Fleeting Muse

Light, where is light?

In the story “The Emperor has No Clothes”, the child who shouted that the emperor was naked while all others were profusely praising the emperor’s new clothes, did he ever grow up? What did he think about the emperor’s new clothes once he grew up? Well, I don’t know. As we step into our adulthood, that child slowly withers away. Still, somewhere deep inside each one of us, that inner child tries to come out from time to time and shout, “The emperor has no clothes.” However the cat gets on our tongue and we stay silent. That’s a burden for each one of us to carry in our own way and suffer in silence. Only those who are completely devoid of their conscience can sleep peacefully being completely unaware of the current happenings in the world. These thoughts during my breakfast today resulted in a poem in my mother tongue Axomiya (Assamese) that I translated to English and posting here now. The original poem follows the translated English one.

Light, where is light?

quill of selfishness

drew the portrait of god

tainted piety

self-centereds cheer

behold the dispersed rays

oh celestial glow

cries the guileless child

light, where is light?

utter darkness all around

in trickling blood of the oppressed

is the blackhole of truth

the tomb of god

obeyance of the sycophants

emboldens pack of jackals

to howl like lions

butterfly dreams confined

to cocoons of our comfort zone

rotting conscience

the child is still shouting

light, where is light?

he will grow up, understand.

Pranabendra Sarma, June30,2025

San Jose, California.

পোহৰ ক’ত

স্বাৰ্থৰ তুলিকাৰে অঙ্কিত

ঈশ্বৰৰ চিত্ৰপট

কলুষিত পবিত্ৰতা

স্বাৰ্থান্বেষীৰ উল্লাস

চোৱা, চোৱা, বিচ্ছুৰিত

দ্যুতি ঐশ্বৰিক

নিষ্পাপ শিশুটিয়ে চিঞৰে

পোহৰ ক’ত, পোহৰ?

নিৰবিচ্ছিন্ন অন্ধকাৰ

নিষ্পেষিতৰ নিগৰা শোণিতত

সত্যৰ ক’লা গহ্বৰ

সমাধি ঈশ্বৰৰ

উলঙ্গ জনতাৰ তোষণত

ৰাউচি জুৰি ঘূৰে

নীলা শিয়ালৰ জাক

পখিলা হৈ উৰাৰ সপোন

সুখৰ লেটাত আৱদ্ধ

বিবেকৰ পচন

শিশুটিয়ে এতিয়াও আছে চিঞৰি

পোহৰ ক’ত, পোহৰ?

শিশুটি এদিন ডাঙৰ হ’ব, বুজিব।

প্ৰণবেন্দ্ৰ শৰ্মা, জুন ৩০, ২০২৫

চান হ’জে, কালিফোৰ্নিয়া।

The Future Beckons

the road to peace

is littered with

the corpses of war,

pillars of progress

rise on the dust

of demolition,

on the barren

desert of desperation,

hope blooms,

in the deluge of

greed and selfishness,

humanity anchors,

understanding resurfaces

in the cacophany

of adulterated gibberish,

floatsam of the dead

moors its boat,

on the banks of Styx,

Adam and Eve

step out,

unadorned, unashamed,

no apple, no original sin,

no god, no satan, no religion,

humanity marches on.

on ward,

a new dawn,

the future beckons.

An Empty Vessel

Lincoln said : the government of the people, by the people, for the people.

Trump ( and Elon ) says: rich are people too. So the government of the rich, by the rich, for the rich.

The elephants trumpet : maga, maga, maga, sare gama gadha, till they are red in their face.

The donkeys bray, just singing the blues, waiting for happy days to roll in again.

The rich become richer, poor poorer.

The suckers have eggs on their face. Alas, they can’t lick their face, their tongues are tied.

The country lurches from one crisis to the other.

Four years just pass by. What’s four years in the grand scheme of time? What trickles down is shit, the cream rises to the top, to be enjoyed by the rich.

After all they can have their cakes if there are no breads

Viva la revolution till St. Helena beckons.

The dustbins of history are littered with skeletons of thousand year reichs and the meeks haven’t inherited the world.

There is nothing new under the sun and every few revolutions we reinvent the wheel.

We go merrily around doing our jobs, oblivious of the visitor/s from outer space racing madly to wipe us out

Ignorance is bliss indeed, so enjoy your day under the sun.

Who knows what tomorrow brings, Watergate, Iran-Contra, Savings and Loans, Willie Horton, Read my lips, the stained blue dress, nine eleven and wmd, obama care and lock her up etc etc

We sure live in an era of constant excitement and TRP.

Somewher along the line humanity and humility took a break and forgot to return.

Now our enjoyment comes from constant barking and being at each other’s throats.

No wonder religion is seeing a resurgence, yada yada hi dharmasya…”.

Ah, did any one say religion is the opioid of the masses?

Who needs fentanyl to get high when one has religion.

Well, an empty vessel sounds much, it’s noon time and my breakfast is well digested a few hours back.

Time to fill my vessel and keep my mouth shut.

“gadha”- donkey

“” yada yada hi dharmasya…” – a sloka in Gita where Krishna proclaims that he comes down whenever there is abuse of “dharma”( religion?).

The Audacity of Hope

It was the last day of 2024. I was having my morning cup of joe and was engaged in a good natured bantering with members of a WhatsApp group of prabashi Axomiyas. The topic was heavy, Karma Yoga of Gita and specifically ” कर्मण्येवाधिकारस्ते मा फलेषु कदाचन ( you have rights to work but never the results).” The discussions were turning serious. As you all may have guessed by now, I don’t have a scholarly bent of mind to stay engaged in a serious discussion for long. The clown inside me was trying to come out of the cage when a friend mentioned about the old Rolling Stone song ” I have no satisfaction but I tryand try…”. Out came my retort instantly and here it is.
Hope the New Year brings out billion points of satisfaction to all of you.

