Long Pur Poems
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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World class works could not be published so far and Patradoot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
Not long ago when the summers seemed warmer and the winters were whiter. When the trees grew crown of leaves bright, a transparent green. Then tossed them to the ground for a little while. In piles of amber, crimson and umber. Before the earth was asleep in the frosty blanket of white. The trees all barren. Brittle with ice. While above the fire place sat the greetings of a wonderful season.
As embers popped and sizzled you sat and stared at the flickering flames. You would talk of pictures that play in the dying flames. The demons you saw or other worlds you claim. Danced in the weaving flames. The tongues would lick and sway. Snap and brake. The spires of candle flames would show you kingdom's of the soul. The shadows would move in a seismic rhythmic trance. In wakening dreams you would see people walking past a bright sun dappled days, by a pond you would sit watch and sway. Not make a whisper. You would sing to yourself, long lost melodies. Staring at the bright dabbled ray of sun pooling in your hands.
Seeing something not of this plain. You would say you saw the oblivions back yard. Endless Horizons afar! Then nod into sleep. Your head would tilt. All time turns. The world swam in the hearth. You would only watch. Your hands never idle even for a little While. Those hard cracked hands. Time runs like sand through pur broken fingers. When the storms would come and gently rumble the house. You would tilt your head and look skyward, you would hear the silent drops of distant rain. Water falling on the eaves of the house.
You would nod your head in it's absent rhythm and watch it streak the window pain. While you clenched your brittle hands. Flexed there pale fingers tentatively. But that was years ago. Now you ride and play in the distance fields in the backyards of long ago. Your eyes are vacant. Your hand are hard, your arms are crossed. No more nights of watching the fire or listing to dabbling rain.
No more catching pools of sun rays. You are now grown past this world, lost to this wide universe. You are in a man's final season, his great Winter on earth. At last your hands are healed, still, resting at peace. The idle hands of Jacob. The ruined hands of humanity.
Once upon a time there was a kitten with no name,
in the beginning his mother took care of him;
but one morning she was not there,
so, the kitten with no name went searching.
His little paws took him deep into a forest,
it seemed to be a land far far away;
he cried mew, mew, mew, MEEEW,
then, curled up under a tree and fell asleep.
In the morning he was woken up by talking,
it was the tree that was speaking to him;
you must be lost but I will help you because,
I am a magical forest tree!
The kitten looked up high at the tall tree,
it seemed the tree bent down and touched him;
with his leaves and it felt so nice that kitten
went pur, pur, pur, pur, pur, PUURR.
Kitten you cannot stay in this forest,
their are villains like animals lurking about;
who would like to eat a little kitten,
I am calling the magical singing birds to help.
They will lead you out of this forest,
so, the kitten with no name followed the birds;
they kept singing to him and he felt happy,
because he had friends to help him!
Soon, they came to the edge of the forest,
where a pretty house was built among the trees;
the birds said, good luck and kitten marched on,
until he found himself in a lush beautiful garden.
The kitten was wandering the garden when,
all of a sudden a little girl picked him up;
oh, sweet, sweet kitty are you lost,
and she shouted, mother, mother, MOTHER!
Mother came running and said what is wrong,
look mother a lost kitten can we keep him;
of course, and soon the kitten with no name,
was lapping up warm milk in a cozy kitchen.
He needs a name, lets call him Magic,
because its magic that he survived on his own;
so, the kitten with no name has a name now,
and a home with a sweet little girl and a MOTHER.
And they lived happily ever after !
The End.
__________________________
April 01, 2023
Poetry/Narrative/The Lost Kitten
Copyright Protected, ID 04-1536-551-01
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Write A Sweet Fairytale
For Children With A Good Outcome Ending,
sponsor, BJ Legros Kelley, Judged 05/06/2023
Second Place
Beatrice: Riguardi verso l'omorose some
che alma ea portando e antitìpe
ne 'l loro esser oltraggio oltre l'addome.
Name 'ntelletto quivi arripe
ne la forma che vero 'l pari liga
per che solo l'aborto si concipe:
se diva terra aùrea e tu'l dispiga
temprar non dèi le pugna 'n sul tuo petto
s'appresso né incanala né s'irriga;
aliter se sì fosse amore infetto
indarno 'l serto suo saria ricerca
e daterebbe 'l suo natal difetto;
ma inver dissenna quei che merca
contra natura la pienezza buona,
mai da 'l neente ne 'l crear soverca;
e l'alta possa cree per sé detrona
lenocinando seco sua superbia
e ragione no 'l guida ma fandona.
