Monday, December 21, 2015

Mother Teressa

The late, great Christopher Hitchens was one of the first to raise questions about the authenticity and wisdom of claims made by the Roman Catholic Church promoting Mother Teresa. The following is an excerpt from Hitchens’ critique:
Mother Teresa was not a friend of the poor. She was a friend of poverty. She said that suffering was a gift from God. She spent her life opposing the only known cure for poverty, which is the empowerment of women and the emancipation of them from a livestock version of compulsory reproduction.
And she was a friend to the worst of the rich, taking misappropriated money from the atrocious Duvalier family in Haiti (whose rule she praised in return) and from Charles Keating of the Lincoln Savings and Loan. Where did that money, and all the other donations, go?
Many more people are poor and sick because of the life of Mother Teresa: Even more will be poor and sick if her example is followed. She was a fanatic, a fundamentalist, and a fraud, and a church that officially protects those who violate the innocent has given us another clear sign of where it truly stands on moral and ethical questions.
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Saturday, August 22, 2015

A song by Robi Thakur

A song  by Robi Thakur

night and day,
My soul restless
my thirst unquenched
lost what I found,
My eyes full with tears.

All my friends  have left me
days came to an end
deep dark night arrives
The Fair comes  to an end.

Oh how long my lord
do I have to walk
where is that evening lamp
beyond which oceans
do I surrender all my alms.?


Sunday, August 16, 2015

Ami ...Part II

Ami ...Part II

Ami ( II )

15 August 2015 at 17:17
Dont say " This is just a theory"In the universe of creation
i have all the colours
i have all the paint brushes
and my mind is in ecstasy.

the wise man smiles.
ancient moon is 
clever and cruel,
step by step he is  
coming closer  and closer still
towards the centre  of the earth,
and on any day 
it will give a demonic pull 
to the oceans
to the mountains
and here in the earth
our new history 
would be overwhelmed by a huge void.
it will swallow all the 
treasures of our days and nights,
man would lose his mask of immortality,
his life would be smeared
with timeless dark night.

The powerful  resonance 
would shake all the skies
lights shall fade away,
musician's fingers would dance
on the strings of "veena",
no music shall be heard

That day the non-poetic fateful destiny
will sit alone oblivious.
His philosophy of mathematics
would remain non existent and inhuman.

Then in limitless here and far
in this world and beyond  
this mantra  shall not be heard anywhere,
" You are beautiful
   and I love you "

would it be then god of all destinies
sit in deep meditation
and chant timelessly with evening melody,

@ Amiyo

Ami Part I

Ami   Part II am trying to translate couple of stanzas from a famous poem
composed by rabindra nath thakur .
This ,I know is avery daring adventure
because it is  simply impossible task. I am doing this
for a dear friend of mine.

" It is my  Chetana" for which                     * ( chetana.>Consciousness )
became red,  Panna became Green,
I laid my eyes on the sky,
Lights appeared in the
east, and in the west,
It is I who looked at the rose
and said " Beautiful "
It became Beautiful indeed.

You will say,
" but this is philosophy only ,
not a poets feelings"
I shall say " This is truth,
and so it is a Poetry ,
This is my Ego,
and this ego is on behalf of
all humanity.
On the  canvas of this humanity,
Viswakarma crafted the universe.    ( * Viswakarma..... The God of creativity.)

The philosopher breathes in and breathes out,
while on meditation,
repeats" No No  NO"
No Panna , No Chuni
No I, No You,
No light , No Rose
Nothing exists.
On the other side
The one who is Infinity
Is on meditation and
On the verge of Humanity,
Darkness unites with light,
The beauty appears, rhythm appears,
The " No " became " Yes "
In the midst of Ecstasy
In the midst of Tears.

To be continued

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

I shall not write any poem anymore

I shall not write poetry any more

6 August 2015 at 20:52

I shall not write poetry any more.
My  newly married son went to a war and
he never came back.A few days later
A letter arrived with Black Border.
My young son's wife Looked at me
with herdeep dark blank look,
Then she tumbled down
like a slaughtered animal on the floor.
The mother Froze like an ancient stone,
The patriotic
 ministers , presidents, rich politicians
are well , Very well
"THIS IS WAR" , they said like sages.
" In a war we must use our cleverest weapons,
Our Atom bombs,
our Nuclear Bombs
Our Hydrogen Bombs on
the cities, on towns
in the schools of small children,
Where their slides, their swings and their Tricycles
Lie abandoned.
Young men and women
must be sent to fight  for our country,
Our " Honour " is at stake.

"we have to destroy our enemies"
In the mean time
millions of fathers will live in void,
Mothers will chant the language of grief,night after night
newly married wives put their dreams like black tulip
under their pillows
and look at the Blank sky every night.
Tell me , what shall I write poetry about.