AWARDED !

Professor Pushpita Awasthi was awarded Padmabhushan Moturi Satyanarayan Award for the  promotion of Hindi and writing abroad by the President of India, Mr. Pranab Mukherjee on 30 May 2017. This distinguished award was announced by the Central Hindi Institute, an International level organization within the ambit of Department of Higher Education, Ministry of Human Resource Development, India. The award carried Rs. Five Lacs, a citation and a shawl. 

|| toys ||

(one)

Children grow

toys become small

the mother stores

the toys to touch

their leftover childhood.

As soon as the

children know the lie

of life hidden in toys

they leave home

in search of the

truth of life.

The mother looks

for their fingers

hidden in their toys

to forget the pain

of the separation

from the child

gone abroad she

kisses the toys

her children kissed.

Touching the memories

of her children left in

the toys she eases the

pain of her memories.

In her memories she

keeps her children's toys

and in toys her hungry

motherly touch thinking

the toys too miss her children.

Sometimes she puts

the old tricycle in

the forlorn garden and

remembers her children's

feet now in military boots

or trudging alien paths.

With her old eyes

the mother blesses the

dreamy new world of

her children's eyes

that is untouched by

tears of slavery even

now she e-mails to

them the magic messages

from childhood scriptures

and life-" a slave is happy

not even in his dreams"

" love truly and thou shall be united

with thy love."

(two)

As soon as the

children know the lie

of life hidden in toys

they leave home

in search of the

truth of life.

Leaving the toy animals

children set out to win

the war against the animal

hidden within men.

Abandoning toy planes

and cars children leave

in search of a new life

better than their parents'

they had heard in their father's

heartbeat seen swinging

in their mother's eye.

|| shreenivasi ||

The poet Shreenivasi has

sown in his native land

word seeds.

In his poems he

has revived Suriname

feeding it

his heart's blood.

Suriname is growing

older in the land

of Suriname

In his poem Shreenivasi

is young at eighty five

like a tiller with

his plough on  his shoulder.

At the river-bank in New Amsterdam

the poet stands holding

the aakaashdeep of poem

the compassionate eye

of his picture has ink

for his new poem.

Like the trees at

the turning into jungle

New Amsterdam bank

that have known and lived

pain for ages his poem

stands tall.

Like his poems the

birds have created on branches

new plants…new creepers….new roots

and new nests.

In days past canons

that fought like mothers

on the side of the motherland

on this same beach

now lie quiet resting

their heads on their

children's shoulders.

Like the sentry at

the police- post at the

beach stands Shreenivasi's poem

a weapon drawn for the motherland.

Poetry is the monument

of New Amsterdam

the logo of Suriname

along the flag of the

police-post waves

the banner of poetry.

|| remembering native desires ||

Amidst alien heat and frost

The deck of the heart

lies abandoned like

the wet mark of

a memory-wound.

From the boat-house of desire

ancient eyes scan

a luminous past.

Absorbed in the

memory of the beloved

face resting between palms

holding native desires

my palms become

her palms.

Like shamed seasons

dreams lie in a corner

of the eye.

In the sun's heat

dreams smolder

and still life makes

new dreams like

foreign friends.

Alone in alien land

tiptoe timid memories

darkness rains even

on full- moon nights

like the intense meaning

of -sad.

Desires demand

new leaves so

they may breathe

and new desires spring.

When desires set

in the mould of desire

life comes closer to life

as held in the arms of

the paper the pen is

eager to speak.

two poems

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

|| the earth ||

The earth bears

the pain of

being alive like

a lonely woman.

Folks scratch her innards

trample on her for

their crazy pleasure

some decorate and preserve her

as they do a lonely woman

All watch the destruction

the earth too sees

her slow destruction

and still, through

her own powers-

fire

rain

tornadoes

floods

famines

creates balance

against destructive forces.

Like the lonely woman

the lonely earth saves-

her verdure

her rain

her coolness

her fertility

her purity

her identity.

|| seeds || 

The woman bears

with and keeps quiet

like night.

The woman burns

and remains contained

like the spark.

The woman moves on

living within limits

like the river.

The woman blossoms

and flourishes and is

ever hungry

like the tree.

The woman drizzles

and rains and is

ever thirsty

like clouds.

The woman makes

a home and always

remains homeless

like the birds.

The woman is

a resounding voice

but is silent

like the word.