Colui avvalla da te nel diverbia
vocato da lo Spirto paraclito:
ch' in un spirìa ed empio annerbia.
Non molcia 'l tuo giudizio 'l sol candito,
ch'anco ad amaro 'nsieme inorcia
il saccaro, e dispiace quando adìto.
Ioàn : Madonna ad orizzonte meco scorcia
ceruleo ondar che 'n ciel s'ammuta,
però di' se traligno o pur m' attorcia.
Nessun limite diere quel ch'imbruta,
nel vizio l'alma o de le membra 'n lena:
come che sia da urano distatuta.
Ne la crisale eruca sempre insena
ma nobis umiltate amor fenicia
l'ala per che non l'abbia di falena.
Funesta quella prole che ne 'nficia
con l'atto suo de l' unimento
l'ubèrta de 'l terren con edificia:
con lor moneta conia 'l tradimento
inver de la beltà e 'nver de 'l gioco
e non conoscon frutto ma cemento;
ma per chi ne l' affetti è tanto roco
niuna compassione 'l refrigeria
e puote ben caldarsi ne 'l suo loco.
One day, watching a reddened evening sky
over the western horizon, it’s peculiar though,
a thought that is so preposterous suddenly came to my mind
and that was the earth is not revolving. Is it because the world was
too quiet? Or the world was too chaotic.
Once this absurd thought ran through my mind,
neither of those great names, Copernicus nor Galileo
bore weight on me and their heliocentric theory faded away
as well.
The papal absolution bestowed on Galileo after four century’s
long years of silence, to me, was not only the meaningless gesture of
such an arrogant God’s institution but was the subversion of God’s majestic power or it means that God was ousted from his throne and became subservient to his own creature, man.
After all, it can be said that then,
it was not because the earth revolved on its own axis, time flowed,
or the earth orbited the sun, seasons changed. But because I think
time flows, the time flows. I feel seasons change, the seasons change.
For my wildest notion came to this far I felt uneasy inside. I wanted to hear sound of passing clouds, I was keen on seeing winds pile up under my feet, in this utter stand-still-soundless world.
That is why I thought I should spin earth with all my strength,
though I was weak and flabby. I pushed earth leaning myself
against air, I pulled it, I tried to carry it on my back, but, alas, earth did not move.
I was, therefore, all run down, and that’s why I laid on the ground
staring at the sky and grumbled just like that cowardly Galileo muttered
while exiting from a sacred and inviolable court of the Inquisition after his recantation, “E pur si mouve”—[But it does not move!]
As I grumbled, I heard the sound of drifting clouds,
I saw flowing water resting on the corolla becoming clear dew,
I was stepping on the pile of fallen leaves blown by the passing winds. And even, before I was aware of them, I noticed that stars were twinkling in the darkening sky high above.
SPECIAL AGENT LEROY HEIMBACH HE BABYSAT FOR MY FOUR CHILDREN WHILE SPECIAL AGENT PAULA BRAND INSTALLED THE WIRES ON MY UNBORN CHILD LEROY WAS THE SUPERVISOR I HAD TO CARRY OUT HIS DUTIES I AM BLESSED HE TOOK MY KIDS TO THE BEACH SINGING MY GIRL NO GREATER LOVE HE WAS AN AWESOME FATHER HE HAD FIVE KIDS HIMSELF I FELT MY KIDS WERE SAFE THIS HELPED ME GO INSIDE HOSTAGE SITUATIONS BUYING WEAPONS AND DRUGS FROM JUNK SICK OFFICERS AND MAKE IT BACK FINNY TODAY FBI SUPERVISOR BABY SITTING MY FOUR KIDS IT WAS LIKE HAVING CHILD CARE WHILE BEING AN INFORMANT I COULDN'T WORK IF MY KIDS WEREN'T SAFE SORRY FOR MY IMPOSTER TAKING ADVANTAGE OF SPECIAL AGENT LEROY HEIMBACH LEAVE HIM ALONE YOU WERE BREAKING IN MY HOME LEROY HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THAT TAKE NOTES YOU EILL NEVER EVER CLONE ME JAMAICAN TALIBAN IDENTITY THIEVES RACKETEERING