Hey you, my friend,

Let’s lift this trend,

Let’s raise your spirits high,

I have conquered shame,

I have conquered shame,

But yours is pulling mine,

It’s pulling and thrusting,

Trying to come back;

This gift of god,

You wash it off,

The once glistening skin has parched,

It wanted love, you wanted to part,

For you believed in farce,

Dark and Tan,

Fair and pale,

What’s your part?

You were gifted it,

Or rather loaned,

Now the question looms,

What will you do with it?

Will it define you?

Or will you define it?

Hey you, my friend,

Let’s pick up stride,

Let’s find the pride,

Let me see you shine,

Let self love that emanates through us,

Reach those who are deprived,

Hey you, my friend,

Smile and strive and look beyond hateful eyes,

Transmute that shame,

To forever remain gifted to remiss mouths and crass eyes;

Hey you, my friend,

Let’s meet again,

This time;

Long strides, head held high,

Singing a tune,

Glowing in self- assured light,

For no one else ‘defines”………

– Rupika Moitra

Unique;

was this ‘GOLDEN PEACOCK’,

It’s innocence was held safely in lock and key,

It danced away,

Rain or no Rain,

To erase every wrinkle of worry,

It danced till dawn turns dusk,

It danced till all that was gathered lost its musk,

Every smile added to its golden crust,

Swelled feet, heavy-winged,

It returned each night,

Never winged,

Never cried,

For  how hard it tried;

Everyday the gathered , Gazed,

The peacock danced away for Praise,

The gold poured from the Skies,

Burdened, yet it surrendered to one up high,

One day, the air felt heavy,

Assumptions flayed minds,

The peacock danced hard to bring about smiles,

Pelted with stones, this time;

The gold on you, is our own,

They say, you dance to distract,

So you can -Extract

Injured, heart-broken, the peacock hides,

Cries for days, it couldn’t bring about smiles,

It still surrendered to the golden crust,

But asks, WHY??

In answer, It hears only rain,

Can’t stop the feet at the sound of thunder,

It dances again, to wash away its burden,

Now,

Golden Peacock dances only when destined,

When valued,

The gold of its skin shines in presence of blessed,

Praised or Unseen,

Only eyes meant for it- BEAMS;

It brushes away it’s care for praise,

Exchanged  for worth, prayers,

Clarity not Haze………

Rupika Moitra

Man toiled for a world of bricks, stones and steel and is still toiling for the latest versions of gadgets. Man thumbs up technological advances of electromagnetic waves. He fills himself up with caffeine, smoke and fermented grapes or wheat. But, he actually sold to his peers what he loaned from nature and became self- proclaimed master of riches and named it ‘money’ The circus of owning and shopping- bringing a piece of Earth in another form. Is it that we forgotten the source and conscious is crawling in ways to reach nature.

Another man pray to them. He uses with care. He revers the nature but he believes not in his own toil. His breath are not for worldly games. He wakes and sleep with rocks as treasures to his bedside. He prays for to allievate the consciousness of race. He doesn’t indulge in pleasures of barters. He is rich inside but to most he’s poor.

The scales are unbalanced – we are craving for plants in soul, in our mouths and our homes. Every expansion is an extension of Earth and yet the man made world looks like an alien civilisation.

Garden, rivers, plants, bees, birds and animals in spite of doors, clothes, brick, carpets, television, cars. Developmental advances or insanity and conversions to robot. What is really the norm?

We were meant to balance our Reverence and Toil. We still seek to know where we came from and we yearn. Before, all meaning turns meaningless seek the source. We all will return to it.

Lightning screams aloud in pride,

Calling with shudders from sapphire sky,

Loud awakening for walking dead and alive,

To drench in rain of craft of life,

To prepare for sunshine,

To embrace blessings and learning alike,

To breath through chilled night with warmth of compassion,

To wake in bloom of hearts open for companions,

To behold solace on frisky night,

To pray not with methods and measures,

But with each living breath,

To

live

through

it

all

with

our

inner

Smiles……

-Rupika Moitra

The shadow of collosal form,

It hides in me,

Me- torn in between,

To love with all of me,

Or,

Keep this primordial being to me,

Esteemed, I feel in its presence,

In love, can I sustain the absence?

In mutuality, do I bury it under paved brick wall of laughter,

Do I stand with me, without my shadows,

This confounding creature, to them, I be,

To lose it pains like arms cut out,

To gain it, suffering if over burdened cloud,

I live through life,

With droplets of my stoic assumptions,

But, where’s the equanimity?

Who are we?

Without primordial shadow of our ego,

Who are we?

If we let ourself free,

Branch without a tree…

Would we ever be free?

-Rupika Moitra