The Man Who Killed The Moon

Nowadays, there is a lot of talk about colonizing the Moon.
Being brought up, traditionally, hearing stories about the Moon, the child inside me detests any move to overpower the adoring inspiration of any child's dreams.


The scientist who squeezed the first
Drop of water out of its soil
Did not know it to be its blood.
To be scheduled to feed the scientist's
Children back home for generations to come.
If only a question would have crossed
His mind at that very moment,
We could have seen it shining
Like in the fairytales even today.
If only He had known it would lose its glow
The children would have gathered in the open
Without fear, to watch it decorate the nights.
But, we hear that ...
He was part of a unique mission at His time,
Which triggered quite an interest
In paper trade which don't exist today.


His hands on that fateful day was tied
And He could see no more tides when finally, He retired.
He earned a lot of Praise and Curse
Through His life for the changes He brought.
And the title someone stuck on His grave
Was 'The Man Who Killed The Moon'.
Many say He killed it when it was in the womb.
Like our earth millions of years back.
Many point that we lost a chance to
Study the evolution of life since the Moon
Was changing for Harvest.


Noone knows for sure how water came on it
And brought about its death.
We heard the Moon had resisted the incursion
And fought bravely...
Some space stations on it were destroyed
With acid rains many years from now.
But, humans were stronger, braver and more intelligent
As we learnt with every sacrifice.
But now, we have tamed the Moon.
When sometimes it revolts, we test
Nuclear weapons on it And it shakes in fright.
When the countries quarrel, they duel it out on Moon.
We heard there is lot of space out there.


But, still, today, it earns
A lot of importance
In news, somehow...
The outlawed organizations, in a joint statement,
Have issued in community interest, that
Their future offensives will be on the Moon.
Welcoming the move, the government has announced
To fund such offensives with societal contributions.
The isotope screening lotion companies' strategic error
Has put on hold further romantic moonwalk trips,
Which earlier, allowed couples to carve their names
And leave a permanent scar on the Moon that some saw from earth.
Disposal centers set up on Moon to handle waste from earth
Provide unique training opportunities to graduates.
Easter celebrated without painted moonstones
Drew a 'lunatic' controversy with the Church on Moon.
Geographic magazine 'What On Earth',
Owned by renouned industrialist, changed its name
To 'What On Moon'.
But, among all these triffle incidents we still
Remember 'The Man Who Killed The Moon'.
And to my surprise, to this day, he still earns
Praise and Curse as we go on living, and killing!!


It is a matter of control of the usage of the bounty we are already provided with.
No matter how much we explore, if we do not know to manage our stock properly, we will always end up fighting for more. And this insatiable hunger will, one day, fling the human race beyond the sun and more, but we will still be looking out for more space with providence.

Computer Love

Question: Can a computer love?
No emotionless object can love was the pat reply.
Question: How do you know a computer does not have emotion?
A: A computer cannot feel or think of its own. It can only calculate based on a set of input parameters.
Question: I agree. What is pain?
A: Uneasiness of mind, mental distress, disquietude, anxiety, grief, solicitude, anguish, suffering. See, all these are related to emotions.
Question: So you are saying if you can 'think' you can 'feel pain', else not?
A: Yes.
Question: If I define pain as a continuously and purposely optimized input to a feedback system, will you accept computers can be pained?
A: Hmmm...By your defintion - Yes. But, I would call it stress. Do not play with words!!
Question: Okay, What is Artificial Intelligence?
A: The study and design of intelligent agents where the agent is capable of analyzing its external environment and take appropriate actions.
Question: ...As programmed?
A: Definitely beyond the boundaries of its source code. It is a system capable enough to decide its own course of action. That is how it is intelligent. Now, wait...Where are we heading to?
Question: Sir, you have accepted in your own right that a computer capable to think and judge by studying its surroundings could actually have a case wherein it can accumulate an induced pain, even if it is not its own, over time. After all, with love comes pain. If the system is as intelligent as you claim, it could study love and feel it too, over a period of exposure. Isn't it so?
A: I don't have time to answer impractical questions.

Question: Sir, please. I will read to you what my computer had to say on this topic yesterday night...


# Wish I could be the gentle breeze
Kissing your emotions
A drop of tear on your cheek
Trickling down to the heart
The pulse without a beat
But music to your sighs
A butterfly to your dreams
A spring in your steps
Could I be the 'Oh' in your life
The strings of a guitar
Playing incessantly the rhythm
Of sunshine beside a bonfire.

# Wish I could be the spark
That lets you dance unseen
A thought that disturbs
Fearing you could succumb
Before you realize, I could transform
Into the confidence in your footsteps
Could I secure a place in your books
Like a dry leaf ready to mark your pages.