EXTORTING EMBEZZLING VETERANS AND THEIR DISABLED FAMILIES I WAS BLESSED LEROY WAS THIER I WAS HIS BACK UP TODAY MY WAR HEROR GOT MY BACK SPECIAL AGENT LEROY HEIMBACH IS FISHING NOW THINKING ABOUT ME TELEPATHIC BEHAVIOR ANALYST HE TAUGHT ME TO DO HIS JOB WHILE HE PLAYED WITH MY CHILDREN YOU ARE A DOMESTIC TERRORISTS IDENTITY THIEVES SPECIAL AGENT LEROY HEIMBACH NEVER BROKE INTO MY HOME FOR IMMUNIZATION RECORDS TO KILL MY INFANT HE SAT DOWN WITH MY CHILDREN AND I WE HAD LEMONADE AND TEA HE WOULD NEVEER PUT ME IN HARMS WAY LEAVE HIM ALONE JHORE YOU'VE KILLED ENOUGH MEN YOU WILL NOT HARM MY WAR HERO STAY AWAY FROM MY DISABLED FAMILY YOUR SOUL SHALL BE SWALLOWED UP BY THE LION OF JUDEA HAILE SELASSIE THE LION SHALL PUR AT MY FEET JUST HE DID THAT BEAUTIFUL DAY YOUR RASTA ANDREW PERISHED AT MY FEET I WATCHED THE LION OF JUDEA SWALLOW HIS SOUL AS HE TRIED TO CRAWL SLIDING LIKE SERPENT COVERED IN BLOOD THAT'S WHEN THE GUNMAN SAW HIS SOUL SCREAM HE JUMPED FROM THE TRUCK AND PUT FOUR MORE SLUGS IN HIS BACK HIS SHOE SHOT OFF HIS FEET NOW I SHOOT YOUR SOUL HAILE SELASSIE RASTAFARIAN LION OF JUDEA DON'T YOU EVER CROSS MY PATH AGAIN
Once upon a time,
Long long ago there was a girl so beautiful
That all the boys wanted to marry her desperately.
She had no interest in being married, she did not want to be trapped, she wanted to be free and happy.
Everyday, all the boys of her town would gather outside her house, making a ruckus, begging her to marry them.
Each day she would chase them away, banging pots and pans.
They always came back though.
Finally, the girl was desperate.
She told the crowd of boys that she would marry the one who could give her the bell that hung on her cat's neck.
So off the boys went, they ran through the town in a mad pack, chasing after the small black cat, but they could never catch her. The cat was just too smart and quick.
After a while, the boys gave up trying to catch the cat, although they would still swipe at her as she passed by them. She would hop nimbly out of the way, and some of the boys would even say they could hear her laugh.
Meanwhile, every morning the cat would visit the baker's daughter, she would always give the cat some fresh bread and milk, and a scratch behind the ears. The cat would pur, and rub against her.
One day the cat never came, concerned, the baker's daughter set off to look for her.
Finally, she heard a noise coming from a tall tree,
She looked up to see the cat, her bell was stuck on a tree branch, and despite her struggles, she could not get free.
Quickly, the baker’s daughter climbed up the tree, and removed the bell from the cat’s neck.
The moment she did, the cat leaped from the tree, changing mid air into a beautiful girl who landed nimbly on her feet.
The baker's daughter stared at her in shock.
The girl smiled a wide grin, she said,
“You have taken the bell off the cat, I am yours and you are mine, not because you have caught me, but because I have given myself to you willingly and happily.”
And happy they were.
The End.
Beatrice: Tu miri a la funestia de l'austeria
commistion de l'invidia e d'acerbe
quando crescer non vive e pur ingeria:
principia sono falde e non riserbe,
scienza che non impozza ma s'intenda
innesta a la puerizia unìce berbe;
così l'amplesso de' sofismi addenda
a 'l mondo la piètra ancora e rude,
e non liquor ch'accidia disincenda.
O altrove negasi qüelle drude
artefatte sentenze sanza cura
d'esser venène se non crude?
Ed esse cinte d'ingloriose mura
inspazia lo su' autor ne l'avvenire
non come munificio ma 'n usura;
per ciò che 'l suo miasma 'ntende aulire
intorno al pensier suo immaturo e marcio,
e assuono di sua sorditate benedire.