অলপ কৌতুক কৰিবলৈ মন গ’ল।

Audacity of hope

I know I have no luck,
But time and again
I spend a few bucks,
When the jackpot hits billion,
I don’t spend a million,
Yes, yes, never a million
but just a few bucks,
And I hope that will
turn my luck,
I did my work, went to town,
Few heirlooms I did pawn,
And bought a few tickets,
And now I hope,
Yes, I hope,
Ah, the audacity of hope!
The results are out,
And I just pout,
Again out of luck,
To drain went my bucks,
With tails between my legs,
Forlorn, I leave town,
For a breath of fresh air,
Yes, some fresh air,
And a renewed hope,
One day I shall become
a billionaire,
No one can stop,
To hope is my birthright,
Shall not give it up
without a fight.

Pranab Sarma,
12-31-2024
San Jose, California

Passage of Time

These lines that I see,

Like them more and more,

As I stand in front of the

antique,mirror,

They fill my heart with glee.

The forehead creased,

Now seen fair and clear,

Once covered in thick curls of hair,

Gone before time, a hairline receded.

Force of gravity has done its work,

Sagging belly that bent the spine,

All signs of passage of time,

Mirror does not lie, tells me how I now look.

Experience, the great teacher, taught me some,

Time soon to end the journey and be gone.

11-13-2024

Realities

Realities,

When realities

shaped by Hollywood

and Bollywood

Meet reality

as it passes by the

windows of speeding trains,

One realizes

life has left

you behind, and

you are but a

mere spectator

as life passes by,

As life passes by.

When the destination

is reached,

Old bones complain loud,

Rest a while., rest a while.

But what to do

when the travel bug bites,

Move along,

Till the old bones

fall apart, and

bite the dust, or

the pockets are empty, and

reality hits hard .

The mind,

Ah, a mind unleashed

does not care

for the realities

of life,

Even when life passes by,

Life passes by .

Pranabendra Sarma

September 21, 2024

Genevê, Switzerland

A Day in the Sun

For a long time now I have not been regular on my own blog. The last two years were quite hectic. I published two novels in my mother tongue Axomiya (Assamese). A book of poems is scheduled for publication in late April, 2024 and a collection of short stories later in the year, both in Axomiya. Lost a few of my very dear friends during the last two years. Also attended the golden jubilee reunion of our class of 1973 in early November, 2023. I also had to take care of my health trying my level best to keep my blood glucose under control. So I defaulted badly in keeping with my blog.

Today after a long time I went out for a long solo hike. Normally after coming back from a hike I post photos on my Facebook wall with a brief write-up. Today was no exception but the write-up turned into a poem, a long one. Instead of repeating the same here I am adding my FB link here. Please feel free to visit and feel free to leave your comments if you wish.

https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=pfbid05XRCDcyAuGmtkzMi211diFYirb9QbKMmwndyqbyjA5Sa1gcvbWW3pTxqCiP1jNKvl&id=100051898278168&mibextid=Nif5oz

A Picture Transient

Day breaks

In complete darkness,

The dreaded power outage strikes,

Got ready for fruitless wait

In an office

devoid of soul,

A small bureaucratic lapse,

A document not submitted,

Promises vague,

And wait for another month;

A notice small,

Hallelujah,

Crews are working

to identify the cause,

Just roast a little while till

power comes back;

A good day for walk in the mall,

Window shopping

As zombies pass by,

A dog pulled by his master,

His soulful eyes

looks at me,

Tails wagging

for a chance to lick,

His master

mumbles an apology,

As I step aside;

Prod, prod, prod,

I count my steps,

The smart watch says

Not enough;

The food court beckons,

As blood sugar spikes,

Some egg plant tofu,

with seasoned fish

and pad thai,

An old couple,

Lost and lonely

slowly eat their food,

An youong couple,

Highschool kids,

on their summer break,

Lost in their cell phone,

in a virtual world,

Forgets there is one real;

I sit down to eat,

A few banter

in social media

with my friends,

( and as my favorite Sardarji

once said,

“Malice towards one and all”,

I proclaim);

My first bite,

The phone rings,

Notification,

I glace at the screen,

Power is restored,

screams the message,

and my pocket is light

of a few bucks,

I slowly eat,

Trying to savor my food,

Alas,

All salt tastes the same;

I have still miles to go

To walk my ten thousand

in air-conditioned comfort;

Oh, I forgot to mention,

In the multiplex of

the ubiquitous mall,

Openheimer reigns,

Is it woth it, I debate;

Ting, the phone rings,

Google reminds,

Have an online class to attend

to address my tinnitus;

How fast time flies

When one has time to spare,

Reminder of a lonely planet

perhaps;

As I finish my food and rise,

A trip unfinished,

And walk back to yhe car,

There the dog again,

His tail wags,

Gives me a furtive look and

licks my feet,

His eyes comes alive, happy,

And so am I

to at last

Find some life;

Power is restored they say,

But powerless feel I,

I drive back home with

A picture penned,

Of a day

Transient.

Pranabendra Sarma, August 18, 2023

San Jose, California.

Monday Roses

Resilience

weathered ravaging storms,

stood resolute, head held high,

rooted in self-confidence.