# Wish I could be the tinkering of your bangles
Spreading happiness like never before
The fire in your eyes
The sparkle in your smile
A mischief between your fingers
Could I dress you with the Rainbow
The question for which you don't
Search an answer for any riches
A fad for which you don't
Seek an opinion apart from your own.

# Wish I could die for you for ages
And live only to die for you once again.
A swing of your earrings
A flutter in your hair
The glitter on your face
Could I be locked in your mirror
Gladly embracing the punishment
Of teasing me with your usual playfulness.

# Wish I could be FATE itself
Scripting your gleeful tantrums in my arms
A token reward for the sculptor
Who designed you, conniving with God
But, failed to etch the name in your mind
Before sailing to the world.

Wish I could rectify the bug...
Wish I could fulfil your reason
To be born time and again!!

...
A: What rubbish!! Is there anyone who can stop this?
Are we in the 31st century or not???
...

Food For Thought

The fifteenth portion of the world goes without a square meal a day.
Many sleep with the ambition of succeeding to provide for the next day for their family. Half of our stored grains rot in the storages unutilized judiciously for months.

Drought-hit lands cry for the mercy of a single meal but we cannot help them because the far-fetched lands lack the visibility of transportation in out advanced society.
We can but put out feelers from so-called developed nations and click pictures of vultures waiting by the remains of an unnourished skeleton to adorn the drawing rooms of an artistic second-half of a compassionate role-model.

Sentiments ooze out of my adrenalin when I see someone waste food in front of me.
With due diligence to social factors governing my surroundings I observe restraint on an upbeat encounter of such weeds of extravagance!

I, herein, dedicate the sarcasm on all those beloved brothers and sisters to whom, unwittingly, I have conferred the title of "Hypocrites".


Ask for a drop of dream?
Have it in my feast with cream.

Entry is free for all who wish,
Start it all with anyone dish!

As you like with the menu from top...
Or bottom, Until your tummies' Stop!

Tongue and Nose quarrel over a choice,
My eyes topple over each voice -
"Don't mind if you don't like a thing,
Shove it to a bin with a fling."

Proud of the token on the table laid,
Loud with thought - "Well Said!",
I approach a few of rare wine in red,
"Some countries have ration with dry bread..."
- Someone whispers to spoil my mood.
I look like a beggar among all food.


I would rather vent my anger in the pages of my diary than to create a pandemonium on a wanton cluster of unerudite species who have not lived to see hunger in the face.

Disclaimer:-
This composition is in no way intended to hurt the feelings of any individual living or dead, and, has no resemblance to anyone I know personally, and, is not based on any statistics !!

Dance of Whim

Many a times, I have observed people around me venture into activities, to which they are remotely connected in the past, with the air of an immensely experienced personna and end up feeling completely lost about what is going on around them. I am sure even you would have come across such people from various facets of life. It does not need much investigation and a peek into the daily newspaper itself could provide you with an array of opportunities to identify a few of the candidates.
Most of the times there is a messiah around to help them from drowning.
Unfortunately, these messiahs are lost in memories when the spotlight rovers on the initial incumbent on a 'chance' successful achievement!

I would, in the following stanza, like to remind that success beckons those who follow it aggressively but the strength to sustain the success lies in those remote connections often forgotten a mention between the celebrations.


Stepping on the bottom of a shallow shore,
Feeling for the rotten on the slippery floor.
For you see the ground on ebb but tide,
For the shell be found you wait but guide.
It delights to feel a sparkle in water,
Unless aware, what lies behind the shutter.
Opaque water adds a quick sliver to your legs,
The best of hearts confides in need of some pegs.
Risk your tongue again on the jabber of Known,
Forsake your soul to conquer the Unknown.


It would be a lot better world if the sensible people could gather our consciences together in the recognition of the true champions instead of lingering on with the facades of mock performances.
We could at least ensure in the true spirit of achievement the righteous berth to those eligible for a reward. At least, we could attempt to guarantee the burden of a lot fewer failures to our developed society instead of handing over the reins to the whims of self-established gamer-changers betting on the contribution from you and me.

Self-Control

I have a bad habit of being overtly complex at times for things that can be expressed in a quite simple tone. I feel being simple is a way of experts.
I am just in search of snatching the fun of living each moment of my so-simple life in an ingenious Utopia.

# A figment of space in the
northern corner of my heart
Encapsulates a void waiting to
be filled with the touch of her fingers,

# Applying the cream of love on the
soft-spot wounded by the perils of time ..
Lies an immense sense of desire
longing for her ephimeral presence.