Ioàn: In nome de la tua spada disquarcio
onne mia dedizione pria diletta
se no da mia equità meco disarcio:
name mi sono appreso intra la letta
in che lo flume de 'l discorso rade
d'aver d'una rugiada l'aude umetta;
(Lat.absisto)astito da le mie false contrade
i' vegno a 'l primo freddo de 'l mattino
e sì novella possa mi pervade!
Beatrice: Ricorditi virtute è 'l tuo confino
ma 'n ella libertate a te è plenaria
e teco suggellar non può 'l destino.
Allora fa': di molte isquame acquaria
il laco de 'l tuo cuore mai diverso
d' amor che tutto 'nvita e seco invaria
e fé l'oceano sempre limpio e terso.
And For Supper Tonight...
The Missus Prepared Her Trademark Tortilla Pizza
Hmm...yum...after a hard
days night of reading Hebrew,
though I do not know a word,
nonetheless taking leftist to right
correspondence course tubby guru
hoop fully coaxing posthumous fame and glory
detailing mundane epistles about this Matthew,
yours truly indulged in delicious comestible eschew
wing noncombustible vegetarian ingredients,
asper supp pur ream culinary
innovative eats, she whipped up anew
(similar how mine late mum did construe
tasty dishes to buzzfeed famished motley crew),
anyway thee wife comprised something new
microwaved cooked, (the stove off limits),
yet savory extemporaneous hodgepodge
usually delightful originating predicated on Jew
whoosh heritage, sans unpredictable menu
within fount tin head,
where earlier this evening she drew
forth, the above titled nonpareil zesty
substantial adequately satiating
me tummy, which uttered
(rather incoherently) halloo
since supercalifragilous expialidocious impossible
mission to verbalize
with full mouth, relishing anew
analogous when just a whippersnapper,
viz teenage mutant ninja turtle lapping stew
wickedly bubbling cauldron warming Inuits igloo
thawing this adventure seeker,
when a mere hatchling shew
wing fearlessness, I unwittingly got shell lacked
(became nearly homeless) sent askew
enroute rescued courtesy Mister Magoo
aforesaid Eskimos he knew
nursed me back to health
shaman donned as a "FAKE" kangaroo
accompanied by apprentice
trumpeting on Taj Mahal miniature didgeridoo,
which nostalgic "FAKE" memory
spouse poked das man
i.e., dozing papa awake asking review,
regarding Tortilla Pizza comprising:
whole wheat tortilla, dairy free vegan cheese
organic mild salsa
meatless crumbles
cubed eggplant.
Aux lacs italiens
Douce l'italie, ca n'est pas moi qui raillerai jamais tes
amants, méme quand la passion les emportant Bien au contraire,
les exces m'enchantent. Je me rapelle l'enthousiasme de Goethe, qui saluait
j'usqu' è la poussiere qui couvrait sa voiture. Et J'airavi, été ravi l'autre jour,
en relisant les dèrnieres pages de son “Voyage en Suisse”, de voir le vieux
Dumas presque divaguer dès que, sur la route du Simplon, les il sent les prèmieres
blouffées du vent de Lombardie, dès qu'il apercoit, come cygnes se réchauffant
au soleil, des groupes de maisons blanches, aux toit plats. A meaure qu'il se
rapproche des rives du lac Majeur, son romantisme déborde.
Il salue L'italie, la vicelle reine, la coquette éternelle qui envoi au devant
des voyageurs ses femmes et les fleurs.
“Au lieu s'ecrie-t-il, des paysannes gui treuses du Valais, on recontre
a chaque pas de jolies vendangeuses, au teint pale, aux yeux véloutes,
au parler rapide et doux; le ceil est pur, l'air est tiède, st l'on reconnait,
come dit Plutarque, la terre aimèe des dieux, la terre sainte, la terre beureuse
qui les invasions barbares, les discordes civiles n'ont pu dépoullier des dons
qu'elle avait recus du ciel”
D'ailleurs, exalter l'italie n'est pas denigrer la France; et je pous rai répondre,
comme le déclare si finement De la Lande, dans la préface de son célebre
“Voyage en Italie” que ce voyage est = le plus agréable et le plus beaux
de tout ceux qu'un Francais pent faire hors de chez lui.