Dr. Sandeep Kumar Kar - Page 2

From Where Shall I Greatness Buy?

Mom tells me to finish my homework quickly,
When I ask why?, she tells me
“You should become great as great as your dad”.
When I ask, where is my dad Mom?
She tells me, “He is now god’s guest.”
Again when I ask Mom,
“Can I not become great by being the god’s guest”?
She slaps me gently and tells me,
“Now just shut up and get your homework done”.
Little later when I ask she says,
“Your Dad fought like a tiger,
risking his life, he never bothered.
His gun has brought him greatness
and the honour of being the god’s guest.
Again when I ask,
“Do people become great when they fight”?
If so, I will beat in the school,
My friend Philip, with my might.”
Now, Mom calls me stupid and gives me a push.
Crying I go to sleep in her lap,
Now she says, “Tomorrow I will
give you pocket money for ice-cream”.
Wiping my eyes when I ask,
Mom! ”Can I by saving pocket money,
try greatness buy”?
Tell Mom, “From where shall I greatness buy”?
She tells, “Oh god help me”
and begins to cry.

With Depressed Eyes

The birds I see in the azure sky,
appear as a victim in the hand of pride.
They even see us with depressed eyes!
Who is there to bribe and seduce,
The hunter’s pride, that is always upright.

Still they fly in the vast blue sky,
seeing the world with depressed eyes.
They respect the red angry sun,
which helps them in their nutrition,
and at sunset, they vanish from my vision,
with helpless worms in their proud beaks,
passing in between the mighty sun’s teeth,
merging into the horizon as red as the brick.

The Cynosure

Pebbles scattered on the ground
amidst the greenery around,
rolling and skidding
withstanding years of erosion within,
till it becomes round and smooth,
when your hands touch it,
after your eyes have searched it.
A selection, anew elimination around.
Then it finds its place,
inside your lot,
when you collect it after
assessing its beauty
leaving other boulders there
to search for many more like you,
erosion and ravages of time
elevating their beauties and expression
waiting and waiting to fall and stick in the vision
of their favorite person
to make a place in your collection.

We Poets are Farmers Still

We poets are farmers still,
ploughing our mind in the invisible field,
whenever the mind makes the pen wield.
Sowing the seeds of emotion,
in the field of melancholy,
we reap the expression of joy
with our hearts happy and merry.
Gardeners we are to our core,
as we are happy to see our words bloom
amidst the reverberation of “Encores”.
Idioms, our fertilizers,
simile and metaphors, the growth enhancers.
The monsoon, the joy of spring,
when in the winds of expression ,
our joy swings.
Words bearing a new look,
publicity reaping the best
out of our joyous moods.
Our alert mind, the scare crow,
driving the birds of plagiarism away,
helps the expression to bloom and grow.
Again we wait for the next showers,
hoping this time, the day will be ours.
We then sow the time awaited seeds of expression,
with the waves of time, the blooming showers.
Their timed sprout is now,
when you lovers of art,
read it aloud and feel it in your heart.

Operation Poetry

The clock struck twelve,
the midnight started swinging.
Volcanic developments going in the mind,
for the erupting magma of art and creativity.
Pages of literature and fiction,
turning the history of hope,
in sweat drenched hands.
The dictionary turning and tuning
the fate of words.
The old owl of plagiarism,
sitting on the nearest branch,
visible from my window screen,
sitting with withered wings,
wearing the spectacles of treachery.

Rhyming synonyms put into the balance,
greatest short stories and ideals turned,
to whip the horse of spontaneity,
to drive the cart of imprinted emotions.

The operation in full swing,
The programme of “My Computer” changing.
Aberration of a saintly figure in saffron robe,
A voice reverberating the historic “Chicago Address”,
revealing the secret of work in these words –
“Helping a man spiritually is the greatest possible help”.

My mind gradually building
the stalactites and stalagmites of wisdom.
The aberration slowly vanishing,
serving as radar,
guiding my pirate ship of thoughts,
to surrender in the dock of honesty.

Tears of repentance rolling down my cheeks.
My arrow of a single glimpse of truth.
The old owl of plagiarism flying away and away,
flapping its wings.
Satiated feeling my triumph,
I went to sleep,
when the clock struck one

Three Old Companions

Three pairs of old legs
and three strong sticks,
everyday have a stroll,
in every dynamic evening,
when the sun is brick red,
and the chirping birds returning home.

They don’t know what gifts the morning sun,
has for them, on the next day,
for it is known,
nothing less than death
and nothing more than
another day’s wait,
for the ever awaiting death.
“My daughter in law today
gave me a single piece of fish
but herself had two instead”
said the oldest folk with the weakest legs,
but with the strongest stick.
The other old man said,
“I had none,
but I suspect they had some”.
The thinnest old man said,
”My son didn’t get promotion,
So my daughter in law,
gave me a day’s starvation.”
A gush of wind interrupted their talk.
All the twelve old eyes saw the dry leaves,
being swayed away by the young and fresh wind.
“See the message of the time,
The old being eliminated,
at the onset of the young”.
One of them said.

