Poetry Month

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P1100665Poem walks in the Deserted Streets at Night.

P1100444P1100442Fragrance of Spring Blooms Camellia smiles through my window the soft pink petals bloom the paths are covered with lilac lavender.

Two eyes look through the window
amazed at the benedictions of the nature.
I smell the fragrance of poetry blooming in April
as always and everyday a new poem
is being written on the petals of the flowers
and  on the fresh green leaves.

The two naked eyes of a woman can still see
through the parted curtains
through the iron bars of the traditions.

In this poetry season so many things
hang around on the tip of my pen

pulsating to form a poem:                                                                                                                       A woman is still being stoned somewhere                                                                           a woman is still being raped somewhere
a woman is being beaten to death somewhere

People are seeking freedom of thought
freedom of speech freedom to live                                                                                               seeking safety, respect and dignity                                                                                                   running for their lives                                                                                                                           disowning their countries                                                                                                                 seeking asylum from other lands                                                                                              drowning in the ocean on the way to freedom                                                                                   and dying instead.

Poetry month will go on and                                                                                                          many hearts wailing would go on                                                                                                       under the dark skies                                                                                                                                 a poem walks through the deserted places                                                                                         on the blood drenched streets of the city                                                                                             where every night shooting happens like fire crackers
and every night a number of young boys are injured                                                                    and one or two lost their lives….

I want to pen all the sadness and pain.                                                                                                 I want to tell the lamenting and crying mother                                                                                        whose heart bleeds with her young son                                                                                                             caught in between the cross-firing of madness                       if my words can stop her heart bleeding….

A new poem is being written                                                                                                          about all the centuries old issues                                                                                                  while thinking poetry in the moment                                                                                         frozen in the dead of the night
walking on the concrete sidewalk
I just stumbled on a big pothole                                                                                                        and fell backward landed on my right wrist.

And after… …                                                                                                                                               I could not even hold a pen in my hand                                                                                                   not even the mouse neither could I click                                                                                     with my fingers those letters                                                                                                               on the keyboard  to form a poem!

And the poetry month would be gone by                                                                                           leaving me with this incomplete poem and pain.

And the poem continues.

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Tribute 30jan

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30 January

30/01/2013 — kalseyS | Edit

30 January 1948

Father of the Nation Mahatma Gandhi was short dead by an angry violent man Nathu Ram Godsey who unfortunately did not want to breathe under the free sky; he opposed Gandhi ji’s non-violence doctrine to win back India’s independence from Britishers who ruled over India for about two centuries and enslaved India and its people’s mentality.

Gandhi ji said : “An eye for an eye will make the whole world blind.”
 
 Father of the Nation
On Bapu’s Anniversary: A dream of violence free society lives on!

ਅਹਿੰਸਾ ਪਰਮੋ ਧਰਮਾ

Non-Violence Is The Foremost Religion

Mohan Das Karam Chand Gandhi known as Mahatma Gandhi was born on 02 October 1869 in Porbandar, Gujarat India. He died on 30 January 1948 after accomplishing the struggle for India’s independence. Indian philosopher, writer, thinker and internationally esteemed for his doctrine of non-violence. Gandhiji was a great politician and spiritual leader of India.

Gandhiji said:

  • “Ahimsa (non-violence) is the highest duty. Even if we cannot practice it in full. We must try to understand its spirit and refrain as far as humanly possible from violence.”
  • “Hatred ever kills, love never dies; such is the vast difference between the two.”
  • “Hate the sin and not the sinner”.
  • “Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.”
  • “Truth is the breath of my life. The only virtue I want to claim is Truth and Non-violence. I lay no claim to super human powers. I want none.”
  • “Humanity is the key to success.”
  • “You may never know what results come of your action, but if you do nothing there will be no result.”
  • “An eye for an eye will make the whole world blind.”
  • “I offer you peace. I offer you love. I offer you friendship. I see your beauty. I hear your need. I feel your feelings. My wisdom flows from the Highest Source. I salute that Source in you. Let us work together for Unity, Love and Peace.”
  • “Be the change you want to see in the world.”

(Remembering a great teacher)

 
 
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Memory

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POETRY WALKS  IN MY DREAM

by Surjeet Kalsey

Poetry walks in my dream with me

to my inner being  every night

and it listens to my unspoken words

which throb with my every breath.

When poetry opens its eyes

the sun shines everywhere

and dew-drops become pearls.

Poetry walks the moonless night

to a spectrum of colours.

 

Words’ sacred fragrance tells me:

not to lament on what is lost

and yearn for what you need

to live every moment in full.

Breathe in the essence of

every moment and each moment

that embraces you would become poetry.

Poetry stands by me like my true self.

It holds the mirror of the sky

full of all the colours of the rainbow.

 

In a reoccurring dream

my feet walk on the same road

which goes on and on rapping

around those buff mountains

and sinks into that velvety valley.