The woman births

man and remains a slave

like the seed.

|| peter brands ||

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Peter, you have words

cordial and trustful

In adverse times

folks sleep in peace

and dream of

good times to come

While you keep awake

devising ways to

protect the honest

and the simple

from adversity

Your searching eyes

seek the mute

human civilization

and the pain

of wars entombed

in memorials

and museums

In times when

man is out to

gobble everything

in sight you eat

little and drink

less

Untouched by greed

rich in sensitivity

you stand with

friends often

against yourself

Opening bottles of

wine with enviable

expertise your joy

is in watching others

enjoy

Familiar with

the crookedness of

the genteel you

hold on to

a moral code

of your very own

Peter Brawns

you are a friend

of the soul in

a world where

friends become strangers

at the drop of a hat.

|| hanneke ||

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An European woman

with an Indian heart

and soul-Hanneke

With open eyes

she hears and sees

all in silence

like a still river

In her eyes

all see their reflection

amidst movement

she sits unmoving

Seeing everything her

ears hear-everything

the way her eyes

watch-day and night

Often she thinks

eyes are helpless-

they see whether they want or not

ears have no option

but to hear

what if the lips

too spoke the words

of the soul-incessantly

then the world would

have been different

and so would have been man

The world would not

have been so frightening

then and men would

not have been insecure

Power and fear

would not have

turned into guns

Freedom would not

be known as terror

Locks and patrol

would not have been

synonyms of security

Man and woman

would have procreated

generations of faith

In her silence Hanneke

speaks volumes

engaged in dialogue

her liquid eyes unveil

answers to questions unasked

Hanneke creates novel

modes of dialogue

gives new meanings

to words.

|| cees maurick ||

Feet firmly planted on ground

as though they grew

out of the earth

like some forest species of plant

Reflected in his eye

the blue of the sky

turns bluer

From the ocean

the tender-hearted friend

fills his heart

with boundless tenderness

for all

Tired with the world

he seeks haven in the forest

more civilized than the world

of cultured humans

This animal loving hunter

hunts to save the forest

and its denizens

As the talk turns serious

his forefinger describes

an unending whorl

on his temple

as if tightening the invisible

screws of his brain

To indicate money

he rubs the tip

of his forefinger

against his thumb

and says-money!

Money and mind-

that is Cees Maurick

money calls for mind

but mind calls for something

that only Cees Maurick knows

His feet

untired like wheels

ever on the move

he often returns

to the forest

to fill his eye and time

From the walls of his

river-front home

heads of deer look

at the goings on with

wondering, innocent eyes

on the tables sit birds

turning wood into

living branches

The day spent

unraveling the intricacies

of commerce

the evening finds him

amidst his animals-caressing

a forehead

the body

the fur

as though their lifeless

bodies hold the joy of touch

For children the hand

of an angel

for friends the hand

of a friend

for dear ones

the touch of living love

the worst enemy

of the violent

Countering worry with laughter

he dissolves his laughter

in wine sharing his energy

and friendship with

friends and family

he is the liquid

that lubricates the machinery

of his business

His home a strange aviary

of forest and water bird

models and masks

He loves his forest animals

like friends

and like his home

loves the forest

I often wonder-

is the forest his home

and animals his friends?

|| remembering native desires ||

Amidst alien heat and frost

the deck of the heart

lies abandoned like

the wet mark of

a memory-wound

From the boat-house of desire

ancient eyes scan

a luminous past

Absorbed in the

memory of the beloved

face resting between palms

holding native desires

my palms become

her palms

Like shamed seasons

dreams lie in a corner

of the eye

in the sun's heat they smolder

and still life makes

new ones like

foreign friends

Alone in an alien land

memories tiptoe with temerity

darkness rains even on full-moon nights

like the intense meaning of sadness

Desires demand new leaves

so they may breathe

and new desires spring

when they set

in the mould of desire

Life comes closer to life

as held in the arms

of the paper

The pen is

eager to speak

|| prayers sublimate ||

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dreams float over the body and mind

Deep into the night

They are like migratory birds hovering over

The roof tops of European houses

Who, after their sojourn in a land forlorn

Will head back home after the snowy winter

Just like us….

Ever awake, beyond the land of dreams

Eventually longings transmute into prayers

And prayers sublimate into a noble penance

For the realization of yearnings profound

Universal good shines beneath Creation’s protective armour

Dreams are our ultimate shield.

