Morning Dewdrops

Drip of dewdrops

Shining pearls on fallen leaves.

Mist screens autumn sun.

Copyright @ Goutam Dutta

The Retreating Monsoon

Retreat or return

Clouds seem to be in two minds.

Confusion in change.

Copyright @ Goutam Dutta

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2020/10/08/heeding-haiku-with-chevrefeuille-october-7th-2020-changing/

A Tale-of Desolation

Standing in the wilderness,
I am a tale
Of a struggle,
A resistance,
Dogged perseverance
To hold on to existence.
 
This was meant to be a check post
On the border,
manned by a few sentries.
I was their workplace at day
And at night, their nesting shade.
Life then was peaceful, full of joy.
My dear friend, nearby flowed the river
In its cool waters, my reflection
Danced and wavered.
 
Not much activity happened here.
The nights used to come
Dressed to please and charm.
The sentries who stood guard
On the river embankment
Talked in hushed whispers
To drive away their sleep and boredom
And I revelled in many of their secrets.
 
Then the war broke
Men and machines fought
Against each other,
For pride and to possess,
To succeed in beating back death.
Nowhere was any human dignity left.
 
The day the war reached here,
It was a night just like any other.
The enemy came
from the opposite bank of the river,
Against a large platoon of men,
The guards, my inmates, were ill-prepared
And certainly, no match.
They tried to fight back bravely
But fell defending my territory;
Their blood was soon left splattered
On my walls and the river bank.
It was all over in few hours.
 
The enemy moved on and I
Was left standing for many days;
With splattered blood
And stench of rotting flesh
Filling the night air.
 
I still stand today, forgotten, desolate.
The boundaries have been re-drafted
and I am long forgotten.
Even the river has changed course, deserted me.
I stand alone
Carrying the tales of the past
Etched in my crumbling bricks and mortar.

Copyright @ Goutam Dutta

https://pensitivity101.wordpress.com/2020/10/08/three-things-challenge-382/

Reincarnation

There's warmth in the air.
A familiarity in the smells
That waft up to his senses.
Recollections come,
Wrapped in a blanket of haze.
And his smile begins to break.

Is that a school
visible in the distance?
Wonder why it looks so familiar
When did I come here last?
And then, his smile begins to break.

How many years has it been now?
His mind tries to calculate
The years that he had been away
Where is the pond
with its brilliant white lilies?
Was there someone
who used to beckon me to its banks?
Then, his smile begins to break.

Why have I come here?
He bids his mind to recollect
A sense of connect I feel;
Established many years back, from present?
Did someone, long ago
Made me promise
To come back here one day?
Why do I perceive
the soul of the ancient
Under the garb of modern?
He stands and ponders.
The smile then,
Sometimes of recollection,
Sometimes of bewilderment,
Plays on his face.

Copyright @ Goutam Dutta

Foretelling

Anger writ on face.
His hand furiously stirred-
Storm in the tea cup.

Storm in the tea cup.
The crystal ball, is reason.
A false prediction.

A false prediction!
Sense of having been cheated.
Indigestible.

Indigestible!
Anger swirls inside tea cup.
Cafe's calm ambiance.

Copyright @ Goutam Dutta

Ambition

His stupid heart;
Vehement in its denial
Of all things prudent and practical.
A romantic, by nature.
Living in a fool's paradise.

While his friends were busy
Coping with pressure of the daily grind,
Earning university degrees
A job for the future
Raising a family,
Money for their material benefits,
He wanted to be-
A moonbeam!

Like the moonbeam,
travelling ticketless
Over the whole earth,
He wanted to caress the soul
Of many a traveller
Weary with fatigue
On the road of life.
Like the moonbeam
He wanted to lie, floating
On the vast oceans
And swim with the whales.
Penetrate into
the depths of forests
Basking in the silence
Breathing a bouquet of fragrances
Of wild moss and lichens
And lie peacefully
with the lions outside their den.
Like a moonbeam
He wanted to sooth and calm,
Induce peace and love,
In all hearts baying for blood
And plotting violence
On humanity and nature.

Sitting by the roadside,
In tattered clothes and unkempt hair,
Lost in thought,
Vehemently shaking his head, sometimes,
While staring at the moon,
He still nurses this wish
Of becoming a moonbeam.

Inspired by a famous poem named "Amalkanti" in my mother tongue.

Copyright @ Goutam Dutta

https://pensitivity101.wordpress.com/2020/09/24/three-things-challenge-368/