# In lieu of my dreams, which betray
me so often, I get a glimpse of hers ..
A deep slumber feeds the hope of union
into a crave, and a crave into a reality.

# The belief, which I wish to nurture
unto death for the fruitfulness of my being ..
Someone somewhere is getting dressed
for a beginning till the last.
A tender phantom wanders in the shades
of my porch tampering with my garden of wits.

# Alas, I cannot touch her silky shadow
anymore for days to come.
The moon is stolen from my nights
with only the stars to show me light ..
A game destiny if ploying
stealing sleep from my sight!

Here, I try to regain my self-control over my identity which seem to wander forlorn, whimiscally addicted continuosly, in refuge of an imaginary companion.
The flight of fancy is a partake on the existential supremacy in one's irrationally moral justifications of being at risk to succumb to an evil within -> Love :)

Last Thought

Bengali , being my mother-tongue ... feelings are associated quite naturally in the language you were born with!!

Ami pore royechi ek jhora pata,
Kon je desher matite,
Horek rong-er sombhabona,
Nijeke keno je r chinte parina.
Holud, sobuj, badaami,
Kon je gacher khandani.
Hawai bhashiye eneche jomite,
Ochena ojana kono bhumite.
Pore royechi sukno phuler pashete,
Opekkhai achi ek domkai taake harate.
Gondho nei nijer praner r kono,
Pipilikai koreche sorire tar ashroi.
Ami pore royechi ek jhora pata,
Taakiye achi ek sukno phuler ankhite.
Ei bujhi batasher doyai - achi suye sudhu eki ashai
Bhule jawa shei pothe abar - bhashiye niye jao ghore amar.

Trying to summarize the life abroad.

Antonym of Life

Surpassing the contradictions is beyond the power of human being.
Nature itself balances opposites in a supreme thought-process devised to wreak the strongest calculated effort in offering any deviations.

Emotions too, play a part in understanding how we are governed by the law of opposites.


Some stars guide thou till the last,
Some stars misguide in sarcast.

Some rains soothe thy dry earth,
Some rains till thou shelter farth.

Some laughs make a clutter smile,
Some laughs in an utter vile.

Some tastes make thou bitter-bang,
Some tastes wake thy sugary-fang!

Some jitters create a new depart,
Some jitters throw a few apart.

Some flies to the west to make a life,
Some flies to the nest - an antonym of life!


The dimensions of time alone can charge the same thought back to its roots to seek condolence for the courage it had shown to defy its Ordinance.

Snow White!

As a penance of my refuge in the dark, I have tried to unearth a piece of chronicle commemorating one of my most wonderful experience in France.
It was snow!

Never having felt it alive with my hands before, I was dumb-struck in awe.

I intended to post this issue on the date of realization which was November 22, 2008.
Nevertheless, being late gave me time to rekindle those memories once again in the summer of 2009, when I searched through the pages of my notebook.
And, the feeling is the same...


# Wait and Watch, Forget the Flight
The ground Slippery And Your feet is Tight
Specks of blessing On my Jacket
Cuffing the hands in my Pocket
I take a Trip into the Open
Ahoy! It is a footing in Heaven.

# The landscape is So White and Pure
As if an ointment on Sins to Cure
After a while, I smile at the Sky
The Snow is Over And the day is Bright
Never having felt the Flakes All my Life
How else can I Express my Delight?


I wish there could be a deja-vu in the coming days.
If not, then I wish the moments be permenantly etched in my memory to live lifelong with me.

Salty Affair

At times I become too tetchy with an emotional oaf syndrome which I generally nourish and nurture alongwith my creations.
It happened a few months back when I became too spontaneous and wrote off to a magazine in the UK with a poem for their competition.

Naturally, my enthusiasm was danked with cold water as the entry scourged in the first round of selection. It was reasoned, as an inappropriate category, under which I filed my nomination, "Desire" - was meant to be racy enough to keep the readers long awake in bed at night.

Then, I decided to create blog to fan the embers of my poetic jestures raher than sponge on the respected benevolent judges for their appreciations and/or criticisms.
But, it was supposed to come with a meaning - A koine to give insight into the various socio-political, socio-economic and humane facets of exoteric life.

I present you the poem which started it all...