|| practitioner ||

My eyes contain your pictures

they are your album within me

the voice of love echoes and plays

like a new raga

their songs unwavering

like a practitioner

In my heart

beat your heartbeats

My breath constant

in the practice of love

Like the sculptor of Khajuraho

I created a living sculpture of love

you unveiled it, in my eyes

|| peter brands ||

Peter, you have words, cordial and trustful

While, in adverse times, folks sleep in peace

and dream of good times to come

You keep awake, devising ways to

protect the honest, and the simple

from adversity

Your searching eyes seek the mute

the pain of wars entombed in memorials

and museums: human civilization

In times when man is out to gobble everything

in sight, you eat little and drink less

Untouched by greed, rich in sensitivity

you stand with friends, often against yourself

Opening bottles of wine with enviable expertise

your joy is in watching others enjoy

Familiar with the crookedness of the genteel

you hold on to a moral code of your very own

Peter, you are a friend of the soul

in a world where friends become strangers

at the drop of a hat

|| parchment of mind ||

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Letter from

Homeland spoken

Word of prayers

In letters

Eyes of dream open

Silent obscurity of words

Their gentle touch leaves on paper

A stroke of supple speech

Melts

Glacier of mind

Makes abode in phrasing

Becoming dazzling sentinel

Keep standing, eyes struck

Against the darkness

Aghast

Opposing time

Piety of the letter

Like seasoned leaves

On mins-journal’s plain pages

Like your bosom pulsating in words

Parchment of mind

Augmenting and shrinking

Through seasons of inner pilgrimage

Word of letters are scattered

Flourishing in the heart, flowering reminiscence

From the mind, squeezed out like honey

Words of letter, steeped in spiritual memory

The letter of Our country

A letter that came from home

|| one’s own ||

Like fallen seasons

dreams collapse

in corners of eyes

in solitary foreign exile

In the heat of the sun

dreams flare up

life creating vision anew

like foreign friends

Alone, in a foreign land

memory comes

frightened thoughts, darkness running, even from the moon

Alone the whole full-moon-night

like a deeper meaning

of the word: downcast

Wishes keep one searching for new leaves

From which new hope can be born

A blue-print for life to approach Life

|| michael sloary ||

Michael Sloary

the walking Bauxite

of the Surinamese land

his words the pure

gold from the golden

womb of the earth

Michael Sloary

the nomadic Michael Sloary

his head drinks in the

wine of the tropical sun

He rests not

under the shade of

the trees burning

words drive him on

Sloary is their trusty companion

With the echo of bird-song

he creates his poems that

speak of the shriek within

sometimes of the joy

of the heart

Michael Sloary, like a miner he mines

the minds of the people

of this sub continent

Week in and

week out the Dutch

weekly carries

the living document

of his mind's eye

Walking the land

Michael connects his

dust with the sabana dirt of Suriname

Oh, Michael, shooting roots of

insight into the earth

he wants to grow

the tree of Surinamese life

He hears the call of

the blank page, his hand writes

the language of peoples' heart

he has words for the gurrachbi

as he has a tale to tell

in the newspaper

Michael Sloary,

words fresh and new

like the sunshine

or the gold

of a new-dug mine.

love

love blooms and blossoms 
settles in the eye 
one with the 
rhythm of breathing 

words dissolve 
in their own rhythm 
as raag in words 
as words in raag 

in the face of opposition 
love has created love 
it echoes and men forget themselves 
only love remains 

as the sea remains the sea 
the earth, the earth 
the sun, the sun 
water, though becomes thirst 

i am the grain of your love 
and you the faith of my heart 
i am the harvested grain 
stored in the granary of memory 

you wish to live in me 
the beauty of love, and i
desire to drink the wondrous 
pleasure of your beauty

|| love-bird ||

on every page of the body
lips have inscribed
unspoken words

in separation
the body
rustles like pages

words
wish to fly
away from my body-book
to become
pages in the book of your body

as after dark
the Desolate Earth
drinks in the sun
after the deadly
catastrophe
the Bleak Earth
gathers dust

after the searing storm
the Breathless Earth
sucks breath from the wind
dried to the core
the Charred Earth
soaks in the wetness from the rain

after the terrible bolt
the Deafened Earth
searches for
the sweetness of solitude
seared with the
piercing light
the Senseless Earth sleeps
in the dark lap of stillness

after a bone dry spell
the Cracked Earth lives
the dew drop
as the Leaf Dappled Autumn Earth
awaits the coming of the spring
so I imbibe you
like breath
in the body
of the Carnal Earth

|| journey ||

within midnight

as the earth sleeps

in each and every corner

the leaves stop shuddering

silence breathes, audibly

Nature starts taking the form

the night is awake

in the slumbering earth

and the stars are shining

though fallen to sleep

she does not dream

she starts a soft conversation

I – live you

and in that only I live myself

I – listen to you

but I hear my own echo

I – see myself

whenever I wish to see you

I – weave your will to live

like my dreams

I – taste your perplexity

like my unbearable anxiety

I – touch the unending end of your soul

inside the endless layers of my soul

I encompass the land of love

in my memories along with you

as the earth sleeps within midnight

and reality is a dream of reality