The Cry of a Gloomy Pond

and other poems

 Dedication

I cannot express my thankfulness wholly in words to all

those who inspired me to come ahead and stand where I am
now. My husband, Mr. Joydeep Bhowmick, for his support
and kindness in providing me all the requirements to write
and rise. Heartfelt gratitude to all my family members and
friends for their encouragement without whom I could have
never proceeded, my co-poets for their positive and
negative feedbacks which helped me a lot in improvisation.
Poemhunter.com, the foremost place from where I started
my writing journey and connected with thousands of fellow
writers. As solitude carries a huge role in writing, I would
like to express my adoration for a beautiful place like
Khairi (Himachal Pradesh), whose environment has lot to
do with my poetry. My inspiration includes great poets like
Rabindranath Tagore and William Shakespeare whose
remarkable works touched me. Last but not the least my
Almighty for his help and support and for bringing forward
with such wonderful opportunities.
 Cover Image Courtesy:

Priyanka Bhowmick

Contact:

priyanka.bhowmick@in.com

All rights reserved. All poems and images in this book are
copyrighted by Priyanka Bhowmick. The works should be
broadcasted or distributed without the prior written
permission of the publisher.

Priyanka Bhowmick

Guwahati (Assam), India

2010
 Contents

1. In the Silent wind

2. ...this is how I die everyday

3. 63 years of Independence

4. A day full of anxiety

5. A dream terrified

6. A Tree

7. Broken Path

8. Call of the Stranger

9. Cop in flames

10. Crippled without you

11. Dark verse

12. Essence of Autumn

13. Expressions of the Sky

14. Fading Beauty

15. From an old chair

16. Hate me O' Angels

17. Here I am

18. I am not a Poet

19. I do not know why

20. I remember

21. Illusions of you

22. Krishna's Flute

23. Let it go on, let it move on

24. My heart still bleeds your name

25. My Heaven lies here

26. Ode to a book

27. Ode to Luminosity

28. Pain that kills me

29. Place to hold my head high

30. Ray of Hope

31. Sam amd Jane

32. Shadow

33. She

34. Still you do not come

35. The Cry of a Gloomy Pond

36. The gust of the autumn wind

37. The Lighthouse

38. The Old man sitting

39. Time before I leave for the sky

40. To a Bug

41. To my Almighty

42. To the Breeze

43. To the Roses

44. Under the rain

45. Words of an empty sheet

46. About the Author
 ... In the silent wind

Swarming up to my spines, 
the lusty fingers, 
as I walk, 
in the silent wind. 
Singing the eternal elegies of life, 
My mind crumbles with the bygone years, 
Played in the tattered strings of seclusion, 
Provoking my core with an enormous thrust, 
Cracking up my heart with ablaze, 
I can hear my blood seethe, 
As I walk, 
In the silent wind. 
The fate of my survival, 
The spill of the fiery memoirs, 
Tormenting me brutally, 
Stabbing my soul second by second, 
Tears that streamed down my eyes, 
Turned acidic today, 
I hear them still bawling, 
As I walk, 
In the silent wind.
 ….this is how I die everyday

Like the penetrating touch of cactus, 

Leaking my soul constantly, 
I urge myself to sleep in harmony, 
Yet my eyes disagree. 
Those absolute venomous voices, 
Relentlessly ring like a nightmare, 
My ears exhausted, spirit frustrated, 
Wake up each day and find myself devastated, 
Endlessly my heart yelling at life, 
The violence past my joyful face, 
Know not how I describe. 
I can see my blood spill, 
from the wretched and abandoned, 
like the slice of heart so dead alive, 
with immense cries and shrills. 
The pain that takes me towards the woe, 
Misery besides me no one knows, 
Tears make a sea as I lay, 
This is how I die everyday.
 63 years of Independence

63 years of Independence 
still our country prevails in prudence 
in the memory of the soldiers gone by 
silently I remember and sigh 
the blood and sweat sustained each second 
Hail o lord! keep my country awakened 
for we still inhabit among the terrors 
sovereign India but still remains the horror 
blasts, murders, rape and crime 
all back stabbers, blood spoils the shrine 
the British departed but terrorists supervise 
hidden in the mask of diaphanous lies 
holding the hands of bombs and grenades 
each day, each hour the mind dwells in menace 
the small child on road that cries for her mother 
gone away with the smoke black a day or another 
the tears those still keep pouring without an end 
upon the soil of my country, my India, my land.
 A day full of anxiety...

