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Patradoot or The Messenger 5/Many
English version by
Ravindra K Kapoor
If there wicked hands will ever catch you,
Your body will be mutilated in pieces,
And then, you would never be able to see,
My beloved to convey my message, dear letter.
Ravindra
Kanpur India. 13th May 2010 to continue in 6
Background of this Epic
The Patradoot was written originally by my late father
Dr.Amar Nath Kapoor in 1932. He had joined India’s
Freedom struggle in 1920 on the call of Mahatma Gandhi.
From 1920 till 1947 (India became free in 1947)
my father was in active movement as Congressman &
Gandhi’s non-violent soldier. For many times he was
imprisoned for many months and sometime, even for more
than a year. He dedicated the entire writing work to his
dear wife, my late mother, who was also a co-partner with
him in the freedom struggle in creating mass awareness.
During one such imprisonment at Faizabad jail, he wrote
this epic and sent it to my mother secretly as a gift for her
and to get it printed & circulated among the masses to
create awareness for India’s freedom. The book was
printed by my mother in Hindi and some of this epic were
circulated also, but the British confiscated the book and the
press of my father around 1933. I was born in 1950 in a free
India. I am trying to bring this great writing of my father in
English which portrays more than the translation of the epic,
so the world may come to know about this otherwise lost
and forgotten great great writing and the sacrifices of my
patents towards India’s freedom struggle.
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor left active politics after 1947
and devoted rest of his life in writing easy mass literature
and wrote many Dramas, Poetry books, epics etc. All his
other literary works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990.
He left this mortal world in 1994. Unfortunately many of his
World class works could not be published so far and Patradoot
is one of them.
Ravindra
Transliteration of Hindi poem in English- Patradoot or the Messenger.
Kutil Kuron Me Pur Kur Unke,
Aunga Bhunga Ho Jayega,
Purna Roop Se Priya Darshan Ko,
Phir Tu Kabhi Na Payega.
Patradoot in Hindi written by
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor
Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections
So powerful yet so vulnerable
So mighty but so weak
A life of grandeur and dominance
embodied with greed and abundance
is drawing to a close by its own arrogance
I could see everything from all angle
All wrapped up within one giant circle
Connecting the bold dots on the external triangle
This morning I sat on the big fearless rock
Watching the silent river flowing in the deep
For a while everything was dead silent
And I could hear my own breath and my heart throbbing
The trees were silent too and there wasn't a touch of breeze
It felt like a big ceremony was happening way out in the deep
Water flowed peacefully under the old bridge
and the birds flew to and fro the ridge, murmuring
I could sense that something sad was about to happen
My mother used to tell that silent river runs deep
and the quite ones are usually the most dangerous ones
I sat there staring in the water praying that it will remain calm
But all of a sudden something more powerful than me began
raging in the trees causing a turbulent commotion
And shouting cars start parading up and down the street
The bird thunderous voice kept screaming in the trees
Forcing me to pack up and quickly take my leave
I headed towards the East staring directly into the morning sun
lamenting my discomforts but it had a message for me before the day began
After hearing my case it buried itself under the thick blue sky
The scent of fresh flowers circulated the atmosphere
And I found myself in three different spots picking flowers far and near
They had the same color the same smell and the same truth
The sun came out from under the tempestuous sky
with a ferocious energy that lit up the entire sky
I could literally feel it scorching my face oh what a big disgrace
I lie on the grass in front of the big round pond
watching the sun emitting its woeful verdict
King Nebuchadnezzar has boasted of building the great Babylon
by his own mighty power, for himself and his patrons
But he was driven away from power and lived
with wild animals and eat grass until he was humbled
I got up suddenly and stared at the water in front of me
And saw one duck swimming in big wide pond
Mother duck circled around the pond
swimming up and down and quacking merrily around
Quack
Quack
Quack
Patradoot or The Messenger 7/Many
English version by
Ravindra K Kapoor
On your way, you would witness and see,
Alluring scenes and sceneries all around the way,
Spreading their charms to allure your mind,
They would keep fascinating your heart, on your way.
Ravindra
Kanpur India. 14th May 2010 to continue in 7
Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections
Background of this Epic
The Patradoot was written originally by my late father
Dr.Amar Nath Kapoor in 1932. He had joined India’s
Freedom struggle in 1920 on the call of Mahatma Gandhi.
From 1920 till 1947 (India got freedom on 15th Aug. 1947)
my father was in active movement as Congressman and
Gandhi’s non violent soldier. For many a time he was
imprisoned for many months to more than a years sometimes.
