The Soul's Whisper

Behind Winter Winds

Biswajit Dash — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 17:34:51 +0000

Oh wind! Flattered with the trust I have built,
I stand like a monument of friendship;
Souls appear and go, some honest or in guilt,
The best words, the sweet air around leap
To discover the truth veiled for ages.

We will meet from here and like stranger
Not greet, nor gift but look at each other
With blank eyes, filled hearts and anger
For loving among so many lives longer.

What transcends is unseen but whisper
For apparitions they leave behind;
No joy is jealous of the sorrow spread
Under this canopy of conscious creed.
The temples will remain, the gods will,
The memories will fly like ash sprayed.

Into the dungeon of deprived let us push
All anguishes and love again for that we are.
We are farther than our time can prepare,
When we meet we will greet, we will be quiet.

In Search

Biswajit Dash — Sun, 11 Dec 2011 17:52:49 +0000

A nest tussled on the pathway,
A handful of feathers scattered;
Like twigs broken but still rough
Our apparitions stand tall and long.
Because I am the witness to all
I am the wind that passes unaltered,
I am the moment that is shrouded
In velvet, among victory and vanquish
Of our kind and all that lists melody.

The choirs stand again, the thoughts
Fly like an ambush of the night birds.
The tear drops now and again
For the battles not fought so far
Bounded for an undying reason.
Among friends and accomplished
Episodes of experiences enchanted,
I will but remain in the bust of love
And spread the same old smile and tell
The tale of our genre and our genius.

I will stand again after every dialogue
Of soul and the mind, for I am Love.
The search will not stop in mortal minds;
In search there is joy, there is life,
There is a Troy of thoughts and time
Defies human attempt and will prove
The meaning of this voyage untold.

In search there is a joy, there is love;
I will but wait under the waning moon.
Time is not time, torment is not a test
Until the soul’s tide comes true to rest.

A Moment

Biswajit Dash — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 17:25:35 +0000

From here the mountain of dream ends,
And the ocean of the infinity invites.
The birds chirping and hustles of the oak,
Echoes a known crowd, experiences.
With a thousand mutiny in mind
There are enough miles in this journey,
Of love, lust, grief and undying zeal
To add more and more, to go on and on.

A moment transforms all meaning.

Like a tattered cloth I shall drop now,
The thoughts, the dreams so dear
In sand dunes of the deserted summer.
These people are now my living spirit,
Their needs are my colossal columns,
To strengthen them assures a roof.
The famine in those faces now impel
To conquer the dream of past ages.

A moment transforms all meaning.

Hermit to hermit will pass on my baton
Of love and lead the unseen kiln in storm.
Like life, death too has a meaning unturned,
Our pebbles and stones do not make
Castles of eternity, or save us in grave.
Feed the sunken lips of someone, someday
Under scorching sun or cold winter moon.
Then our soul would not wander ever
As a moment transforms all meaning.

Reverberation After

Biswajit Dash — Sat, 15 Oct 2011 19:11:02 +0000

A thousand mutiny unheard, undressed
Lie now in solemnity and great greed
Wishes more and more, else would die
Unknown under the cold winter sky.
This soul is now brave and now freed
From the bondage of past and the present.
The future is marching fast to plead
And is here, it has the chorus of love,
Never witnessed such a great crowd within.

Now you may not mean that you were,
You will be there forever in those dreams.
The evenings now dance with the days
I spent waiting under the tree beside
The lake so stormy and cold evenings.
I will but take those smiles, those words
That inspired me to write for so long;
I will now relive the smiles that glide
Into the soul among sublime hymns.

I will but again arise, and stand a while,
Before this journey sees the unending wheel.

Before the Winter

Biswajit Dash — Sat, 06 Aug 2011 17:50:06 +0000

Like bluer blossoms in titillating winter night.
I like my father will arise again and grow.
In demise, in death and in desolate dream dome
I will but arise again and stand all applause.

I see when all past married to coming years
There is haystack of Monet and lilies painted,
There is a canvas longing for so long now.
The crowd is like pigments thrown on palette,
That makes nature its art and dreams
Like floating clouds that drizzle in thoughts.

Those temples shall remain for God has seen
Those moments that we spent in prayers
For each other, for a feeling so eternal
And memories shall now beat again
Through days that come in this life of tears.
I like my father will arise and grow
Into an oak on the last mountain frieze.
No more waiting in Sun and among snow,
Thoughts too are dead, the valleys grow.

