Moitreyee Raju | Wednesday, 08 September 2021 | Print
Poetess Moitreyee Raju hails from India and is currently living in Kolkata; though she was born in Kolkata but spent almost 20 years of her life in a small town called Telco Colony in Jamshedpur. Being an avid reader from a very young age, she loved reading old English classics when she was in school. In fact, she grew up reading them and the famous English magazine called The Readers’ Digest. She used to write on and off but never took it seriously until now. She started writing creative non-fiction, but then slowly poetry took over and now it has completely captured her imagination and became fond of poetry.
She loves the idea of amalgamating nature with emotions, and one can often find a generous sprinkling of it in her poetry. Her poetry has been published in Ravencage E-Zine Magazine and the international Cultural Forum for Humanity and Creativity, Darpan Patrika, Literary Juggernaut, Williwash.wordpress.com and Globalpoetandpoetry.com. One of her poems, The Rainy Desire, was recently published in Cultural Reverence, a renowned e-magazine.
She has received many recognitions and acknowledgements and won several certificates from various honourable poetry groups on Facebook for her poetry. On the occasion of India’s 75th Independence Day celebration, she received an honorary certificate in recognition of exhibiting literary brilliance par Global standards and 440 other poets worldwide. This is a joint venture by the highly esteemed poetry group Motivational Strips and Gujarat Sahitya Academy.
Moitreyee Raju has been an active member and regular contributor to the Global Poet and Poetry web portal and Facebook group platform.
Her other interests include painting, mainly landscape and still life. She loves reading and reciting poetry.
Poverty is a highly cherished entity.
No don’t be surprised…cherished it is!
‘Cause, it satiates the urge for charity;
For many, it’s even a road to sanctity.
Here famine of thoughts and feelings
very gleefully display their ugly peelings!
Poverty’s barren valley
is unscrupulously left to rally,
all those deep seated woes buried in its alley;
Woes mired in both kind and creed
and are powerful enough to make you weep!
But do you weep…?
At the perpetual indifference,
showered with such deep reverence?
Writ large in the eyes of your brethren?
Their pangs of hunger
have often made me wonder,
how do they muster such candor?
I can sense a seething volcano within;
A revolt, is what they’re asking?
But being quiet amidst the disquiet
has been the gigantic bane
of this very vast human lane.
But poverty can even create trysts
wherever it comes to exist;
Yes, trysts with the mind
where poverty really thrives!
And my thoughts often glide,
on the wavy tides
of a poverty stricken mind..!
Like the deep dark cloak of night
when poverty enters the domain of mind,
leaving it impoverished,
making it appear malnourished,
evergreen thoughts then sound gibberish;
As if there never is a day after the night,
resemblant of a dark tunnel devoid of light.
It’s a happening that happens in you
when poverty outgrows you!
Poverty creates a dreamer,
the dreamer salvages the achiever.
But an impoverished mind
has an opium like bind,
that can only trample and curtail your rise!!
Do you see..
that faceless frame of a tree
standing tall devoid of any identity?
Its leafless, branchless, flowerless, fruitless part…
a shrieking testimony of its tumultuous heart?
The storm arrived yesterday,
uprooting one and all that came its way;
But somehow spared this faceless tree
allowing it the luxury to die ruthlessly!
So resemblant is my life
with the faceless tree’s plight.
The green leafy corner of my heart is dried
and the sweet petrichor of love has died.
And now I’m loveless and workless
and am christened worthless.
‘Cause no work kills my worth,
I’m a man, yet reduced to a sham.
No one gives a care about what is fare;
A layman I am
a pawn in this tailor made world I am.
Do you not see…
the price I pay as fee?
My pride no more has the shine
it’s been brushed aside by that cruel grind.
I feel hunted and shunted, haunted and taunted..
like a lover just jilted and stunted!
But stop, listen and feel,
it’s that faceless tree’s appeal.
An inner voice that has the poise
of a weak flame that refuses to be slain;
It says, don’t abandon me..
the urge to flourish hasn’t deserted me.
I want to be my old self..
my that old robust looking self.
