Wrath of Music

SUMANA SAHA

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Tragedy struck the sunken leaf,
Complex far, a tasty grief,
Never more the bird did sing,
Harbinger of silver ring.

Melody means the hearty theme,
The broken rung of salty grim,
The tea leaves now are way too dark,
What we need is just a spark.

Sailing on the healing wounds,
Dusty wetly path,
Savour all the rhyming tune,
Music has its wrath.

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A Rolling Stone Gathers No Moss

SUMANA SAHA

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The transfer order has come
Another gloomy day, ends with rum
Tequila , scotch , vodka , wine,
This farewell party, nothing seems fine.

To some it reads the lucky charm
Prudent timing did no harm.
Another scope to scale the peak
A glimpse of hope for the weak.

But let not stain the test of time
He will leave tomorrow , back he wont come.
New city, new dream
Awaits him , awaits him.

But memories past, wicked lust,
Ray of love , cigarette dust?
Is all that he left behind?
No soul to cheer
Nobody to hear
His bosoms cry.

The money-flukes crave
For the weakest , weakest brave!
The labyrinth of this verse:
Is it solitude or a curse?
And all his pain of loss…
.
A rolling stone
gathers no moss.

Kolkata – A Cultural Extravaganza

SUMANA SAHA

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The cultured celebrate her

The core of culture, they call.

The evenings, they say,

Bubble with life!

The perfect combination

Of Yellow and blue

Giving rise to green.

The sun above,

The rivers and seas below,

Converging where born

The green hub of the nation!

Rustling flowers for worshiping,

Using washrooms in nearby malls while roaming,

Treating tenants as poor,

And not listening to anyone.

A mandatory mango-mustard after lunch,

A compulsory nap in the afternoon,

Shouting at maids all day,

Claiming to be the best cooks,

At the most a day or two

Without rice and fish!

Conservative to stick to own norms,

But not opposing to others’,

A culture so aged and diverse

And yet so unified and original!

A walk in the evening.

SUMANA SAHA

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The cultured celebrate her as the city of joy.

The evenings here, they say, bubble with life.

Yet I see no destination in the eyes of the men about.

Am I the much hated cynic blind to the value of the animated bursts of infinite passion,

Manifested in a sea of humanity?

Or are these faces without features a mere product of my imagination,

Rather the lack of it? I see faces, lifeless and dumb,

Celebrating a party that was long over.

I see evening shops and offices shuttering down,

Fire used to seek blessings and protection.

Is there anything left to be protected?

Can anything be protected?

Cars honk, autos abuse, buses screech;

Men are silent…and safe. Time creeps….

The Best Years

SUMANA SAHA

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I lie awake in bed
with thoughts swarming around in my head,
the memories come flooding in
Of old times with my kin;
I can’t believe I am graduating from four years of stress,
But those years were definitely the best.
I’ll miss my friends dearly.
Oh, how they have shaped me to be the best me I can be.
Time flies, so enjoy it while it lasts.
Work hard and do well, but make it a blast.
You’ll miss your family and living at home,
But the real world is awaiting, it’s your time to glow.

It’s your time, and no one can stop you.
Trust me, life will shock you.
You’ll have obstacles, no doubt,
But whatever gets in your way, find a different route.
You’re wise,
So you won’t listen to the ones who tell you otherwise,
Simply be the best you can be,
And when you succeed, please don’t forget me.