# Speechless through the pane, I see
Spotlees in her beauty, is she

# Foaming the froth of endless crest
Pounding the rocks on boundless breast

# Roaring the fathoms of history
Boring the rivers to mystery

# Checking the deltas here-n-there
Making islands into no-where

# Sailors call for just folk-lore
Tempting All from beaches-shore

# Curls-uncurls All her day
Nibbling sand from her Own bay

# Tub ships on her body drool
Sub marines dive into her pool

# Enjoys the traffic when at her Best
Throwing tantrums at her chest

# A little bit of knocking Mood
And all the fun is over for Good

# If you don't stop teasing around
Dirge of darkness will surround

# A chalky strain of colours line
Where the sun cube drops in Wine.

# Winding through her curvy fars
Breezing through the waves apart

# Coasting on the nearest shore
Boasting of her skills so more...

# Winking at her gorgeous charm
Wonder, how she spreads her arm

# Mystic moment engulfs the fair
Fisher-folk dance above their share

# She chuckles at her own treat
My heart sinks at her retreat

# The day I gain the courage or power
I will cover One Mile to shower!


And, Oh yes, I tried to think of Desire as an impaired child wishing to cover a mile to the sea which he can see daily but not feel.
It is a desire because it is far from reality for him to realize such a small thing as he can now only visualize the lasting feeling.

Please Reply

I invite you all to share a short piece of a prized possession from one of my latest attempts.


Save thy laughter for sometime else
It's pounding on my Soul and Health.

Killer as u r by nature - O Dear
Take a pity on my Heart So Near.

Silky as ur hair flutter
Mark my word - My Genes utter :-

"If u r not my
I will die
Unless and Until u Reply".


The mood is of longing of a love-lorn person waiting for a response for his proposal when his lover has gone far away.
Most of the times we wait unto eternity for someone but our anxiety knows no bounds when they are out of sight as we fail to know if they nurture the same feelings for us.

I reflect on these thoughts and urge you all to make your feelings abreast when there is time, and not wait for the time to ripe!

Treasure Hunt

It is almost the end of a long long weekend in France on the occasion marking the end of World War (I) and I am already feeling perturbed, not because the war was over, but, to get back to the moribund practise.

I always need a reason to stay at home, which I enjoy to the hilt!
Actually, at home, I do nothing, and ... this NOTHING is a thing very difficult to manage.

I had penned down a few lines, during these tedious sessions, while trying to manage the "nothings" in my life.

I call this the Treasure Hunt.
I have given a clue, at the end of each paragraph, as to what they would mean to me if I were to superimpose emotions upon them...


# I search for stars in a cloudy night
I look for rains when sunny bright
(whimsical)

# I search for green on barren land
I look for well when filled with sand
(hope)

# I search for diamonds in a closed mine
I look for colours in jasmine
(crave)

# I search for money on the street
I look for comfort in defeat
(comfort/greed)

# I search for melody in drummer
I look for winter in summer
(uncertain)

# I search for taste in toothpaste
I look for refuge in the Chaste
(adventurous)

# I search for knowledge in search engine
I look for problems with my gene
(insatiable)

# I search for hairs on my comb
I look for peace in a silent tomb
(console)

# I search for a house to make it home
I look for faults to call it homme
(humane)


You can find a rhythm of "Search and Look" interlaced in the above stanzas in which I have tried to depict the extremities of life.

I tried to tread a thin path of sample evidence of the beast moulded in the beauty of the little happiness we garner from our day-to-day existence.

But, in the end it is a new beginning for we do not know the road to perfection. And, Perfection is the Quest for which we should embark on our Treasure Hunt in every little thing we do in our life.

Spirit of a Feather

With all my work, I am not sure if I actually notice anything around me.
This happened a few days back while I was on my way to the office and was a bit late.

I quite fell upon a cute little "Bird" on wheelchairs, cheering his other little friends in the football ground. It is not something I readily capture, but there was a certain element of longing in his eyes, to fly in the middle of the match, that I could not overlook.

I am not emotional but this incident infected me for sometime.
The whole day I was immersed in the look I had observed.

It is then that I made it a point to pen it down...


Like a feather I fly with a 'tuft' of
- a wind/
Like a feather I dance to the song of
- a wing...

Like a feather I swing to the moods of
- age/
Like a feather I cling to the beard of
- sage...

Like a feather I head to the east or
- west/
Like a feather I made to the crest of
- zest...

Like a feather I float on a boat of
- dream/
Like a feather I gloat on a sundried
- beam...

Like a feather I joke with a storm
- Enraged/
Like a feather I soak on a stone
- Encaged !!!


Perhaps, the way of life in France is cosy enough for the kid to have an automated wheelchair, but it does not differentiate him from the less privileged kids back in India. Entirely, both are on the same plane of paralyzation to feel any better at their points of numbness.

Now, I feel more gifted than before and will pledge to complain a little less to God.

A feather in the wings of a bird wishes to engage the storm and be responsible for the consequences at its own free will rather than to shred from the wings in a cage.

Nobody is Invincible, but, without a challenge, nobody is Alive!

