Poetry | Saswat.com | All That's Left :: Saswat Blog :: Saswat Pattanayak

Hiroshima!

Tue, 05 Aug 2008 15:51:50 -0400

Apologist for collective indifference

Bereft of long term amnesic stance

Capitulated dissidence

Decades of glaring carcasses

Emphasize countless tragedies

Frantically reassess the losses

Grim prospects for peaceniks

Hectored loftily by regimes

Invidious despair from mavericks

Joyous wait for impending peace

Kingdom of utopian bliss

Ludicrous beliefs never cease

Misread pages of war histories

Normalize causes of thy miseries

Oppressive narrations of human follies

Peace comes not by bombing lands

Quest for justice needs friendly hands

Revolutionaries above mere firebrands

Solidarity in these times of wars

Towards lasting peace and raising bars

Unionize to defeat the militarist czars

Victory to boundless internationalists

Workers of the world who unite to fight

Xenophobes, reactionary nationalists

Yardsticks of progress are years of peace

Zenith of harmony shall be rare to miss

-Saswat Pattanayak, Peoples’ Poet, 2008

As Lebanon Bleeds, It Kills

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 14:47:12 -0400

It kills our conscience every single day,

as we carry on with our mundane plans

to further petty bourgeois career paths as usual.

Lebanon kills our ability to reason with truth,

as we carry on with our

CNN

and BBC

and New York Times.

Lebanon kills our faith in human good,

as we rationalize

that it is human nature to sustain warfare.

Lebanon kills our trusts in our own potential to rise up,

look into our comfortable shining mirrors on the walls,

and discover how unabashedly wretched we must look

if we smile to ourselves today.

Lebanon kills all that is beautiful,

all that is innocent,

all that is glorious,

all that is humane,

all that is kind,

all that is generous,

all that we mean by understanding for social good.

Yes, Lebanon kills, when it bleeds.

Lebanon kills our sense of empathy

when children of Beirut

are massacred in name of

democracy.

Lebanon kills our feelings of cooperation

when we indifferently watch

hapless humans murdered in name of

freedom.

Lebanon kills our pride in our identities

as we stoically listen to

blatant propaganda against Islam.

Lebanon kills our amicability

the moment we buy into

media definition of terrorism.

Lebanon kills our cognition

when we start believing

that there ever was a

kidnapping of Israeli soldiers.

That such kidnapping

has anything to do with the war

against humanity.

Yes, Lebanon kills, when it bleeds.

When we overlook Israel

as one of the biggest militarist regions

of the planet,

Lebanon kills.

Lebanon kills our intelligence

when we start assuming

a national defense establishment

is protector of anything human,

be it the armed forces of India,

America,

Pakistan

or Israel.

Lebanon kills our sense of proportion

when we mistake the grieving

agonized

and affected

peoples as the terrorists.

Lebanon kills our basic values of decency

when we have anger

at the defenseless

and support

for Abu Gharibs.

Because we think

the Iraqi prisoners

were terrorists

and invading military rapists

are victors,

Lebanon kills.

Lebanon kills our children

and their children

and theirs,

because we have taught them the history

invented by

Rupert Murdorch,

not history

relived by

Howard Zinn.

Lebanon kills our fathers,

and their fathers

and theirs,

because they did not teach us

not to discriminate people

or disown gods,

and Lebanon kills us,

because we have still not learnt enough.

Yes Lebanon kills, when it bleeds.

When the so-called world leaders call

their lavishly delicious meetings

and use profanities

to address the suffering people,

Lebanon kills.

When the leaders perpetrate military race

by aiding Israel’s quests,

Lebanon kills.

Lebanon kills our memory

when we conveniently forget

that Israel is the only country in the world

that practices Apartheid even today.

When its lost on us that Israel has not one,

or two,

but 11 different classes of people

who are required to carry identifications

with their ethnic categories

so that they can be officially discriminated,

Lebanon kills.

When its lost on us that Israel as a state

works to benefit its “first class citizens”,

whereas the rest are

condemned in different degrees,

most even not allowed

to own residence in

nine-tenth of the country,

Lebanon kills our knowledge

of contemporary racist history.

Lebanon kills our curiosity to know and grow,

when we conveniently ignore the fact

that Israeli citizens of the

lower classes are routinely arrested,

and tortured

without trial for indefinite periods,

by Israeli ruling class

just as the fascists ever did.

Lebanon kills our power to look beyond

when we do not think twice

even as Palestinians have been living under unethical

inhuman

military occupation since almost 60 years now,

without land,

without rights,

without hopes,

and any sense of belonging

in a land that rightfully belongs to them

and wrongfully occupied now.

That we do not pause

to think 60 years is a human lifespan,

Lebanon kills.

Yes Lebanon kills, when it bleeds.

We, the torchbearers of freedom

and trumpets of liberty

and voters of democracy

are fittingly comfortable

within our definition of these words

whereas using these words

we mandate our leaders

to go ravage millions of innocent women

and children

just because they do not want

our shallow words in their dictionary,

and that is why Lebanon kills.

We the killers of Edward Said

and annihilators of Mesopotamia civilization

are so proud of our conquering heritage

while leaving behind no history for “terrorist children”,

that Lebanon kills.

We visitors to mocking war memorials

and lying history museums

and readers of western civilizations

that validated slavery in name of gods

are so muted by our ignorance

that Lebanon kills.

