Story of the Little Birdie

It was a fine golden time

Which was expected for nine months

When the tiny egg got hatched

And the little birdie came to earth.

‘Welcome,’ said mummy, with a smile on her face

And a tear of happiness rolling down her eye.

‘My daughter is a princess,’ said papa

As he took her in his lap.

She brought a glaze in every face

Who had been waiting for this day.

She cried a baby’s cry

But made a hundred faces smile.

And thus the days kept passing by.

The birdie now went to school.

She got many friends who were like her

Together, they fluttered around in joy.

She became a pet of her teachers

And was the life of her parents.

She was a darling of her brother

And a pride of her friend-circle.

The little birdie saw her mother.

Like her she wanted to fly.

She fluttered her wings, tried and tried

Fell down, got hurt, cried, and again tried.

And then one fine morning,

She could see herself fly.

She flew around and sang around

And danced around with great joy.

Her loved ones watched her from the ground

‘Our birdie has grown so big,’ they were spellbound.

The birdie, now a little bigger

Saw her father struggling so hard.

She had a wish to stand on her feet

She wanted to give her best

And be the ‘man’ of the nest.

While on other hand she had a dream

A prince birdie would marry her.

He’d take her to his kingdom,

And they’d stay happy forever.

And one evening

When she was flying happily with her friends,

Some eagles saw her from a distance.

Not her, but her feathers.

And when the birdie was alone,

They took a chance and pounced on her.

She couldn’t understand anything.

She was too innocent to get them.

And when she finally knew everything,

It was too late. Too late.

She cried. She wanted to run away.

But all her struggles went in vain.

The hungry eagles didn’t show mercy.

They bit and ate her every feather.

They crushed her body, played her innocence

And also her dreams and ambitions.

When she was found by safe people,

She was already half dead.

But still her feeble tongue said,

‘I want to live, I want to live.’

And then there were agitations around

They wanted the eagles to be slain down.

They prayed for the birdie’s recovery.

Although they knew, she couldn’t fly like before.

Back in the hospital, the little birdie

Was ignorant of all this.

She kept fighting for her life.

Her determination was always alive.

But the deities of heaven wanted her back.

They, perhaps, didn’t want her

To be with the bruises.

So they called her back to heaven,

Where she got healed, and flew once again.

Today she has no cuts, and no fears.

She’s playing with the other angels like her.

When she was born, there were a hundred smiles

And when she is gone, there are a million cries.

India has, no doubt, lost a gem.

But her martyrdom has indeed set a big flame.

(May she always Rest in Peace)

O little bud......

O little bud, why do you want to dry and fall

Even before you are a flower?

Why do you want to quit this earth

Leaving behind, the shower?

With a hope of living it fully,

Had you come to this earth.

Then why are you leaving it half way,

Just by looking at its mirth?

If you think you are ignored,

And nobody else loves you,

Then just try to turn around,

And look at the plant that holds you.

Look at the breeze that comes to you

To keep you cool and calm

The rivers quench your thirst

They want you no harm.

Why do you wish to leave away

The ones who care for you

And just do you allow the devil

To take a grasp on you?

Why don’t you understand this

That by just killing yourself,

You also kill so many hearts

Which beat thinking of you??

Just don’t part with your loved ones

Before God wants you to.

Trust me, you leave behind cries

And sorrows and pains too.

O little bud, I beg my heart of you

Just stay back and blossom.

Life still has lot of store for you

That’s really good and awesome.

  

 r e a l l y      g o o d      a n d      a w e s o m e . . . . . .

( A prayer to the section of youth which commits suicide every now and then...)

Yes, it is love

It's the island of serenity;
An arena full of trust.
An edifice of tranquility....
Yes, it is love.

It's a gift to the mortals on earth;
A beauty in itself.
A call from the bottom of one's heart....
Yes, it is love.

It's a promise to keep one happy, always;
To be by one's side forever.
it's always backed by hope and faith....
Yes, it is love.

You can't tie it with ropes of caste nor creed;
It's as free as a flting dove.
It's blind of every human barrier....
Yes, it is love.

The world often takes it as bad stuff;
But a true lover knows its purity.
A remedy for all the hate and mirth....
Yes, it is love.

___Söuvick
(Valentine's day 2012 special)

घुसखोर.....घुसखोर.....

भारत की धरती पर आज भी
रेँगते हैँ कुछ अनोखे चोर।
सभ्य जनोँ के वेश धारण कर
ले चलते देश को बर्बादी की ओर।
दीमक के कीड़े की भाँति
नहीँ होने देते शोर।
चुपचाप, देश को अन्दर ही अन्दर
खोखला करते हैँ घुसखोर!

खून व पसीने बहाकर
एक-एक पैसा कमाते लोग।
उस पैसे पर ताक जमाये
बैठे रहते हैँ घुसखोर।

अपने स्वास्थ्य की फ़िक्र न कर
रात-भर की नीँद त्यागकर
कामयाबी के सपने लेकर
अध्ययन करते हैँ जो छात्र,
उनके अरमानोँ को रौँदकर
लाखोँ रुपये की रिश्वत लेकर
कम अंक प्राप्त किये छात्र को
भरती लेते हैँ कालेज घुसखोर।

अमीर हैँ बनते अधिक अमीर
गरीब बनते और गरीब!
जब अमीर रिश्वत देकर
आगे निकल जाते हैँ,
गरीब अपने सर पटकते
पीछे ही रह जाते हैँ।
वे कुछ कर नहीँ पाते हैँ,
सिर्फ मचाते हैँ शोर-
"अब इस दुनिया मेँ नहीँ है जीना...
यहाँ भरे हैँ सब घुसखोर!!"