Then they returned
to their respective homes,
looking at the returning birds,
returning back into the horizon.
Together the old men said,
“Hope we shall meet tomorrow
at the same time, at the same place”.
The next day,
the morning sun shined brick red.
The chirping returning birds
brought in its wake, the fateful evening.

From the road along the east,
came the strongest old man,
from the Western avenue,
came the other old man.
While along the south on the road,
nobody except a torrent of wind came,
which swayed the dry leaves into the sky,
and the dust into their old eyes.
One of them said,
“Look our eldest brother deceived us
and went away together,
with the soul of the withered leaves,
terminating his wait.
But, we still have to wait.
Hope to see you next evening,
at the same time, at the same place.”

The Scorpion

Slowly, I creep into your thoughts,
bringing about a transformation,
Then, I reign over your senses,
controlling your actions.

Slowly I spread my poison,
you develop my induced stings,
by developing sanguivorous instincts.
you throw your nation to the winds,
by extending hands to the fiends,
drawing all national virtues and treasures
into your own treasury,
camouflaging yourself with a mask,
which you call it as politics.
It is me creeping into your nation
In a national scale,
bringing about your destruction.

With my mission accomplished,
I leave you poisoned,
both in your spirits and actions,
by my poisonous stings,
bearing on your thoughts my imprint.
Then I creep into other nations,
for my mission is
utter destruction and complete elimination,
of human population and virtues,
as I am the scorpion.

He is Lone, Alone Amidst Thousands

Majrooh Sultanpuri (Kabhi haan Kabhi naa)
Translated by Dr. Sandeep Kumar Kar

He is lone, alone among thousands.
Perpetually you have seen his profligacy,
never seen his ingenuity.
Never have you carved out leisure,
from your own cobwebs,
to perceive the feelings of his heart.
Whom you consider a stone,
Real diamond he is in essence
Perpetually you have seen his profligacy,
never seen his ingenuity.
Always you have glitched up the flute,
as a log of wood,
Never could you listen ,
the beauty of its tunes.
You have descried the mud
in the lamp,
never beamed the glory of its flame.
Perpetually you have seen his profligacy,
never seen his ingenuity.

Cardiac Anaesthesiologist: The friend of the heart

I stand at the head end of the patient,
a speechless witness to the kind cruelty
of the surgeon’s scalpel.
I have seen myriads of hearts
some of them dilated, some with physiological
and anatomical orifices, some with rickety going valves,
similar to my flow in the stagnant city traffic stream.
Sometimes, I try to draw analogy,
between emotions in the heart and cardiac anatomy.
What do people really mean, when they say
“Having a big heart!”, “Having a kind heart!”
Are emotions nurtured in the heart?
I have seen bureaucrats, politicians,
both from emotional and anatomical view points.
They do not have a big heart morphologically and emotionally,
in spite of bearing the people’s mandate.
I brood, “Is politics a game of the heart?”
Often I have to wage a war against
the autocracy and stubbornness of the failing heart,
with my friendly inotropes in my armament,
each acting as a soldier, knocking down,
the autonomously stimulated receptors
as soldiers at the other end.
Sometimes, I become emotional,
when I look at the returning cars in the light bathed streets
and the chirping birds in the azure sky,
from the window screen, with the music of the pulse oxymeter,
reminding me not to sway myself away,
in the emotional stream.
I do nourish dreams of early home coming.
I have learnt to accept time dilation
is meant for me only.
I have cultivated my patience, and driven
the ravens of restlessness during my prolonged visits,
and stay in the fate ministrating recovery units.
I feel proud of being adept,
in maintaining normal hemodynamics,
amidst the autocracy of the surgeon’s scalpel.
I am more powerful and a friend of the patient’s heart.
Applause and laurels are miles away from me.
My unsung ‘Swansong’ is only known to me,
never revealed to the cruel world.
I have learnt to enjoy my work as an art.
My power to curb the physiological ministrations,
of the surgeon’s action.
I reap the fruits of my toil,
when I see the smile laden faces of the patients,
in the fate-changing recovery units.

The Masked Reality

The sky is covered with dark clouds,
amidst them sparkles the ray of hope.
Stagnation in the sky,
precursor to the enchanting peacock dance,
The scented earth and the floral profusion.
The scorching sun is away
peeping through the rain drops,
playing hide and seek
ornamenting the horizon like a crown
with the seven coloured rainbow.
Then a torrent of wind
sways the clouds away,
ending the captivating peacock dance,
revealing the reality,
Struggle for the glorious survival,
when the sparkling rays of the sun,
kiss the wet marshy earth,
a new look,
a new beauty and a new creation.