We fanatic supporters of colonial

and imperial powers of Europe

that forced the Jews

and compelled the Arabs

and enslaved the blacks

and looted the working men and women

of the entire world,

are so happy to be psychologically numb,

and its so sad

that Lebanon kills.

Lebanon kills those that refuse to acknowledge

that revolution is the prerogative of the landless

against the landgrabbers,

just as

reactionary military occupation

is the prerogative of

the religious-military-industrial nexus.

And to those of us

who side by the authorized militarists

and take them for agents of freedom,

Lebanon kills.

Lebanon kills us

when we start believing in nationalities

as ends to human aspirations,

not as temporary means

to solve the question of bread,

so temporary

that after bread,

land

and peace,

we should know no nations

in order to embrace the worldwide working class.

And worldwide working class

should know

no national boundaries

and ethnicities

and religions,

because these are tools of the oppressors,

if it must come together,

and many of us refuse to believe this,

and hence Lebanon kills.

Lebanon kills us

when we blindly lend our support

to the orchastrators of global terrorism

in order to divide and rule our world,

and install their undivided Empire

those who for six decades

now in the name of war

against Communism

and “terror”,

had been working

to in fact cause wars

against working class humanity

in Korea,

in Vietnam,

in China,

in Italy,

in Greece,

in the Philippines.

Also

in Albania,

in Eastern Europe,

in Iran,

in Guatemala,

in Costa Rica,

in Syria,

in the Middle East,

in Indonesia,

in British Guiana,

in Soviet Union,

in Cambodia,

in Laos,

in Haiti,

in Algeria,

in Ecuador,

in The Congo,

in Brazil,

in Peru,

in Dominican Republic,

in Cuba,

when the militarist combines assaulted societies

and bombarded destabilization

in name of promoting “democracy”,

and yet we applaud their victories,

Lebanon kills.

Despite their illegal interventions

also

in Ghana,

in Uruguay,

in Chile,

in Bolivia,

in Iraq,

in Australia,

in Angola,

in Zaire,

in Jamaica,

in Seychelles,

in Grenada,

in Morocco,

in Suriname,

in Libya,

in Nicaragua,

in Panama,

in Bulgaria,

in Afghanistan,

in El Salvador

and now

against the American working class,

we keep silent

and worship their billionaires

and deride the working class communities

of immigrants

and the blacks

and the Muslims,

it really sucks;

and Lebanon kills.

Lebanon kills when it bleeds,

because through our callous indifference,

and our reactionary supports

to the national defense forces

that thrives on the military industrial complexes

owned by a handful of global capitalists,

we have allowed the free rein

to exploit the indigenous,

the poor,

the working class people

by infusing in us

vast sea of ignorance

so that we would not challenge

the structure.

In fact

Lebanon kills

our mere existence

as beings

as we so submissively let our minds

be colonized yet again,

by raising toast to their victory,

by worshipping their gods,

by using their profanities,

by playing by their rules,

by spreading their hatred

among ourselves

in the name of their religions,

their moral standards

and their male supremacist,

heterosexist,

individualistic,

self centered,

nationalistic,

oppressive,

religious,

capitalistic,

god-fearing,

inhumane

corporate orders.

Lebanon kills

because we live comfortably

in our racist,

anti-Islam

world of lies,

and we let our world leaders

orchestrate occasions,

deliberately neglect law and order,

and find reasons

to commit genocide

of innocent people

in months of

September

and July

and rest of the year,

in London,

New York

and Mumbai

and rest of the cities,

so that

they can carry on their own agendas

to conquer country after country,

oil fields after oil fields,

economies after economies,

peoples cooperatives after peoples cooperatives,

tribal lands after tribal lands,

indigenous peoples after indigenous people,

forests after forests,

and in fact declare our world as theirs,

as a capitalistic,

patriarchal,

conservative structure.

And hence Lebanon kills,

so that

when we are no more,

our children will at least

have got rid of us all

and a ravaged Lebanon

will guide a new world,

full of hope

because all despairs are getting rid of now,

each moment.

Lebanon must kill,

even as she bleeds.

-Saswat Pattanayak, Peoples’ Poet, 2006

Nepal: Ode to Revolution

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 14:46:04 -0400

People of Nepal have finally “gained victory”

Although why the Crown relented appears a mystery

After weeks of active resistance; in face of military excesses

Took 14 deaths for the King to grant freedom to his subjects

Just when I thought, a specter was almost haunting Nepal

A specter of hope, and struggle to erase writings off the wall

The Monarchy has now heeded to its Big Brothers in crime

And the world media are already replacing remnants of grime

For the comrades: before the battle is won, the war has been lost!

Powers have hijacked the purpose of resistance at every si

For I believe, freedom is ours to possess; not for the Royals to offer

Even as they recreate their myths, and even as we continue to suffer...!

---Saswat Pattanayak, Peoples' Poet, 2006

Tookie's Song

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 14:45:04 -0400

They finally killed Tookie.

After all, he needed to die.

To perpetuate the system

To uphold the mayhem

To continue the mental slavery

Since it’s our collective mockery.

