallen flowers are the most beloved.
When they are on the tree, people only look at them,
but when they fall to the ground, the heart feels them.”
A soft, moist breeze arrived
and made the jasmine petals tremble.
They asked again—
“Then am I lost?”
The courtyard replied with tenderness—
“No, you are memory.
The childhood hidden in a mother’s lap,
the morning of prayers,
and the fragrance of someone’s silent love.”
Then both fell into silence.
Only the morning sun
gently kissed the fallen jasmine blossoms,
and the courtyard opened its heart
to embrace that lingering fragrance.
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.
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)
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")...
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 .
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
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)
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.
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)
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