A day full of anxiety, 

my thoughts meandering around, 
like a kite rafting in the sky. 
A puff of wind in my mind inside, 
as if there's no one to guide. 
My emotions dumbfounded, 
I love not, nor hate, 
I weep, I cry, unaware of what is getting by, 
I am all isolated, no friends beside. 
My feelings rushes and crushes, 
tears from my eyes they stream, 
as if I am accused, 
and my sentiments about to blow. 
I know not this feeling, 
nor am I hurt by any, 
a day full of anxiety, 
has left me depreciated by thoughts many.
 A Dream Terrified

A dream terrified, 
have lost my sleep at night, 
don't know the reason why, 
it has captured my sight. 
Dream about a little child, 
who has lost his family, 
he's all alone now, 
crying bitterly. 
His family in bloodshed, 
lost life in a fight, 
fight with a terrorist, 
who destroyed them within a night. 
The child can't speak, 
but he calls me, 
to provide him shelter, 
helpless is he. 
I try to run at his call, 
but still cannot, 
don't know what is stopping me, 
I try to give it a thought. 
While he cries, 
blood falls from his eyes, 
eyes that are innocent, 
and my dream away it flies. 
Flies away with the night, 
and I wake up in a mood terrified, 
thinking was this fact or not, 
thinking of the family that died.
 A Tree

A tree, so sole, 
yet so familiar with all, 
gives shade under its branches, 
an intimate friend, 
a shelter for all. 

Adorned by its leaves, 

so green and serene, 
everyone loves it, 
the matured tree. 

A time of season, 
the tree not more alive, 
it's dead and decayed, 
its leaves already dried. 
No one looks at it, 
for it not give shelter anymore, 
'It's a cursed tree! ! ', say all, 
it's being hated, therefore. 

Spring is here! ! 
now new leaves going to bloom again, 
the tree shall smile again, 
its friends will approach it. 

It's friends, those cursed it, 

while it was decayed, 
during its unfortunate days, 
shall play with it again, 
when see its happy days.
 Broken Path

I peep into my empty mind, 

where lots of dilemma together combined, 
thoughts that haunt me day and night, 
the fire that burns with a feeling of delight, 
an empty mind with unending illusions, 
the face that always floats in my vision, 
I seek for happiness out of my way, 
something that stops me on being happy and gay, 
the fruits I had once from my garden of dreams, 
I found the better ones from the castle of the queen, 
the path that ends half on the way, 
'Go back to your forlorn pavilion', it says.

Call of the Stranger

 The black thick untied hair of the night, 
nature in its bed with soundless sleep, 
silence enjoying the moonless night, 
Depth of sleep in my eyes, 
not a sole creature roaming around, 
a voice appeared to break the silence, 
as if someone in my dreams called me, 
my eyes half opened, 
unable to trace the mysterious call, 
his face hidden behind the darkness, 
only bold voice could be heard, 
unidentified language he speaks, 
the stranger pointing his fingers at me, 
seems like an awareness for some happening, 
or some mystery he wants to reveal, 
I followed the figure where he takes, 
after crossing a few miles it vanished, 
I stood alone standing there, 
turned back and saw some faces, 
faces of the poor beings, 
children who starve for food, 
the hungry people asking me, 
that why are we impious towards them? 
They take us to be their God, 
and expect a few from us, 
the faces all together, 
asking me ceaselessly, 
Their hubbub disturbed me, 
and I woke up from the scary dream, 
opened my eyes towards the window, 
raised the curtain, and saw there sitting, 
two small children started their day begging.
 Cop in flames

Within a second the fire took place 

that's what happening in the human race 
victim came to be the poor cop 
burning into the flame on the road top 
coward ministers kept watching him 
without any help, their eyes on him 
he screamed, he cried in a terrible way 
still turned their eyes blind on his body laid 
slowly his skin turned dark in the ablaze 
burnt on skins, clothes and in his face 
stood ministers standing in the position same 
like dumb and helpless as if a lame 
long speeches but lack of humanity 
crossed the extreme level of insanity. 

(*** Based on the incident that took place in Tamil Nadu

during 2009, where the ministers stood and kept watching
when sub Inspector Vetrivel was bleeding to death. They
did not even try to take him to the hospital neither bothered
to call a vehicle to provide him help. Just stood like
helpless and kept watching him die. Rather they crossed
the limits of an inhumane. Though it was not a blast in real
I composed this poem on a different theme.)
 Crippled without you

smile of the known 

twinge my eyes 
as I see them 
merrily existing 
they breathe the way 
I can never 
for my heart does not allow 
happiness to gather 
my world descending 
fate emerging 
progressing towards the lonely paths 
and letting me realize the clue 
that I am crippled without you.
 About the Author

Priyanka Bhowmick is a poet, wife, blogger, amateur

photographer and online freelance writer. Born in Tezpur, a
small town in Assam. She spent several years, from
schooling to married life, in Tangla, Tezpur, Khairi (H.P.)
and Guwahati. Being in love with solitude, she embraced
poetry as her most intimate companion. Her works are
published in several newspapers and online journals.