Of course, Tookie had to be killed

He posed to empower the reviled

How long more would they let him write

How much more they could let him fight

Sinners don’t preach, its privilege of the saint

Tookie’s pen had to justify every word he meant

We live in days of certainty, of high conformance

Of how to demarcate thin lines of adherence

Fast answers to many a riddles of our times

Between social constructs, judgments worth a few dimes

Of course Tookie was absolutely the criminal

Agitating children against gangs can be fatally banal

Tookie did not watch Fox TV to be enlightened

Or learnt of Law and Order from episodes televised

He spoke of ways he was turned towards the evil strait

During the times they would not let the blacks integrate

The system then produced petty thieves and killed their colors

Oh now, the system is itself the criminal, creating unjust wars

Some harmless lies over cocktail parties lead thousands astray

Vulnerable youths today then go kill few Iraqis and join the fray

National gangs are now validated everywhere across countries

Members sans convictions, nor any notions of their sanctities

Military industrial complexes abound with transnational spreads

They make the resistance gangs look like unwoven threads

Tookie said, my children, don’t join the gangs of the privileged

Times have changed for worse, and yet we are now educated

Let’s differentiate, take a stand, and make the most of our talent

Gone are the days when I had to survive, over them you don’t have to lament

I will sing the redemption song, and prove we now got better systems

Which educates street urchins, that rehabilitates the prejudiced dictums

I never made any money off the gangs to escape the charges

Never even made a revolution of sorts to replace the mental agonies

I played into the rich white man’s hands to continue the aberrations

And he could pass all bills to keep me under subjugations

Lack of identity, any education, no sense of my heritage

All I had was a dirty pond to beat the torrents of sabotage

Every move I made to get over, I had the moves monitored

Any time I did a narrating, I never felt quite absolved

Everyone wanted a sensational story, and I was almost stale

Just when I reflected at roots, and I thought I had to go tell

How the system bred me, sustained me, and had me uprooted

Just then they came at me, projected me as the most hated.

Tookie needs to die so that we can continue defocusing

We can have an easier life with the thought of some goons dying

Of course God will continue blessing America no matter what

Through the periods of slavery, colonies or civil rights cast

God has his favored children who get heard with more sympathies

Even as they commit thousands murders at their sadistic victories

But Tookie needed to die so that the system could teach

That nay, howsoever low you are, you ain’t above the preach

Poor, black, homeless, uneducated, misled, without a job

Be destined not to aim like Malcolm, not a lawyer, not a cop

Stick to your guns, your drugs and the poor church congregation

End up in our system, so that we can continue to impose segregation

---Saswat Pattanayak, Peoples' Poet, 2005

Bhagat Singh

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 14:44:13 -0400

Why, Bhagat Singh, did you die?

At a time when people were shy

To come out of their homes to fight

Against the British’s indomitable might

You had dreamt of freedom

For the future generations

Thus you sacrificed your life

For this mission of yours

Yes, comrade, your dream’s fulfilled

Your death paid off, India was freed

British are no more ruling over us

How can we thank you, our words are at loss

You got yourself hanged; for the sake of the motherland

With a dream in your eyes; and a smile on your lips

Alas! Today’s country is not India of your dreams;

Your great sacrifice has gone in vain, it seems.

Why, Bhagat Sing, didn’t you marry?

Why did you flee away from home feeling sorry

For your family which was arranging your marriage

You boldly defied them and took revolutionary’s pledge

You were only seventeen then

Why didn’t you enjoy life like other men

Look upon us, from school days, flirting with girls

All of my friends think your death was a farce

The girls of my age say you were sexy and young

Boys of the group says you could have composed film songs

For whom did you die, when you had no children

If you think, for this you are revered, you are sadly mistaken

For, the people of your land don’t recall your sacrifice

At the mention of your name, they just say the fighter was nice

After all you died, so that we could enjoy

Then won’t you forgive us for this little joy

Your mission’s completed, your people are happy now

Like every mortal, you are dead, what have we got to do with you now?

III

Lenin was your god, Michael Jackson is ours

So what if Lalaji could be your guide, Tendulkar is ours

If Aruna Asaf was the women’s voice then, its Madhuri’s turn now

You were dying for the country then, none’s gonna shed a blood for India now.

I shudder to think that you were born in India

A country that gave birth to people like Indira

Shysters like Narasimha Rao have ruled over us

Chandraswami, Thackerey and Imams are our fortune tellers

Why Bhagat Singh, did you die for such a wretched nation?

Why did you go to the gallows for the sake of this MTV generation?

If ‘Chand’ and ‘Pratap’ were your journals, ‘Playboy’ is ours

We’re busy with our own lives, no time to think of India for hours

You were a Communist and defied even Gandhiji for that

Our communists support the mainstream and united front for power and what?

There is competition among all the opportunists

There is no sense of idealism left in politics

Here Safdar Hashmi is killed, Sahir Ludhianvi dies unwept

Here Communists compromise with coalitions, still claim to be in the Left

Be grateful that your name has not been forgotten as yet!

Can you forgive these idiots who have not realized the value of your sacrifice as yet?

Why Bhagat Singh, did you die?

I am baffled, tell me thy

Weren’t you a big fool then

Being unable to anticipate the kind of men

(that were to rule over your soil)

(and if you come alive to pay a visit)

“Why Bhagat Singh did you die”

Modern Indians will ask with a pouting “Hi!”

“Why didn’t you flirt with buxom belles then

Oh, come-on, lets go to ‘Basic Instinct’ then”

They will say thus, your feelings shall be hurt

Your hopes will be shattered, you shall cry a lot

So, never should you come back here

This country does not deserve you; comrade do ye hear!

Why Bhagat Singh, did you die?

Tell me comrade, why did you die….