During one such imprisonment he wrote this epic and sent
it to my mother secretly as a gift for her and to get it printed
and circulated among the masses to create awareness for
India’s freedom. The book was printed by my mother in
Hindi and some of this epic was circulated also, but the
British confiscated the book and press of my father around
1933. I was born in 1950 in a free India. I am trying to bring
this great writing of my father in English which portrays more
than the translation of the epic, so the world may
come to know about this otherwise lost and forgotten great
great epic and the sacrifices of my patents towards India’s
freedom struggle.
Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor left active politics after 1947
and devoted rest of his life in
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas,
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990.
He left this mortal world in 1994. Unfortunately many of his
World class work could not be published so far and Patradoot
is one of them.
Ravindra
Transliteration of Hindi poem in English- Patradoot or the Messenger.
Bhati Bhati Ke Drishya Marg Mai,
Audbhut Chata Dhikhayege,
Nig Anupam Sobha Se Tera,
Hardaya Lubhate Gayenge.
Patradoot in Hindi written by
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor
Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections
How much does it cost to say yes
how many teardrops… do you want to see flow
how many curses …do you want to hear
how many sunsets do u want to pass in regrets
how many sleepless nights should I have
how much torture should I persevere
before you understand my sorrow
Look into my eyes and see the fire in them
feel my heartbeat …..
No one else makes it beat this fast
listen to the language am speaking
how often do you hear
a man utter so many in understandable words
Tick tock time moves
just when I hope you will stop looking at him
with so much passion,
you even go further to kiss him more
how it used to hurt!
Now I try to make it fun
assumptions are what dominate my life
a kiss to his score sheet
become a tick on mine.
Just tell me what I have to do
so that you recognize me.
Is it the money that he gives…
world trips he takes you,
the posh car he bought you yesterday
title deed for the beach house
Or even better!!
the slaps he gives you in the middle of the night,
even better the other woman he has in your
house.
How inferior he sees you’
just one of his lady servants
he thinks of you
his expectations of you
to smile even if nothing is right?
Thoughts and thoughts have circulated my
mind tried to win a jackpot
am afraid that doesn’t happen to the needy.
Only one thought to solve this puzzle
the only thought that ends up in smiles
caddling each other
under the moon light
outside our hut of peace
the only thought
you disagree most with.
let him burst us.
You say “he will kill us”.
For you, I bet he will
make it snappy out of anger
that’s better you’ll be home early
prepare our sleeping place
for I know he will make
sure he kills every nerve
one by one that has my DNA
till his pain goes away
then and only then I will come home.
See baby,
a win- win situation his anger gone
and our souls will find happiness
yes if only you’d agree
just let go
let go of the materialistic you
listen to the joy of our jeering hearts
lets go home
Patradoot or The Messenger 8/Many
English version by
Ravindra K Kapoor
Enchanting beauty of nature,
Would unfold its charms, on your way,
When you would take my hearts message,
For the most lovely child of the creator, my beloved.
Ravindra
Kanpur India. 15th May 2010 to continue in 9
Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections
Background of this Epic
The Patradoot was written originally by my later father
Dr.Amar Nath Kapoor in 1932. He had joined India’s
Freedom struggle in 1920 on the call of Mahatma Gandhi.
From 1920 till 1947 (India got freedom in 15th Aug. 1947)
my father was in active movement as Congressman and
Gandhi’s non violent soldier. For many a time he was
imprisoned for many months to more than a years sometimes.
During one such imprisonment he wrote this epic and sent
it to my mother secretly as a gift for her and to get it printed
and circulated among the masses to create awareness for
India’s freedom. The book was printed by my mother in
Hindi and some of this epic was circulated also, but the
British confiscated the book and press of my father around
1933. I was born in 1950 in a free India. I am trying to bring
this great writing of my father in English which portrays more
than the translation of the epic, so the world may
come to know about this otherwise lost and forgotten great
great epic and the sacrifices of my patents towards India’s
freedom struggle.
Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor left active politics after 1947
and devoted rest of his life in
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas,
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990.
He left this mortal world in 1994. Unfortunately many of his
World class work could not be published so far and Patradoot
is one of them.
Ravindra
Transliteration of Hindi poem in English- Patradoot or the Messenger.
Prakriti Mugdha Sunderta ke,
Mug Mai Nav Drashaya Suhayenge,
Le Kur Priya Dhing Hirdraya Sandesha,
Jub Tu Mera Gayega.
