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Best Poems Written by Sarban Bhattacharya

Below are the all-time best Sarban Bhattacharya poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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The Wintry Langour

In dark wintry night, 
Daphne's fragrance heals me of
Crickets' woeful song.

13th June, 2017

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Nature's Rage

This is a long extended night,
   The stars all hibernate,
The blustery gusts revolve around
   The dreams which suffocate. 

Now the torrents lash my door,
   And now they slam the shade,
'Be couched right here, and do not move',
   The whispers promptly bade.

Out there I glanced, the wild tree pranced,
   She swayed her tipsy stem,
All drenched and dark, the leafy arc
   Seems like her death-gown's hem.

Is that mere downpour, or a sign,
   An omen of the time?
The thunders clash with louder splash,
   Upon the lakebed slime.

My window pane is stabbed by rain,
   One thousand spears en masse,
They prick the eaves, pummel the leaves
   To the level of the grass.

The flickering lamp will die at once,
   It does not cease to pour,
A marble sculpture drowns beneath
   The water on the floor.

That which gives life can take it too,
   Lo there it heaves its head,
The shrine's bemused, the priest presumed
   A curse on holy bread.

It has to cease within no time,
   The devil's thunder roars,
The gale allays his evil play
   Withdraws his wondrous force.


28th September, 2021

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The White Rose

The shepherd stood on the field, frail,
He knew not what to do when and why,
As the wrathful sun did steep down,
The confused chap followed his humble sheep.
Then one man neared and asked his name,
He gasped to answer the simple query,
The beads of sweat was vivid on him,
And he shone like a fidgety rivulet.
The hapless boy ambled to the shade;
Peace and comfort the tree provided;
He reclined beneath her graceful limbs;
For a bit he enjoyed a calm in his heart.
Drowsed he in no time, the cattle aside,
Closed were his eyelids, the hair tousled,
With the air that blew across the field,
And he slept in a dreamy mood of rapture.
The air blew cold, the leaves shook fast,
A blithe bird perched a bough so high,
And to the sweetest tune she sang her song,
That also failed to awaken the boy.

      In his dream the fairies came
From unknown lands of brightest glee.
On their wings they glided up and down,
With almost a white aura around.
Helter-skelter all the while 
Flew they in merry mood and mind,
And a nymphet whom this boy liked most,
Stood in raptures down the clouds.
Perhaps she murmured to the breeze
That snuggled her with a soft, soft kiss,
And thus was envied by the boy,
Who beshrewed the wind with manly voice;
Silent yet harsh his throat did trill,
“O nymph, not know’st how didst thou bless
This zephyr warm with thy sleek skin,
As hyaline as the skies above.
If you please, you may confide
In me thy secret stories of life,
And I assert, will I inveigle
Never, never, thee, divine child!” 
Listening to his kind entreaty,
The fairy’s child blurted a word,
“Aye, I’ll tell thee, my young friend!”
So sweet was her voice that could compete
The beehives full to the brim in summer.
Enthralled was he, again and again,
Reverberated that luscious music
Against his mind, jolly calm and dumb.
Unabashed, did he approach her,
Looking at her dreamy blue eyes,
(Far from being mundane were they)
Faltered he, “What is thy name?
What’s thy breed, azure fae?
I know, nathless, of angels, thou
The loveliest work art, no doubt”.
These final words to himself did he
Muttered cautiously, lest could she
Know that he well her knew,
And found no need tell him anew.
Then melody divine, that once
Heard he, would remain unheard to his woe.
     
     “Elvia, you may call me, swain,
Or what you love, for not a soul
Profane am I as thou shouldst know
And need so not an earthly name.”
Replied she, and the shepherd was gay.
“Elvia, I know not what thou lov’st,
Nor can give thee what dost thou so,
This white rose may behove thy beauty,
Which I desire to see evermore.
I have this trifling possession of mine
Only to gift thee as may we
Never meet again, or may we
Never a country pleasure, so glad,
Will relish together in lonely morn.
Take it and hold with thy snowy hand!
Art thou garbed in flawless white,
And thy smooth hair’s all the more pale
Than any princess I have seen.
This poor soul has thus brought for thee
A rose, as white as a morning’s skin”.
Then she took his little gift,
And stood in delight, and welcomed him.
But she must return to her abode,
Far away from human’s ken,
Where everything be pure and white.
Elvia should now leave her swain
And carefree, thither fade and fly,
For dreamy raptures decoy and lie.