--Saswat Pattanayak, Peoples' Poet, 1999

I Am Not A South Asian

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 14:43:23 -0400

I won’t be a victim of their myopic definition

Not a subject of their divided and ruled abstraction

Don’t dare call me a lovechild of illegal immigration

Will never give in to their verdicts for societal seclusion

Don’t just divide this world up into several borderlines

And compel me to produce a passport to prove my alliance

I don’t hold torches or flags; I wont fight with no “enemy” beings

And I ain’t no reserved pig, won’t dance to their muddy signs

They’ve been asking long for me to sign the checkbox of my ethnicity

African-American, Asian-American, Latin-American and any other entity

The terms that they block us by, and those divisions subject to atrophy

They devise multiculturalism and play favorites, so we fight for each legacy

The whites of the World are surely united for their common histories

It’s the people of color who are grouped differently by some taxonomies

I wonder why there are no enlisted Europeans-American categories

Even as the Native Indians are made to suffer from some identity crisis

The Third world and our diasporic folks in First World have some in common

We have always fought the rulers bravely, to repel the ghastly intrusions

We’re the strongest force to reckon with, as the victims of oppressions

Divide us, calm us, comedy us, and we are soon our own frustrations

I know they secretly love to call us Niggers, call us Zappies, call us Chinkies

But they wont call me Asian yet, for where will go the yellow lot Chinese?

Now they call me South Asian and I wonder what need is for that tease

But of course we are items stratified on their flawed geographical drawings

They can call me at will, a different race and a different ethnicity

But can hardly ever separate me from my shared similar history

With the peoples who suffered being part of one same colony

Ruled and ravaged as uncivilized colored, yet laundered as valued money

Spanish, French, Dutch, Germans, English and the Americans

Their ruling elites believing in imperialistic expansions

To sustain the rule, have broken people into rival sections

And now preachers of the G-7 and the self-proclaimed well-wishers

Nay, peoples of the world reject the rules of the ruling classes

No more nationalistic agendas, no racial superiority clashes

Won’t take that bullet from them anymore, nor shall we shoot their gun

Working peoples of the world this time, will fight for their own revolution

---Saswat Pattanayak, Peoples' Poet, 2005

A Revolutionary Struggles

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 14:42:04 -0400

A revolutionary knows

the national boundaries are made up to divide, not unite peoples

hence believes in none of that, not to raise the flags, nor to unite banners

A revolutionary feels

true service to earth is working for fellow beings, not worshipping false Gods

hence rejects the notion of imposed God, of different brands, various religions

A revolutionary affirms

the continuation of progress has nothing to do with statutory movements

hence works to make laws work for people, not let people suffer owing to laws

A revolutionary condemns

the racist, communalists, capitalistic superstructures that work out divisions

hence recalls historical assaults lest folks repeat; yet doth not manipulate tensions

A revolutionary forwards

the notion of collective workloads, to share, not to compete, to enjoy not to own

hence advocates workers’ rights to unite for strength, not be vehicles for reaction

A revolutionary minces

no words as a communist, for the mission is to work towards goals despite many an obstruction

hence realizes that struggle with fascists will continue even after the battle is half-won

A revolutionary upholds

sense of social equality even at the cost of individual liberties, for duties hold more than rights

hence propagates the messages of selfless sacrifices even to the face of content reactionary elites

A revolutionary learns

that teaching in schools are always thought control, but need to be so for the betterment

hence sides with of the oppressed in the world, not result in joys of personal advancement

A revolutionary visits

churches, mosques, temples, all religious shrines to register the torture on hapless workers

hence perceives those who built the edifices did as slaves to the Gods or Kings, not to benefit fellow sufferers

A revolutionary dedicates

life for fellow women, children, and peaceniks; for environment and peaceful co-existence

hence militarily opposes any oppression on so-called weaker sections of societies of essence

(I am) a revolutionary who experiences

time running out, for the onus lies on the revolutionary to cause revolution

there is no such time as the present which provides the most sufficient condition

---Saswat Pattanayak, Peoples' Poet, 2005

Wake Up! Wake Up!

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 14:41:01 -0400

Wake up! Wake up!

Hear the noises

Feel the outbursts

See the chaos

Are they yours?

Isolate self

Throw the Ray-Ban

Face the heat

Time’s up

Wake up! Wake up!

Before they progress

Know your group

Be the Union

Make the move

Don’t wait for support

or Count on numbers

You alone can

Break them stop!

Wake up! Wake up!

Competition

Globalization

Nuclear State

Or just your fate!

Throw faith systems

Wishes for feeders

Hopes for believers

Your mind, you make up

Wake up! Wake up!

Thought controls

Propagators

No more will you be

Hobson voter

Not a party, but the politics

Not to change, but replace

Stop quoting, enuff said

Your own mind, on the top

Wake up! Wake up!

Wise words, fools repeat

And the idle, hero-worship

History wont repeat itself

You gotta help yourself

Cherish, don’t live in the past

No Gandhi or Lenin will be cast

Title is you, the Star in it too

Movement is yours, just pack up

Wake up! Wake up!

‘Change is constant’ enough changed

They made legal the flesh trade

Sold the dreams, made the bombs

Gadgets too, to make you numb

Colonialist’s railroads

Capitalist’s computers

Profit’s the Prophet, profit’s the goal

Ask the self: Can you cope?

Wake up! Wake up!

Times have changed

For the worse

Cause the changers

Are ‘they’, not ‘us’

Distinguish, then

Don’t change, but replace

Overthrow, not discuss

Enough lectures, now to usurp

Wake up! Wake up!

Demoncracy

Plutocracy

Call it a name

live in fantasy

Popular dissent

And debates

in its marketplace

Don’t just add, don’t speak up

Wake up! Wake up!