Patradoot in Hindi written by
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor
Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections
Patradoot or The Messenger 3/Many
Originally written in Hindi by my late
father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor
English version by Ravindra K Kapoor
The moment you will hear, the voice of my heart,
You will become pious, like the showering raindrops,
Taking shapes from my expressions,
To shower the rains of Love, on my beloved’s heated heart.
Ravindra
Kanpur India. 11th May 2010 to continue in 4
Transliteration of Hindi poem in English- Patradoot or the Messenger.
Sunte Hi Sangeet Hradaya Ka,
Tu Pavitra Ho Jayega,
Udgaron Ka Rup Dharega,
Prem Virsti Burseyega.
By Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor
Freedom Fighter and writer, Poet & Dramatist
(1889-1994)
Background of this Epic
The Patradoot was written originally by my later father
Dr.Amar Nath Kapoor in 1932. He had joined India’s
Freedom struggle in 1920 on the call of Mahatma Gandhi.
From 1920 till 1947 (India got freedom in 15th Aug. 1947)
my father was in active movement as Congressman and
Gandhi’s non violent soldier. For many a time he was
imprisoned for many months to more than a years sometimes.
During one such imprisonment he wrote this epic and sent
it to my mother secretly as a gift for her and to get it printed
and circulated among the masses to create awareness for
India’s freedom. The book was printed by my mother in
Hindi and some of this epic was circulated also, but the
British confiscated the book and press of my father around
1933. I was born in 1950 in a free India. I am trying to bring
this great writing of my father in English which portrays more
than the translation of the epic, so the world may
come to know about this otherwise lost and forgotten great
great epic and the sacrifices of my patents towards India’s
freedom struggle.
Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor left active politics after 1947
and devoted rest of his life in
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas,
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990.
He left this mortal world in 1994. Unfortunately many of his
World class work could not be published so far and Patradoot
is one of them.
Ravindra
Water rains the philosophies of mums each morning plying jeer can with tough
faces because the taps have been experiencing months of loneliness in it
gush.
The waking of sleepless mums gluing their hope to the taps gush, merely
believe this city certain to save the mums from slavery of their own. Owed
the boredom drenching in strings water to the songs of birds close the
window to the windmill.
The nights become longer to the size of river Nile wishing the night to
swallow the day, their pace can be heard in parliamentary to the voice of
the kettles rumbling in the morning
Their sweat determines the pain they have been through to ignorant of the
truth the pipes are like dead snakes on the roads biting us with fear.
It gushes no water that too melancholy on milky tooth of incompetent man
hovering his wings to the nation and attribution regretted.
She colors her behavior to spit the crowded of women around the well to
the crisscross that wills the nation to notion active only by the title of
competency if imagined.
The cascade of the city to scent of village with tantamount hope boiling no
interest to glue in city that with no sign of before, but backwardness
rumble to the dumbbell in the morning to mothers cry.
The dampness of their clothes to the scent of cockroaches well being, the
fake manifesto entertains poverty and glue the water collectors to
colloquial gossip in the morning hoping to ram the messed up and the big
mistake ever nation has cried that circulated in short saga.
Dumb in parliament to the palatable junks of protruding stomach shining
gown to the shake of lizard to the fall of Julius Cesar by the sword
And by the oath of power to the pointless of being a President to the
resident overdue of coalition of poverty is fence of blunders on the frying
plate
by then the imagination of mums fetching the tinkling of water enshrined
them each morning to months of lamentation
They rallied you to paint their faces with hope of impregnated oath to
breath of thief with heavy sombre spell diction's where we must defend to
the arrival of Jesus by jumbling solutions to fix broken ideas to the
weight night.
*"A tribute to "Pops" (Joe), (04/23/31-01/20/24) though what pans below mirrored life in the States for me, not Pops, but for two years at The Home before he passed, I'd drank tea cause he's unable to have strong or spicy etc. Once a month, though the last few months I drank alone. It was something that he shared, for you Pops." ... by Poet
'Twas a relatively crispiness in the clambering yawn,
a consortium of sorts setting up right across the lawn,
as duskiness drew up her covers relinquishing the day,
embossed intricately recently polished grace silver tray,
atop bears a quaint setting of Old Country Royal Alberts,
ah, yes, tea cups, dually statured and ushering desserts,
if you would please pour just a cup for me, for as you can see,
my 'friend's asleep at the wheel, engine's off, eve doesn't agree,
a host to vividness terms of circumstance circulated,
guesswork nature that entertains the uncoordinated,
the fumbling hands placed to the left or right be it a catchphrase,
a righteous smile of approval amicably gifts it weighs,
astir Pekoe, instants an intrusive bay fronts pleasantries,
prompts us of our intimacy adds value to home's sea breeze,
a nose full of redolent tea defines memories of us,
of times he drove us to school, then to doctors, still drives the bus,
a nodding gesture non flirtatious enthusiasm rises,
occasions an exceeding specialized intrigue comprises,
be a tea for two, Broadway Avenue, a smothered venue,
food cart with mixed tarts, lined signs of sweet kinds, beseeches of you,
I and my friend, who sleeps now and then, had two cups of Pekoe,
tea for my friend, it's not Pekoe, health-bot boy, it's Almond Joy,
'tis a pleasure, airs like a loon, trends sans measure, depth crescent moon,
he won't mind, he's sleeping--are you sure, yes, we're having friends soon,
they're here, ambulance? send them here--no rush, their skills aren't needed.