Let us now forget the walls that we hate,
And like salmons grow again in our dreams.
I shall not write again, nor shall await
For anguishes to stand hearing pastoral hymns.
The swans now flatter incandescence,
And I will reach the bell before my temple
Sees the morning, I will arise and grow.

Someday Somewhere

Biswajit Dash — Wed, 18 May 2011 17:17:29 +0000

As I move from this moment to another,
From the past into coming times,
I thank all gentlemen & women
For making this journey a great memory.
In this citadel of shining intellect,
When I look back there is a lot learnt,
There is a joy of having made friends,
There is a hope for a great tomorrow.

This life and the world is short and sweet,
Filled with moments from yesteryears.
When we meet someday somewhere,
There will be a smile together and talk
For hours for we cover this journey.
We will remain now friends forever.
Let our dreams come true and stars
Match our desire and bring joy for all.

Good Bye! Good Luck! Good Times!

The Summer Musing

Biswajit Dash — Sun, 03 Apr 2011 18:28:13 +0000

Along the sweating air in this bizarre citadel,
There droops a bird on the leafless bough.
There is a known mirage on the path so supple,
There is life among dwelling peasant’s laugh.

I not see now the devout saints of sulphur,
Nor hear music beyond the curtained door.
In this heat thoughts become lighter and lighter
And vanish vanquished beyond visual amber.

So sensuous, so hidden are the words now,
To spell or to see is the dilemma in hope.
Some friends are lost in this battle of seasons,
Some old ones still wait for me to hop.
There is no lake now, my stream has dried,
Vapours alone see meaning in tests and tow.

But wait for droplets to fall not far away
And the dying stream to flow fresh again
With smells of earth married to heated air.
With hope shall this generation survive
Through odds of time and tides of pain
To further move our seeds with care?

With hope comes divinity more distinct,
And life gains the true love precinct.
Beyond this unending dream of the stream
The soul journeys through eternity.

Discover the Journey

Biswajit Dash — Wed, 12 Jan 2011 20:02:16 +0000

An evening in tune with my mood,
All breaths in chorus and now greet
The release from a world so rude.
Each verse I write like as it is the last,
And share my soul and my meat.

From here there is just a prayer for all
To live and love, to dream is so true
Of all beating hearts and enthral
The ripples of a rumoured heart.

From here as I move and mingle
Among droplets on cold green grass,
This thought shall find its route
And wishes like lillies shall swing
Among lives resting in the past.

When it rains I will not see tears
Nor shall melt ever under the Sun
But fly as much in the blue sky
And reach the days I faintly remember.
Someday, somewhere when we meet
And look for long at our tired feet
Let conscience discover the journey.

In memory of a loving friend

Biswajit Dash — Mon, 15 Nov 2010 17:12:41 +0000

Sometimes it’s so hard to face life,
So perturbed when seeing death;
A friend whom I lost and promised
A smile so sweet and spring of health.

From the dark corridor where he lied
So innocent and induced with fear,
I took him out and on the river side
He smiled and took my promise so dear;
To come back and gift him a toyed cheer
And play again on the sands of time.

Our imprints will not stay here,
For this land forgets and forgives
All toil done under the ageing sun.
The boy seven years old then had tear
When asked about life and our lives
So different, undreamt and smear.

I will not see you again nor walk
With you in the summer evening.
But I will remember you ever smile.
I will learn how to live not in desire
But in your dreams and your words.
Someday when I leave, you must wait
For me to join and have the play again.

The Voyage

Biswajit Dash — Tue, 14 Sep 2010 18:50:47 +0000

On this side of the moon there is peace,
There is a an oak to rest my intellect,
And pass on to the blue river bank
For my soul to go nude and cleanse
All that has for years got engrossed.

This river is for ages sinuous and leads
All souls, all saints to the ocean of hope.
There are no pebbles to secure my feet,
But softness of white sand all around.

All memories seem like a mockery,
And all emotions, a wastage of time.
The ocean is not far, just eyes slept
Awhile and dreamt of eagled tombs.
On this side of the moon there is peace,
Some poetry as a prelude to unfold love.

I will write more verse than mere vision,
As my muse is my mettle to the show.
To no Troy shall this soul ever turn,
But with the blue stream slickly flow
To meet the tides where ancient gods
Preach precinct deeds of the dawn.

On this side of the moon there is peace,
There is a choice for cutting the clusters.
To fathom the fear of the self is glory
So needed and known to build our kind.
There is a swan so white to follow
In these troubled waters of our time.