शरीफ़ व मासूम लोगोँ पर
लगते ज़ुर्म का आरोप।
खुद ज़ुर्म कर बच निकलते ज़ुर्मी,
निर्दोष पर रहता सज़ा का प्रकोप।
ऐसा इस लिए होता है
कि ज़ुर्मी रिश्वत देते हैँ।
पाप के पैसे लेकर खुद को
बेच देते पुलिस घुसखोर।

ईमानदार अफ़सर या गरीब किसान....
मेहनती छात्र या कोई भी सच्चा इन्सान
आज जीते हैँ दुभर जीवन।
घुसखोरोँ की टोली मेँ
चूर-चूर हो जाते उनके अरमान।

भारत की धरती पर आज भी
हो रहा ऐसा अन्याय।
न्याय के मन्दिरोँ मेँ भी
मिलते हैँ अनेक घुसखोर!!
अब हमेँ उठानी है आवाज़
देनी है अब अपनी राय।
देश की उन्नति के लिए
लाना है एक नया मोड़॥
रहना है हमेँ यह ज्ञात
भारत आज भी हमारी है।
हमेँ ही अब आगे बढ़कर
इसकी लाज बचानी है॥

Love people, not money

The world is marching towards its doom....
For the good, there is very small room....
Hearts of people are coveted by devils....
Money is becoming the cause of all evils..!!

Be it sports, art or education,
Money is becoming the main intention.
Business has become the main occupation.
Money is causing our separation.

Selfishness is present in every soul.
It is playing a great role.
They will take your help in times of need,
And forget you on reaching their goal.

Deep in my heart, there is a sorrow....
What will happen then, tomorrow?
Will the world become a second hell?
Its indeed painful to think, or tell.

Time is still there in our hands....
O humans, please change your thoughts!
Love people, not money nor greed!
Don't make money your caste or creed!!!

And you'll see the earth getting changed
To a more beautiful and heavenly place.
You will yourself receive the human love,
That money has never given you.

Tribute to The Shining Star

The Shining Star had come down on earth
And looked for a place to land.
He saw a place full of mirth.....
Our struggling and weeping motherland.

The shining star took a human form
And took birth in our motherland.
This mighty heart and great soul
Was born in Jorasako, in Bengal.

Neither a fighter, nor a politician,
Still regarded a gem of the Nation.
Pen was but his only weapon
To fight for India's freedom.

He saw the cry of the poor peasants
And the social evils spread around.
When He included them in his writings,
His words made the readers spellbound.

Finally his writings' every word
Really proved mightier than sword.
He became the Hero of the Indians.
His works became popular even in foreign.

But being a true Indian by heart,
He decided to work for India's good.
He didn't accept the foreign awards,
And disowned the title of knighthood.

Great was the Heavenly soul and heart....
Great is his contribution to Earth.
His thousands of poems are like flowing river.
He had indeed come once, but will stay forever.

Though this star is no more on Earth,
And has become a star once again,
Yet he has left his footprints here
For others to get the gain.

Today, in the day of 25th Baisakh,
The great day when he was born,
Lets all assemble in a group,
In order to pay him some tribute.

(dedicated to Rabindranath Tagore, my source of inspiration).

The tiny candle

The entire room has become dark
And is now coveted by devils.
But one small corner is an exception.....
It's devoid of every evil.

A tiny candle burns there,
Its light being too less to spread far.
Its wax has almost come to its end.
Its burning like a tiny star.

But amidst the darkness, one can feel
Thousand young candles ready to bloom.
But no light has given them life
To get the chance to enlighten the room.

The tiny candle sees everything,
And collects its remaining wax in a bundle.
It tries its best to increase its flame....
Large enough to reach those young candles.

The tiny candle knows very well
That it has not much wax to burn.
If it uses all its wax,
It will lose its life in turn.

But in order to increase its flame,
It has to use up all its wax.
It can neither stop nor wait.
To cut the darkness, its flame is the axe.

Closer and closer comes the wax,
And higher and higher goes its flame.
Weaker and weaker becomes its body.
Its sight too becomes the same.

"Burn, O wax, burn more.....
Brighten the flame from its core",
Says the candle with a feeble voice,
"This would help cure a thousand sore".

And then the last drop of wax burns,
And the flame does brightly spread,
Reaching the nearest young candle,
That's waiting to enlighten its thread.

The young candle gets a new light,
And burns brightly with great delight.
It also burns the other young candles.
Against the darkness, they actively fight.

Soon the entire room gets lighted.
All the devils get burnt in the flames
Of those thousand burning young candles.
The corpses of the devils scatter here and there.

But among the corpses of those devils,
There is yet another corpse.
This one is different from the other ones....
It seems not a cursed, but a holy one.

The corpse has a tiny burnt thread,
But not a drop of wax around.
To prove its greatness, the tiny candle,
Had left no proof to be found.

__Söuvick

(dedicated to those great people who care for the nation more than their own selves)