A lush green gulmohur tree was I,
my flavored body, a feast for every eye,
my strong sturdy boughs
often thronged powerful corridors with favoured clout;
Some even reached for the sky
so vigorous and vibrant was I,
my dense green foliage
thrived under my tutelage,
and oh! my those captivating crimson flowers
was an exotic savory in official towers.
Hence, to you I say…
do not rejoice
cause I’ll not leave you that choice!
Very soon I’ll rise like a phoenix in the sky.
This is a never ending tale, that leaves a trail
for the frail, in pursuit of that Holy Grail!
It’s a tale of a dream and the dreamer,
it’s a tale of me, and those countless faceless workers of those dreams!!
‘Oft my soulful extremities
try to cut a gorgeous figure in my poetry;
The thoughts that reside
in my faraway eyes,
evoke an exorbitant poetic revelry…
Yes, a revelry it is…
Of passionate emotions
and sensational perceptions,
all of which and all at once
vie my attention!
As I make my thoughts wander
often exuberantly to a certain yonder,
and ponderously wonder
about the true essence of life the beholder,
my poetry abounds with a crystalline crown!
And words tumble out
Of my closeted frown!!
My poetry My liberation
And in every sense my moderation;
As I strum the chords of the umbilical cord
I see God in copious earthly forms…
they tell me…that
life is a touch, but not a Midas touch;
The exotic eyes of beauty
is discernible in all its dexterity
even if it remains subtly encompassed
in the chaotic chaos of life’s compass..!
I walk down the milky way
of the profane, profound humaneness…
that heralds a unique poetic superbness
glittering and shinning in its prime
like the Venus in a profusely nocturnal sky…!
Are you a heartful hurt or a heartful pain?
whatever you are…
cease treading my lane!
‘Cause your myriad faces
breaks me to pieces
that leaves my wounds ajar
like a deep dark chasm
in a beautiful mountainous path;
A stifling ache it is
echoes of which refuses to perish…
hurt emotions hurt feelings….hurt me;
Oh, how I wish to shut my doors to thee!
‘Oft I yearn for that illusion of oblivesence
to engulf me, drown me, surround me
for a moment’s respite from your hurtful luminescence!!
But you come, you come always…
like an impenetrable foggy night
enticing me with your inbuilt vice;
I flutter and stutter and shudder and suffer
like a fly in a spider’s hive;
You come discreetly to deceive and deceit!
A face that has a rose like grace
fragments of warmth strewn
on your hue with droplets of dew,
You call me…
come touch me feel me caress me;
My heart skips a beat
As i run to replete…
my thirsty self….
with the desire to drink
life’s succulent juice to the brink;
But your secret hyde, adorned with vile
is invisible to my ignorant eye;
Your lethal armory
betrayal and perfidy
tears into my sanctity;
I feel broken and brokenhearted
I feel dizzy and tizzy
As my thoughts become fuzzy
and my dreams look distant and blurry
entrapped enmeshed in a slurry.
And when you’re done…
my beauteous thoughts
can no more be sought,
As they all die
Abiding the decree of your vice!!
I’m the city
an enigmatic countenance
and a heart redolent of a mirage,
My charismatic appearance
Is a dreamy apparition…
breeding frail hope and forbearance!
My glitzy world,
echoes an endless pang,
both, of the ravenous and the avaricious;
My quotidian grinding bind
emanates a heart wrenching pine
of a deep seated chaotic pain…
like a flame in a dark stormy night!
My twilight sky
is like a big bright boyish eye,
raring to drive, thrive and survive;
The methodical struggles I create
are rigorous and onerous to affiliate;
Born are dark emotions that retaliate
and dig ways and means to manipulate!
My long drawn road
is a tapestry
stained with tired and wearied gore
But I ask you…
Is this all true….?
Or is there a deeper hue…?
I’m the city…
Never learnt how to pity…
my origin stems from your weave
a reality you cannot retreat!
Yet still, I feel…
The soft sad strains of humanity;
like the whispering rain,
like wildly rustling leaves,
like a stormy sea;
My heart floods with your willed blood
I’m filled with guilt…
for which I’m not built;
I cry at the numerous deaths you die
Everyday, every night!
My origin stems from your weave
A reality you cannot retreat….!!
Posted 11:49 pm | Wednesday, 08 September 2021
globalpoetandpoetry.com | Faruk Ahmed Roni
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