None’s gonna hear

A word you say

Guard your interest

Stay away

Identify first the self

Then know ones in distress

No illusions or rosy hopes

That’s the group, and your Cup

Wake up! Wake up!

Make it clear, make no bones

No stoppin to the ones

Who know the path and the march

Snatch the rights, win the match

They called us colors

And some damned race

Preachers all will pay by the face,

Before the dark night is up

Wake up! Wake up!

Religions to annihilate

Hindus and Muslims

Got the war raging

Watched the fun brewing

Anything but a human

Coz humanity unites

When you act human

Then they got Gods up!

Wake up! Wake up!

Fancy divisions

Resting on bloodbaths

Pay them back now

Blood currency works

Enough of preachers

Enough Godmen

Enough ethics talked

Enough sanctities held

Enough institutions

Enough families

Enough blind loves

Enough traditions

Enough of democracy

Enough of consent

Enough discussions

Enough debates

Why my poem no more rhymes

Am I a ugly poet?

Enough of the poet

Damn the Wake Up! Note

Damn me, who does not act

Even after waking up

Lend me a hand, as I lend mine

Lets subscribe to the noise

Enough of music

Enough of me shouting alone

Time to act together

--Saswat Pattanayak, Peoples' Poet, 2003

Lest We Forget

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 14:40:30 -0400

A cruel time this was, the year of 2007

An unholy mix of hell and heaven

America target Somalia in January

No respite for Darfur in February

Ides of March sanctions Iran Civilians

In April, 200 killed by US-Iraqi militants

Lebanese die in dozens during May clashes

Come June, Israeli prez free of rape charges

India enslaved in US nuclear umbrella in July

August on, more power to American wire spy

Germany joins so-called terror war in September

Blackwater guilty of civilian murders in October

Suicide bombing in November’s Afghanistan

December marks post-Bhutto rioting in Pakistan

Where’s heaven, my friend, if you are curious to find

--In the name of God, we maimed the human kind

---Saswat Pattanayak, Peoples' Poet, 2007

Critical Love

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 14:39:14 -0400

I. The Visionary

Don’t you force me to fall in love with you

I tell you, I have more cardinal works to do

I am no Quixotic, nor am I other-worldly

Can’t sing serenade, to your billet-doux, I can’t reply

Several problems are there, and they are yet to be solved

Many a scabrous decisions are to be resolved

Any scruple over falling in love is no Guardian Knot

I’m at no dilemma as to fall in love or not

Let me make it trenchant to you

That love’s not for me

The cloud-cuckoo-land is not my home

I am no day-dreamer you see

Here I witness million souls

Pinched, homeless and starving

How can I be an imposter to

Act as if not listening?

I bear no grudge that you feel complacent

But its heinous to say that the world is content

I’m pragmatic, can’t run away from the world

For the sake of your love, for, I am no coward

I can leave you for the sake of the world

I shall live for the society, mark my word

They are self-centred, who do otherwise

Die for the world alone, that’s no vice

II. The Dreamer

Love is only giving away, sans expecting

Love is doubling the joys; about caring and sharing

Knowing each other completely, and still liking-

Through the thick and thin; its about forgiving

Your love has taught me, has inspired me

Now that I am in love with you, it has shown me

The ways to convert these dreams into realities

To attempt at making people reside in peace

III. The Lover

In this world, there cannot be another

Who can beat me in loving you better

Than the way can I shower love upon you,

For none can love you, the way, I love you!

--Saswat Pattanayak, Peoples' Poet, 1995

Enough!

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 14:38:22 -0400

No more reasons to call mayhem

Not one more life in your name

Not another death to uphold your religion

No more such violent catch 22 situation

Not to secure your mother’s dormant statues

Nor to pay back for your father’s power abuse

No more thought controls by government bureaucrats

Not once more will we believe in your tactics of attacks

No time to agitate, its time to step down from power

No press conferences, no indomitable statues or tower

In such times, politicians of the world must unite

You have everything to lose, including your might

For once, walk with the people, feel their agonies

Set examples of selves, write accords for peace

Stop the blame-games with Pakistan and Muslims

Or against one’s poor, the backward, and their miseries

Now is the time to act, to promise just one thing:

Stop playing communal, ‘tis just one life for rejoicing.

(Saswat Pattanayak, Peoples’ Poet, 2006)

Raindrops

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 14:37:10 -0400

Are these the April raindrops,

Or my lingering heartbeats?

