Visit to the land of antiquity
Kept alive through words
Best describes the tales
Which were narrated once
Reading them
And transported there
Fascinated by legends
Ageless and frozen in time
A fascinating word museum
Takes us back to antiquity

You may feel, your voice gets lost
In this vast universe, amidst space
The wind, the trees, the birds, and animals
Are, all listening to you patiently
The mountains, seas, rivers and creeks
Along with the wind, takes your thoughts
To the most remotest and distant places
The sun mitigates the pain with its brightness
Rains are your companion, when your heart weeps
Winters are there when your emotions are frozen
But, the snow preserving the ‘real you’ intact
Spring is the harbinger of hope, and flower blooms
In the garden of your life, coloring your hope
The canopy of stars light up at your success and love
The moon serenades the lovers, caressing them with love
So, your voice may not be heard by us
Every word you speak, becomes a part of nature’s folklore
Testimony to all the events in your life; happiness, sorrow
And in times of neutrality, you are covered in a time wrap
The feeling of loneliness, is momentary
When you absorb nature in you, and nature absorbs you




© Amitav (Radiance)

Tales of riches in sequins
Like a lavish cloak of red
Swirling around to catch
The soft touch of raw skin

Each begins far away
A swarm of bees you can hear
But cannot see
And draws closer
Capturing your mind
And holding it
In an oscillating state
Between trance and attention

You see the rubies
Wish to steal them yourself
From the merchant
You wish to seek council
From the Grand-Visir
Thwart the wicked Sultan
And trick the Genius

The tales weave from one to another
They are a stream
Dispersing in a delta
But following each small stream
Meeting back at the source
In an unending circle
Of stories large or small

Stories of old men passing by
Of brother princes splitting land
Of merchants voyaging to trade
Of cunning daughters plotting

No corner of the world to far
No event not to be believed
No action too kind
No punishment too severe
No journey too long
No treasure too hidden

These tales are the life within human blood
The life that has no boundaries
And looks only for the sun

En los vientres de naciones
todavía huele a tradición:
denso y dulce como un higo.
Hay ecos de bailes
y susurros de dioses
tejiendo pacientemente la cosecha.

Niebla, siempre una niebla,
que desliza por la espalda
de montaña plagada por leyenda,
llevando con sí siseo de culebra,
llanto de cuervo,
y una canción bien embolsada.

Cama fértil pa imaginar,
árboles místicos han criado,
guardando mitos primitivos en sus anillos varicosos.
Hay poco que decir
de la ciencia ni el razón
cuando un trompetista conjura visiones del aguacero.



In the bellies of nations
you can still smell the lore:
dense and sweet as a ripened fig.
There are echoes of dances
and whispers of gods
patiently weaving the harvest.

There is a fog, always a fog,
that slides down the back
of the legend-born mountain
carrying the hiss of a snake,
the wail of a crow,
and a song in its pocket for safe keeping.

Fertile bed for imagination,
mystic trees have sprouted,
holding primal myth in their varicose rings.
There is little to be said
of science or reason
when a trumpeter calls visions from the rain.