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.