My foot-steps end right there

I become a tree standing still there

my dream never ends keeps walking

on the unending realm of the unknown.

Memories go long way to

make us pick those pieces

left somewhere in the pages of history.

 

Memories knit words and images

colours and fragrance in my dreams

and poetry walks with me every night

words illuminate the never ending path

the moonless night lit up the sky.

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Poetry is a never ending love affair of the heart. 

To Mother

Mother I will born again!

 I look into the mirror

a history shrieks at my back

I carry the ruins of the civilization.

Every woman does. Every mother does.

 

I look into your eyes: the darkness

life perhaps is walking dead

through me and someone tells me:

                        you shouldn’t be

                        shouldn’t be alive.

 

This is a night before,

this is a moment before

I allowed myself

                        to be scraped out

                        of your womb,

my unformed

unborn shreds of tiny body.

 

The devil of tradition

takes over and hovers upon you

the very moment

you conceived me.

They say they see a devil

in a pregnant body,

fearful of the unknown

demand only male air

which sometimes they

themselves don’t have

in their male body.

How easy it is to play ignorant

and blame a woman for

not delivering a male child!

 

History laughs.

Nothing has changed

between now and then

from the ancient midwife’s

making the newborn baby girl

suck her poisonous thumb

to see her unborn body

through ultrasounds and

wash her out. Difference?

Only it looks more accurate,

more sure, professional,

and six months time saver.

 

After I opened my eyes

for the very first time

in the day light

I found myself alive

pulsating, and  crying.

Only after sucking on

the poisonous thumb

I was declared a dead-born!

 

Now it has changed.

I am not even allowed

to be born.

Sex-selection labs,

testing and selecting

        the only sex: male!

considering female foetus

as sub-human demon

her right to be born

            is taken away!

 

Traditional bound parents

find  a relief in aborting

their female air.

They earn an other chance

a privilege to try again

until they get it ‘right’.

 

Mother, I feel your sighs

inside your womb

I sipped your salty tears

inside your womb.

You know this sanctuary

this sacred place you offer

for both male and female

is safe temple for me.

Over a span of time

and countless loathings later

I will come again.

I will be born again and again.

I will dwell in this sacred place again!

Don’t you worry mother!

I will be there again!!

You know, I know

if we keep vanishing ourselves

the day is not far  away

when the human race

will no longer be there!

 – A poem by Surjeet Kalsey
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SuperMoon

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Curious about the bigger full moon
the night sky is much brighter
because when the moon floats on the horizen
it is a magic  it is near the earth and it creates
an illusion of making the moon seem bigger


Some Thoughts

Some Thoughts


 
New poetry book: Colours of my Heart/ by Surjeet Kalsey
 
 
 Poems in  Surjeet Kalsey’s new poetry book  “Colours of My Heart” portray picture and mannerism in which women are being treated in our society even now while living in the most advanced countries.
                                                                                    –  Publisher
 
In this solitude – broken things/your body did not leave the house./I was punished to live/with a dead body/which silently was eroding/ my energies my self-esteem/and was stealing my soul!” This plaint from the poem ‘Living with the dead’ illustrates the poet’s sombre reflections on vagaries of life.  Another poem ‘The Priority’ dwells upon the manner in which women are treated in the society. However, if you are under the impression that this is an anthology of laments, banish the thought. There is a streak of feminist assertiveness in the poems like “An Incarnation of the Kali” and ‘A Warrior’ when she proclaims, “I am a woman warrior/who believes in Self/and only in myself/and does not need Krishna/to be my charioteer/and utter sermons from the Gita“. The feminist motif is predominant in this collection, as typified by the poem ‘I don’t intend’ (85). The term ‘feminist’ here is used in the sense more as a woman’s awareness of its rights and her rightful place in the society. The poet also portrays other moods ranging from reflections on lunar waxing and waning to self-abnegation.
                                              -Brig R K Sharma,   The Tribune, Chandigarh
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Colours of my Heart

“Surjeet Kalsey’s new book of poems ‘Colours of My Heart’ is an introspective perspective of the plight of all women. Kalsey’s  selection and placement of words weaves a poetic pathway that awakens and heightens the reader’s senses. Her use of colour as a definition for emotion paints from a palette all women can identify with a world where men and women betray each other, i.e.: ‘Jealousy’ …so they prey on other women’s partners; with exotic lingerie and vodka, they hunt their prey, and suck on male vulnerabilities… Her writing is provocative, hopeful and empowering.”

-Valerie B.-Taylor,   President/Facilitator New West Writers                                      Co-ordinator/Facilitator Renaissance Books
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Colours of My Heart by Surjeet Kalsey, Tarlochan Publishers Chandigarh, 2011.   Pages: 96. Rs. 160 (India) Canada/USA $15 + postage    To secure  your copy of the book please contact at this email:
kalseysurjeet@hotmail.com
Tarlochan Publishers, Chandigarh, India.Watch for the coming book launch and reading dates..