My naked windows glasses-

Alive with transpirations

Mired with perspirations

Reflecting back, almost in derision

Calling back, in much anticipation

Halting path, amidst

many a assumption

These sounds of cascading water

On my swarded Astorian apartment

Catch me off guard-this very moment

Immerse in me, in life--

Even as I dwell in apprehension

Succumb to intoxication

Of increasing aspiration

Drain in imagination

Of the ongoing revolution

Will the rain just vanish all too soon

Lambent lightning will too swoon

Life is measured in moments -- not years

Its prizes are not won in competition

Nor in forms of pricey acquisition

As I hear the raindrops in reverberation

Memories of Similipal, ere a score of monsoons

Wise father, tall trees, and proud mountains

The source of wisdom--

my admiration

To repose faith in my fascination

And give way to my adulation

Sans preaching or imposition

Raindrops don't just recline

on my windows

Nor merely thump on my bare chest

They form an occasional abyss

To draw me to where I will rest

I drown in thee, every now and then,

To be swept across the life I possess--

A gift of maternal affection

And mother nature's articulation

Akin to rain, our founts quite unknown

Awaiting eagerly for loving absorption

Into history of time and

this living condition

Else this restless life is merely an omission

Time will never stand still,

therefore I must

To be one with, what I might have lost

And seek those moments that always a bliss

Transient like raindrops, and forever I miss

--Saswat Pattanayak, Peoples' Poet, 2007

Propaganda

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 14:36:33 -0400

You denounce them as corrupt

They excoriate you for being communal

You deplore all their activities

They fulminate against your prescripts

Look, all ye men of politics

I dare flak all your policies

That talk volumes of promises

Aimed at deceiving the masses

Least concerned am I to you for being corrupt

Uninterested in communalism, I am no less a patriot

Mark my words – I am no Hindu nor Muslim am I

Never pondered over such topics, a simple human am I

Corruption or Communalism does not bother me

You are the ones who forced me to see

These aspects of yours, these dirty games you play

Alas! Still you project yourselves as gods with feet of clay!

You keel-haul each other over my problems

Without knowing them well, all your programs fail

Give me food to eat, place to live and clothes to wear

They are all my problems, with me – can you share?

--Saswat Pattanayak, Peoples' Poet, 1998

Existentialist

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 14:35:47 -0400

When I say this, friends

I say not to measure

Not to value

Not to preserve

Not to suggest

Not to rebuke

Not to profess

Not to confess

Not to advise

Not to admonish

Not to set example

Not to build metaphors

Not to contest elections

Not to win your contests

Not to ruin myself

Not to set you free

Not to indulge in nostalgia

Not to preach principles

Not to escape from you

Nor from self

Not to check proximity

Not to farther away notions

Not to fathom depths

Not to climb stairs

Not to succeed in attempts

Not even to make them

Not to rouse passion

Not to arouse emotion

Not to urge upon you

Not to make you ponder

Not to hurry the tortoise

Not to hasten the rabbits

Not to rule the earth

Not to impose ideas

Not to be immortal

Not to commit hara-kiri

This is just to say

That I say

Because I have to say

What I say is immaterial

It has lost its relevance

In a world where I am dead

The poet is dead

The lover is dead

The birdwatcher dead

The pacifist dead

The reveries dead

The thinkers dead

The reason is dead

The gandhi is dead

The che is dead

The abnormal is dead

The idiot is dead

The mindspace dead

The misfit dead

The voltaire dead

The statues live

The legends live

The myths live

The hero-worshipping alive

The worshippers live

The conformists live

You agree

And you live

I disagree

Do I live?

You say “no”

Or do you say “yes”?

In any case,

I disagree with you

When the non-conformists are dead

How could I be alive?

Is it the grave I created

Or you gifted

Did I accept per se

Or was it intentional

Let me live back

And I will answer

---Saswat Pattanayak, Peoples' Poet, 1993

Proposal

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 14:35:08 -0400

Tell me O love!

How can I express my love for you?

I know not how the great lovers used to do

Did they gift a flower as a memento

Or, their love, did they just kneel down and show?

Tell me O love!

Where from can I start showering kisses on you?

I know not where from the great lovers used to do

Did they prefer the cheeks, or the eyes or wide lips

Or, did they use to seal their mouths together and kiss?

Tell me O love!

What can I do that the world shall remember you?

I know not what the great lovers used to do?

Or did they write poetry and the world just mourned?

So tell me, O love!

How can I express my love for you?

I’m no lover, can’t kneel down and propose to you

So tell me, O love!

Where from can I start giving kisses to you?

I sense your beauty everywhere, where from can I start kissing you?

So tell me, O love!

What can I do that the world shall remember you?

I’m no Kaiser, can’t build a Taj Mahal for you

So tell me, O love!

What meanest thou by love?

I’m a novice, teach me the art of love.

---Saswat Pattanayak, Peoples' Poet, 1993

Mother India

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 14:34:25 -0400

Fifty years of chaos and confusions

She has witnessed and now silently mourns

As a mother forgives her children

She has done that; they are still insane

Ere half a century, she was in chain

She was silent and cried in pain

Her children fought and freed her then

She asks now: Where disappeared all of them?

Where are they who loved her?

Who sacrificed their lives for her;

Why no doubt, today there is none

Whom you can ask to die for her!

--Saswat Pattanayak, Peoples' Poet, 1998

Love Unconditional

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 14:33:38 -0400

Your love is not for me to ask

It is for you to give

In return

My body is not for you to ask

It is for me to give

I have given away my heart

My feelings they called love

And all I could ever muster

Was courage to fall

Centred round my self

As its wont, I could never rise in love

All I remember is the passion

The commitments our bodies made

The moments of undeniable truths

And now it’s all so eerie

Does love have a logical ending?

The heart withers away, the mind is out of sight

What of my body?

The scars and the bites and the touches

Whose prerogative to forget?

I once made a compromise with my heart

Now the body refuses to withstand

The onslaughts and the insults

The amnesiac touches

The lips that are lying

If you must, acknowledge not the love

If you have to, stay away

But answer one last time

Why did you have to fiddle my body?

If you had to ignore it next

Pain slighted, dreams aroused, passion lighted

Honest gazes, trenchant brushes and strumming fingers

Now when you are gone; turned tables

Your denials of moments, your murder of trust

Just confess, you were with my body

My mind shall bother you no more

Because bodies do not lie

It’s like the last time our bodies met

Because touches do not lie

In the darkness when I shut myself to your world

All I have is my own body

Writhing in pain

Of twisted truths

Tender touches which it craved and requited

And now you are so far away

Mind, heart and soul and all irrational objects

May forgive you

My body

Cannot.

