Poems by Gayatri Devi Borthakur

In search of that accomplished tree

Under which accomplished tree
A certain prince acquired accuracy
Supremacy
Became enable to enroll the definition of grief
In a fistful seeds of mustard

Today I willn’t narrate the story of that supreme_Buddha_
To enchant the legacy of the _Jatakamala_
Isn’t my aim too at this moment

I even don’t have the treasure of wisdom
Nor I became bereaved
For the swan of the Kapilavastu_*
In my childhood

Neither feeling the captivity of oldage or of disease
Is covering me

Still
I want that supreme, accomplished tree
To support my decaying soul

I am in great need
Indeed

That accomplished tree
For me is like a medicine
For my existence

To be present
In the present

Slowly
My poisonous breathe
With an aim to swallow me
Is sprouting
Like the python of the fairy tale

In my abode
Is a abode of weevil
Like the image of the insect
Which dislikes the greenery
Is starting to perish me
Is mincing me

I just want to rest
For a little while
Under that accomplished tree

Perhaps
I will be in illusion for that shadow

I don’t have any concept of salvation
I only wish to established myself
Only and only for my reincarnation
For my rainy future

To conclude
I may say
My father was only a soily farmer
The concept of supremacy is like dream for me
Too waiting the incomplete chapters of my life for light

That’s why I desire to be the mystic meditator
To revive the shadow of my life
To vow to be that accomplished prince
I
I just need that accomplished tree
It’s an urgency…

* The birth place of _Buddha_ .

Never ask a river about her age

Never ask a river about her age

A river surveys life
Measures experiences
Gathers seeds
Row or ripened

Sometimes in the moonlight
Uses to talk with the stars about the Sky
Or follows the tune of a yatch– heard or unheard

Sometimes
Recalls the stories
Stored in her bosom

Sometimes a river opens the sack of long conversation
Sings the myths
One by one
In a low voice

The shadow in the deepest corner of a river
Is always mysterious
Can’t be declared firmly
So in every step
A river has to face velification
Needs verification of her actions

Though there is no any plan to be a dead branch
Leaving the currents
Has to carry the sheet of disrepute

Still
Never ask a river about her age

A river ,like a woman
Is the very first School of life …

For whom _Radha_ is waiting..

For whom _Radha_ is waiting
On the mooring

Your _Krishna_ will come
Will play the flute
In the primitive tune

You will dance
In emence happiness

Your are submerged
In the imperishable stream of colours

The seven tunes of that magical flute
Must be like the sacred texts
For you
Must be in your mind
Must be in your heart
Must be in your prayers
Must be in your eyes
Must be in your dreams
Must be in your blood
Must be in your gestures

Must be an essential
Like breathe

Do you use to embrace those by analysis
Or is becoming inseparable from you
Day by day

Can you!
Can you Radha !
Feel the grief of the basil tree of the front yard?

Who are you !!

You too
Is like that plant..

What you haven’t?
What is there in your love?
In his name
In his fame
In his glance
In his smile
In his flute
In his entrance
In his establishment

On the mooring
For whom you are waiting for

your sacred aspiration will come?
Will he?

_Radha_ , you are a captive of incantation

Don’t you know that _Radha_

An ocean never
Estimates
Or cares for
Its flowing water
Only and only
A fertile address of pleasure is longed for…