|| Way of Struggle : Lenin Raghuvanshi ||

Raghuvanshi Lenin

is the Lenin of his motherland

his nerves squirming with pain of injustice

his voice rising in passion for social justice

As Buddha suffered from pain

from his enclave

who found the path of freedom from pain

in the social code of conduct of spirituality

Raghuvanshi Lenin has seen and known

the reason of grief from depth

in the contemporary contexts

the nation and powerful energies

are more blameworthy than humane being

the claw of exploitation

lightens continuously

the nerves of throat and wisdom

the silent roots of malpractice

are silent against oppression and injustice

(one has to work like 'chanakya' to uproot them)

as an intellectual worker like a modern Buddha

not leaving behind wife (shruti) and son (kabir)

but taking them along, so that they also feel

the wounds of society

the pain of people

living in the society

they can treat and cure

and give some first-aid

and feel Lenin's pain and outcry

they should do positive revolt

like the two hands of Lenin - left and right

and fulfil the role as part of family

not just as Lenin's family

but also as people's family

like the parts of the body

and can sacrifice the comforts

attachment towards luxuries

for the sake of global human being

for the interest of entire humanity

Raghuvanshi Lenin is the Lenin of India

related to the king's lineage

associating with it, being with it

in the contemporary times

digging out path for the people

from deep inside the system

He names his child as 'kabir Karunik'

to make him walk through the life's tough

workshop

and see the secret source of Lenin's speech

the tragic sorrow caused by discrimination

and experience the meaning of being 'kabri'

as his father Lelin

knows the meaning of his name

in Indian contexts

He knows and wants to show

that the lineage of all the people

the lineage of 'Shri Ram'

can be cultivated

not by chanting the name of 'Ram'

but by following the path of 'Ram' - public service

in the true sense, including king's lineage

along with Buddha

along with Kabir

along with Lenin

and the people of the Universe

in the form of entire Humankind.

|| HERMAN VAN VEEN ||

Herman
the Poet,

weaves words, and renders man

sometimes a composer

a philosopher sometimes, and

sometimes a seeker

Herman

the creator,

strings pearls of words

into verses, and renders them

an ornaments of the artist

adorning melodies

sometimes in tunes

in rhythms sometimes, and

sometimes in beats

words

transform into symphonies

in the gestures of maestro Herman

every now in the strumming of a guitar

and then in the drone of a violin

the strike of his palms on the drums

a reverberating echo, a global invocation

for art

for humanity

Herman's art
his elan vital
innate, incarnate
embodied in him
are his musical instruments
resounding like the rare clap of his hends
each begetting a distinct sound
akin to the myriad melodies
the sweet calls of jungle birds
one resounding song for each earthy hour

Herman's voice
like the inner music
of waves breaking on the shore
of rustling winds and untamed gusts
the roar of the forest's core
yet sometimes a vernal breeze
a zephyr of innocent elvishness

Herman
the performer,
embodies nature, the supreme artiste
in his embrace it melts
fuses, amalgamates
and bursts forth from him
a projection of his very being

dressed in the colors
of the Netherlands flag
deep red and marine blue
with sleeves rolled up
ever ready, ever free
to invoke the muse, goddess Saraswati
and create art in its variegated forms
in the melody of an instrument
the versatility of theater
the wizardry
of poetry
the magic of breathing
life into words
words exuding love
words declaring love
in the warm touch of the hand
in the gentle swish of the autograph
for is not an autograph
a touch by the means of words ?

Herman
the master of rhyme and rhythm
writes poetry
in the language of musical instruments
in the meter of dance
in the metaphor of song
the gamut of his artistic creation
is but an embodiment
of his poetic expression
where he is the poem
bound in form, yet unbodied, spiritual
and the poem manifests
sometimes as music
sometimes as an instrument
as a painting sometimes, and
sometimes as nature, in dialogue with man

Herman's body
a shining star of energy
sending forth rays
of artistic brilliance
illuminating the listener
enlightening the audience

Herman
the adept personifier
of art, of creativity
through the beauty of language
through the harmony of dance
and, sometimes
through the inebriating blend of his own voice
and the audience
utterly and helplessly under his spell
find themselves
falling down the magic hole
peering through an animated kaleidoscope
ever-changing, ever-renewing
alive like the eternal beauty of nature

Herman, bard of the Netherlands
you are the vaalsberg of art, of creativity
your gestures smile
in the professor's antics
you touch a chord through the strings of your violin
in your deep voice
resounds the earth's silence
Herman, bard of the Netherlends
you are the flame of peace of unity

conjuring worlds
through your art
painting pictures
through your words
spinning tales through your colors

forever bursting with rainbow hues
in the azure of your beautiful mind
like a shower of rain through your eyes sometimes
dispersing through the prism of your fingertips
dipped in the spectrum of vibgyor

the core of Herman's very being
throbs to create
lives to create

blue eyes reflecting a potpourri of emotions
like a motley bunch of flying balloons
infinite colors of flying feathers
splashed across the canvas bare as moon
adorned in colors vivid and bright
the paintings spread their wings and take flight
and colors seem to fly like feathers
in paintings
in words

Herman's words
woven in poetry
alive like the dramatic personae
of the heart's theater
Herman's words
cast in their roles
adept like the seasoned performers
on the worldly stage
making their way
into the reader's inner amphitheater
they perform
in verse and metaphor
in script and dialogue.

(Herman Van Veen is a renowned Dutch and German poet)

The Poetic Bond

|| Michael Sloary ||

Michael Sloary-

the walking Bauxite

of Surinamese land

his words the pure

gold from the golden

womb of the earth.

Pure as Bauxite and gold

the nomadic Michael Sloary

his head drinks in the

gold wine of the tropical sun.

He rests not

under the shade of

the trees burning

in ancient sun

words drive him on

Sloary is a companion

of words.

With the echo of bird-song

he creates words for

his poems that sometimes

speak of the shriek within

sometimes of the joy

of the heart

like a miner he mines

the mind of the peoples

of the 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.

Shooting the roots of

insight into the earth

he wants to grow

the tree of Surinamese life.

He hears the call of

the blank part of the

empty promotional box

his hand writes

the language of peoples' heart

he has words for the gurrachbi

as he has a tale to tell

in the newspaper

words fresh and new

like the sunshine

or a new-dug mine.

|| Re-Run ||

She hasn't seen

mother's childhood

but since childhood

has been seeing mother.

Ever since she

has begun to

understand her inner

world and external

surroundings it is

as if a woman

similar to mother

has begun to take

shape inside her.

Like mother's her eyes

brim and like mother

she too hides her tears.

Folks admire

the high color in

her cheeks and

she retorts-

the delight of love

makes my cheeks
red and eyes bright.

|| 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.

|| 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.