Henceforth

My body is my own

I shall give, I will rent, I got to own

--Saswat Pattanayak, Peoples' Poet, 2001

Bapa

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 14:32:40 -0400

What do I write on thee, words are at loss?

“Be a brave general and true servant”

And you “dedicated me to society”

It was ten, I remember I was then.

Never felt like asking you if that meant

I was going to be away from home and family.

Father, one lifetime is transient. Yours. And mine.

Not all your dreams will result, nor my immaturity.

Popular minds do not speak a tale, a tale of honesty

Stereotyping I did not know, for it was not thine.

No thought-control. No ideological pill.

You offered me from Gandhi to Lenin

A God who resides in hearts and yet one

I could defy, you said it matters little

“Be a brave general and true servant”

And you “dedicated me to society”

It was ten, I remember I was then.

Never felt like asking you if that meant

I was going to be away from home and family.

And I saw the reflections of a struggle

Did not shelter in cheap history-texts

Your convictions that led you to prison cells

Your service for folks, oh so, were humble

Struggle is within a framework

Of an individual conscience and society rebuttals

One who stands for a just social cause

Often gets pricked by personal upheavals

Did you ever bow down to the law then

For the good, people cause to them

For the children who they think only their own

And the families they reaped, they have sown.

Never saw you giving into compromise

Never saw you owning a piece-of-land

Never watched you beg for favours

In a world, oh so, full of opportunists.

“Be a brave general and true servant”

And you “dedicated me to society”

It was ten, I remember I was then.

Never felt like asking you if that meant

I was going to be away from home and family.

I always looked beyond you, your ideals

Your convictions, your judgments

To be a man of my own reasonings

A person of my own makings

And I see you there, in my own reflections

But my struggles I have not yet possibly made

I feel your presence when I emulate

But that humble human I never made

Its been already a tiring journey for me, father

To match up to life’s demands and society’s needs

A bunch of easy comforts I possess

To divert the compulsions, it so seems

They do not make humans like you anymore

I never thought I could live up, either

But one more promise I must make

Shall not disappoint you, I must offer

You do not represent this world to me

A society you had dedicated me

To be the general and the servant

Of the humankind that’s gone so insane

Gandhi and Lenin lost the relevance

Long back for this content generation

A future based on war psychoses

And present on dependence to misinformation

You are not of this world and yet you are here

How do you feel, to witness the tears

Of your own which hardly has stopped

Since dreams squashed, comrades nowhere

Hopes you have kept still alive

Orissamatters still up and running

One-man’s army or one-man’s service

General or servant, you got to live

I do not need to turn to cheap history-books

A real example I have in life of yours

Do not know the relevance of revolutions

Causing violence or preaching against nukes

In your sixties, you dream of a century

Of yet unborn and raring to arrive

What do we have to offer them, you ask

‘Future will not forgive us if we survive’

Do not take the guilt, you have done no wrong

Convictions you lived to, when people had to fall

Courage you translated, amidst feet of clay

Fearlessly stood firm, when others had to crawl

Lines of comrades nowhere to be heard

I have seen ‘em all reaffirming their pledge

‘A world of freedom we shall all co-sign’

I heard them tell you and it did not amaze

Years of your struggles have brought some change.

A sustainable process though has just gone deranged

Money and muscle making inroads to progress

Where definition of progress stand to be altered.

Amidst these all, you have stood on your own

Convictions shall maybe redefine themselves

But they shall not affect your struggle for a better world

Where ‘better’ shall mean not more but equal access

In words, nothing much are contained

‘Convictions’, ‘faiths’, ‘beliefs’ can be modified

‘Progress’, ‘thoughts’, ‘equality’ will mean different

In a world on ransom, war on the weak will be solidified

Long after the world will realize its follies

Long after the revolution by the hungry masses

Long after people would have got equal access

I shall know only one thing to have been the success

Success will be yours, of your noble thoughts

Of the honest actions in life, to pay what you owe

Socrates was forced to die in debt to this world

You shall never, you shall never, you shall never

You have been paying back in unequal terms

Benefiting us in more ways than we deserve

At least that’s the way we are more indebted

A purpose we have, to refund what’s served

You are doing your duties, father, for sure, we shall carry out ours

This future shall make no more recessions, no more submissions

Belonging to the world and calling its my only country

My journey has well-begun, and I am on your missions

Saswat Pattanayak, Peoples' Poet, 2000

Offerings

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 14:14:45 -0400

What will I give thee, you are the gift to me

How much to adore thee, you mean the love for me

When each moment spent are the times cherished

To wish you well, which day be chosen by me?

The night’s a façade, the day conceals

And my gladness, the stars too miss

My feelings how can they know

Those greetings on sale and marketed gifts

Who I pray and worship for you?

Where do I seek your well being?

What do I add to bedeck your day

When what I have is you as blessing?

No poem can ever suffice to note

Or a painter’s brush can ever coat

The shine of my eye, the pride in my heart

Words too feeble, and colors delicate

Have loved you to know you

And known to have loved you

If life has some things to crave for

Its to live my life beside you

Never in want will you be, for you are the spring

Of all happiness unbound that human life can bring

Your commitments for people in need will soon be fulfilled

Keep up the fine work, the wary World will surely yield.