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A Silly Mistake

Jane's dad was a man of hauteur, 
He employed a guard for his daughter. 
But that bloke was her dream, 
She eloped with him, 
Her father didn't know this suitor!

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Life Regained With Thee

Gone are my days of glory and grandeur,
Cast are my shadows o'th' shackles of life.
Never did I suffer from loss of vigour
With a lesson of mind's wonderful strife.

But methinks i'th' hour of pain thou shouldst remain
With me, and in me thou only takest pity,
For I know thy love for me refuseth to wane,
Whilst in seclusion I mourn for my city.

No, my love, my lost glamour isn't lost for ever,
For thou hadst taught me the rules of life the riddle.
Pallid, I ponder to redeem my fervour,
Amidst the howling owl's hideous cuddle.

Stolen days of my success I must find,
In thee--and thy love as my hapless mind.

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October Beckons

With mild rays the Sun doth snuggle me in this breezy morn,
Oh Earth, forget thy imminent wintry woes, as Fall placateth thee,
She giveth offerings of raspberries and vines of gorgeous taste,
The senile year will make thee moan with inebriating bounty,

Oh Earth, forget thy imminent wintry woes, as Fall placateth thee,
Benignant nature hath set ablaze the crimson maple today,
The senile year will make thee moan with inebriating bounty,
My desirous mind seeketh solace in nature's succulent arms,

Benignant nature hath set ablaze the crimson maple today,
She giveth offerings of raspberries and vines of gorgeous taste,
My desirous mind seeketh solace in nature's succulent arms,
With mild rays the Sun doth snuggle me in this breezy morn.


2019 October 25
Poet's October Pantoum Cash Prize Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: William Kekaula

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Tongue Twister Time

Tongue twister line: 
From the rustic rover to Samuel Sanders,  they try to tickle the tongue with tricky tongue twisters. 

1. A rustic rover round the ricks ran restlessly,  and restive, he rushed to the nearby rural rill to reinvigorate himself. Then whoever he met,  he ranted and raved with him or her with reckless arrogance. Revivified and rejuvenated,  the vagrant straggler across the riverbank rumbled and rumbled , and trounced a regal recluse that triggered a fiery ruction. Then another rowdy ragamuffin slapped him hard and a furious rabble raised an unprecedented rumpus.

2. Samuel Sanders, a saucy salesman with sable brow,  had an ancestral house in Sussex,  but since he was a man of gypsy psyche,  of late he strayed into Surrey and settled there for squarely six months, and then set out to straggle across the Sicilian seashore seeking psychological solace in the serene and suave sound of the seawaves.

3. You can't put a better bit of butter on your platter because a martyr did shatter the packet of your butter as it did welter in the gutter,  but that waiter did cater you this later,  muttering about an utter butter-hater from Gloucester with bitter hauteur.

19th November,  2016

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Again It Twists

Though the father of the heathen family is a snob, the mother does blather with others and tethers their cattle with withered leathers whether the weather is warm or not. Neither she loathes any others nor fails to be blithe at the advent of the lithe spring at the southern coast of Southampton where with brotherly affection together run hither and thither sheathers and wethers.

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Limerick 1

Poor Tom did not know how to ride, 
Encouraged, the first time he tried, 
But the horse was mad, 
It galloped being glad, 
Down the brook letting Tom to glide.

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A Funny War

The cattle-rearer had shown his mettle by fighting in the battle,  but weary as he was,  drank from his kettle and with his comrades he tattled and tattled,  while at once the chariot-wheels rattled,  and as yet the strife was not settled,  that cattle-rearer got confused a little,  threw out his bottle,  but could do nothing but tattled and tattled with his chattels.