He felt his life poor--driving, "Pops, we made it--you succeeded."
My sister would always wait until the time
lose concentration in the dead evening.
She would tell mother it was time for vigil.
Her racial church always has one every Friday.
Mother won't complain cos she thought her
to be a good girl & we were the bad eggs.
I became sick of watching her go to this vigil.
I followed her trail one sexy Friday evening
When she entered into the dumb house
The room went blind and I heard her moan
Mother is yet to recover from the shock.
When every searching eyes has gone astray,
Nneka would always learn to pleasure herself.
She would trace the hole in her thigh pleasantly
then, groan in an unknown tone in the dark.
Her voice searching for what is missing in her,
She would chase the calm darkness into chaos.
Our bodies would protest as we watch curiously.
Our skins would gather heated sweat into boiling water.We learnt to urinate more often as the groaning circulated in our disturbed eardrums.
Till now, we never learn what that is called.
In the village square before the new year,
Girls learnt to giggle watching boys dance.
they always have stories on their lips to tell
their parents.The village bushes were their home. a home for them and the other Boys.
they prefer the rough guys to the calm boys.
they prefer the ugly men to the fine boys.
as long as you could dance to their tone,
Your artistic performance will take them home.
then, they talk about you behind close doors.
how weak you were under their prowess.
In their closet they talk about boy's weakness,
The Perfume their men wear to please nose.
How the lips of their men taste in the dark
How broad the shoulder of their men look
How intelligent they are found in the night.
Women and their familiar need on men
Girls and their nagging lips against nature,
These are the nemesis songs among feminists.
Father told us about these snout skimpy girls
their preys are men of goodwill in light...
These are things girls do behind closed doors.
©John Chizoba Vincent
From_A_Pen_Refusing_Frustration.
On being emotionally bankrupt
Sentient beings distraught
psyche rent asunder
courtesy false accusations
heated words exchanged like gunfire
pox upon the house of Deborah Hunter,
a vicious vindictive
girlish looking septuagenarian woman
buzzfeeding unfounded conspiracy
that the missus steals packages
ever since we moved here
at Highland Manor Apartments
force core and seven years ago
July first two thousand and seventeen
thee wife accused
unfounded rumor circulated,
she brought in snakes
courtesy whom I hashtag snaggletooth
blind as a bat
mistook large make believe
as voracious very hungry,
albeit friendly stuffed caterpillars,
nevertheless possessing
an insatiable appetite
for rumor mongers
especially for bony thin
older bonnie lass
or similar facsimile thereof
such as a small number of tenants
housed here at above mentioned
low income low slung building
formerly an elementary school
repurposed many decades ago
into accommodations
mostly catering to senior citizens,
and/or those receiving
social security disability
the latter classification pertains
to yours truly,
a psychologically tuckered out
egalitarian, libertarian, nonsectarian,
sexagenarian, solitudinarian Unitarian
frazzled, grizzled,
and puzzled wordsmith
who knows not why the wife
singled out and bullied, hastled,
intimidated, and threatened
creating hostile living environment
impacting me
indirectly caught in the crosshairs
wishing upon a star
to acquire monetary resources
to hightail out of
insufferable toxic shock
system of the down
slipping into the behavioral sink
suffocating - impossible mission
to catch my breath
brainstorming for solution
while pitched upon
horns of a dilemma,
whereat I shout out
thru the corridors of time
calling Bull Moose and Rocky
my childhood fictitious cartoon heroes
to deliver salvation out the maws
of an untenable situation
threatening life and limb
hankering for life, liberty
and the pursuit
of happiness birthing
nirvana linkedin to soul asylum.