--Saswat Pattanayak, Peoples' Poet, 2004

One Life

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 14:13:44 -0400

I have but one life—

Let me enjoy it to the fullest

Let me live well and not simply exist

Let me be free to make rules for myself

Don’t you interfere and pretend to help

I have but one life—

Let me love the lady of my dreams

Let me love my country and all human beings

Let me love the nature, those stunning scenes

Oh! selfish world—you don’t know what love means

I have but one life—

Let me read all the beautiful writings

Let me relish the magnificent paintings

Let me be a part of all those before I vanish

Don’t deprive me of those moments that I shall cherish

I have but one life—

Let me do all the good that I can do now

Let me bring a smile to faces that were sobbing till now

Let me find time to listen to all their worries

Let me indulge myself in answering to their queries

I have but one life—

Let me attempt at bringing peace among nations

Let me see to it that none in the world suffers

Let me dream and see diverse visions

Don’t prevent me from fulfilling these obsessions

---Saswat Pattanayak, Peoples' Poet, 1993

Blank Apartment

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 14:10:28 -0400

without you

feelings are nothingness

differences are in the sublime change of weather

days and nights are synonymous

life is a plain glass of water

and i quench the tastelessness

without you

--Saswat Pattanayak, Peoples' Poet, 2003

Taj Mahal (Trans.)

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 12:51:48 -0400

For you, Taj Mahal is no less a splendor of love

Amidst the eldritch, obsessed are you with its trove

My beloved! Discover for me yet another place where we can meet!

Grandeur of royal palace is deliberately contrasted

For the commoners; it’s a sordid message so crafted

We mortals have no permit to tread the paths so strewn

With baits to allure us into that maze, to dream to its tune!

Before being inveigled into the royal sparks, my beloved!

You should have descried the mammoth trickery and fraud!

You could have felt the roars of your insignificant abode!

Countless peoples in our world have showered love in abundance

Who can claim their heartfelt love ever lacked sincere affections

But they lacked the means of advertisement, of crude exhibitions

After all, they were like you and I: submitted by birth to cruel situations

This monument, this mausoleum, this unmitigated embankment

These are apparition of regal wealth and unmerited enchantment

For the records of the wretched, these disdainfully antique afflictions

Were erected upon the toil, labor and sweat of many a poor generations

O my beloved! They must indeed have been in love forever

Those that could shape such magnificence by their love’s labor

Yet not a candle is lighted in memory of those that were enslaved

Nor a lamp they could plant to cherish the love of their beloved

This opulent yard, this palatial lap of luxury that marks the ruler

Bedizened with gaudy presence of stately, colossal architecture

It’s merely an act of mockery on part of an autocratic monarch

Who usurping wealth, has smudged the poor, with this indelible mark!

My beloved! Discover for me yet another place where we can meet!

--Saswat Pattanayak, The Peoples’ Poet, 2006 (Trans.)

As India (and the world) goes to vote for Taj Mahal tomorrow, an ugly form of patriotism and appreciation has surfaced utilizing a monument declared to be most beautiful by some.

The claim for “seven wonders” (and one wonders why they need to have it to be only seven, and not thirteen, or a hundred) has been reduced to a competitive exercise where people representing their countries exhibit some version of solidarity to showcase monuments that have absolutely nothing in relevance to either the present, or the future.

Moreover, the past--related to sites like the Taj Mahal--also needs to be investigated further before the glorifications continue in a world where human beings have less worth than marble stones.

In our world where visual appeal and exhibitionism is so rampant as to have become a required criterion for assessment of objects, events and people, it is no wonder that huge architectures are recalled with how they merely have been standardized to generate individualist awe, and not with any form of collective remorse.

To mark this day with regret, therefore, I have translated one song which was written more than four decades ago by the great progressive Urdu poet Sahir Ludhianvi. The original poem follows:

---

Taja tere lie eka mazahara-e-ulafata hi sahi

tujha ko isa vadi-e-rangina se aqidata hi sahi

mere mehabuba kahim aura mila kara mujha se

bazama-e-sahi mein gharibom ka guzara kiya maini

sabta jisa raha mein hom satuta sahi ke nisana

usa pe ulafata bhari rahazana ka safara kiya maini

meri mehabuba pase parde tasahira vafa

tune satuta ke nisanom ko to dekha hota

murda sahom ke maqabira se behalane vali

apane tarika makanom ko to dekha hota

anaginata laugom ne duniya mem mauhabbata ki hai

kauna kahata hai ke sadiqa na tha una ke jazabe

lekina una ke liye tasahira ka samana nahim

kyonke vaha lauga bhi apani hi tarah mufalisa the

yaha imarata-va-maqabira ye fasilem ye hisara

matalaqa-ula-hukma sahanasahom ki azamata ke sutum

sina-e-dahara ke nasura haim kahate nasura

jajbe hem una mem tere mere ijadada ka khuna

meri mehabuba, inhem bhi to mauhabbata hogi

jina ki sanai ne bakhasi hai use sakla-e-jamila

una ke piyarom ke maqabira rahe be nama namuda

aja taka ina para jalai na kisi ne qandila

ye chamana zara ye jamana ka kinara, ye mahala

ye munakqasa dara-o-divara ye maharaba ye taqa

ika sahanasaha ne daulata ka sahara le kara

hama gharibom ki mauhabbata ka udaya hai mazaqa

mere mehabuba kahim aura mila kara mujha se

(by Sahir Ludhianvi)

My Child, A Radical Human Being (Trans.)

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 12:49:42 -0400

Neither you will be a Hindu nor a Muslim will you be