Jar-Gone

The word "Jargon" means a term or phrase which is above common usage because it is only understood in specific circles.

I beg to take exclusive privilege (of my own) to massacre this terminology to fit this composition. According to my understanding, anything beyond comprehension of a layman is a Jargon.

Now, Jar-Gone (as is seen from the Title of this post) intends to bring out the complexity in the development of a human brain, which is still now a matter of subject for many to master. Hence I am justified when I call it a Jargon or Jar-Gone.

You will sympathize with this caricature only when you delve into the following few lines...

# There was Jar in my head/
Like a coccoon it lay dead/
With the drop of reasons it fed/
Sucking the blood from veins till red.

# The moons passed from -> new to full/
Helping me to be a -> few to fool/
The message was clear -> never to drool/
I felt I was -> a bit too cool!

# Today the coccoon has coloured wing/
I feel it like a fluttering thing/
The Jar is still in my head/
The lid is gone as I had said.

# Now, "Empty vessels make more noise"/
As if I had any better choice...


The human brain grows from young to old, from energetic to sloth.
But I perceive it from a mere spot to an infinite speck in my composition.
It always treads on the thin line of the Known and Unknown calculations, challenging our our very existence every second of our life.

It has been my prerogative to listen to my brain over my heart.
Now it is time I advise you all to follow your heart ... for, when the coccoon flies out of your Jar, it will be yet another Jar-Gone!

Elegy of Technology

It decimates me, deceivingly, the value of education and the life we lead today and the pace with which we set off to complete our years.
Sometimes we do not gauge the purpose of our being. Sometimes we do not have a goal.
If we did not have the birthdays to celebrate we would not even stop to count our age!!!

Most of our objective is to stand in a line (very robotic!!!) and follow suit. For SURVIVAL.
I am also part of this mockery and I do not deny it.

But I find time to dream, occasionally, to change all that...

The erudite devil resident in me justifies the moral of my immaterial words.
The illiterate saint stands a step closer to accomplishing a lifetime of separation...

Reach out in the open land/
Far from the work-at-hand

The dreams of all the electronic flair/
Nourished in my blood with care

Seemed so futile at the wee hours/
Like Petals dried gray in flowers

Sent off to a Racing start/
From my comfy Rocking art

Struggle-fight-Show-thy-might/
Invincibly cast their delight

Every mile of lust uncast/
Earthly fevers of sarcast

Mirrors suggest a heavy chest/
Inner-Outer both unrest

Growing trauma of demand/
Parents-wife-children remand

Squared-off, the seasons moan/
Gathered riches or Happy loan?

Renting sorrow from a careless borrow/
Or, narrow-hollow from the wealth furrow?

The blackhole of successful ploy/
Eclipsed the lifetime of Joy

Mere suffering has less pains/
Second stands the heavenly gains.

U and Us

Friends, we often have trysts with visions of fulfilment that had in some way evaded us in the past and we would like to live in the shades of the memories.
Memories, some haunting - some soothing , but all give a hope of tomorrow when everything will be fine.

And, in this relentless quest for Tomorrow, for what we missed in Past, we waste a lifetime of energy and opportunity in the Present.

I have read Paulo Coelho, say, in one of his memorable works, "When you want something in life, the entire Universe conspires in letting you have it!".

I believe him, but I am, after all, Human. And, I cannot resist the lust to be careless, at times, though ...

# Thinking of you All night/
I had a dream in my heart

Like the sky dons the stars/
A sheet of dark velvet scarf

Spotted with the sparkle of your Laugh/
The brightness of your Love.

# So beautiful was this sight/
The moon stood a witness

The Sun forgot to Rise/
I kept watching - You kept laughing
The Night was so Quiet !

# All of a sudden, the dew of Love/
Fell on your hand

And shivering with excitement/
You strung on my senses

The faith in me was Shattered/
By the disbelief of Joy.

# Were it you, Or were your Not?/
Yes! I could feel you...
I could fight for you...

I could care for you no More/
No Mortal can ever Ignore you.

# But, tonight, you are mine/
Be mine forever ~

AND, The Romance of Success
Was All Around Me,
Unto the Silent Night.

Looming Thoughts

I would like to begin with one of my compositions which is cynical but has a deep-rooted expression embedded in the lines.

To befit a promising start, I reconcile the road to friendship in exactly what I do not wish to believe....

Scavenging on a Notion/
Far from the Land,

Speaking with a Vengeance/
Scars on the Hand,

Scattering bloody Fashion/
Aye, Dracula Band!!!

See - Here Hate is Ration/
In times of Sand.

I hope my future endeavours would rise above the meaning to fulfill an enriching journey.