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., 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


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


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.

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