ppeebbblless oonn thhe seaashorre

PEBBLES ON THE SEASHOREPEBBLES ON THE SEASHOREPEBBLES ON THE SEASHORE

ISBN : 978-81-951800-3-5

Most Respectfully, Dedicated to My Loving Parents

My Mother Late Brahma Kumari Devi Mata and my Father Sri Dudh Nath Prasad who brought me up with love and care and taught me the lessons of humanity.

PEBBLES ON THE SEASHORE

Dr. Amar Nath PrasadProfessor and Head

Department of English

Jagdam College (J.P.University)

Chapra, Bihar, INDIA

Publisher :Aditi Publication, Raipur, Chhattisgarh, INDIA

.

PEBBLES ON THE SEASHORE

Year : 2021Edition - 01Date of Publication : 02/03/2021

Dr. Amar Nath PrasadProfessor and HeadDepartment of EnglishJagdam College (J.P.University)Chapra, Bihar, INDIA

ISBN : 978-81-951800-3-5

Copyright© All Rights ReservedNo parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored ina retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by anymeans, mechanical, photocopying, recording orotherwise, without prior written permission of the authorand publisher.

Price : Rs. 150/-

Printed byYash Offest,Lily Chowk, Purani Basti RaipurTahasil & District Raipur Chhattisgarh, India

Publisher :Aditi Publication,Near Ice factory, Opp Sakti Sound Service Gali,Kushalpur, Raipur, Chhattisgarh, INDIA

ForewordDr. Amar Nath Prasad's poems remind us what

we miss today by taking us closer to the spirit ofnature in all its dimensions. The lilt of the measuredlines, the swinging notes of rhythmical stresses, andthe capacity to partake of the delights of nature seemto creep back in the poems that piece togethervignettes of human emotions come to fullwakefulness. Man, one can say, is back in the armsof nature seeking once again the linkages that fedhis being with inexhaustible joi de vivre, whichsomewhere in the march along the highway ofrationalist philosophy and material triumphs gotsevered. Nature, distanced from man, stood asidewatching the desperation of his galloping progressas the more he acquired, the more barren he feltinside.

In one of his opening verses, ‘Man and Nature’the poet says,

Nature ever ready to yield her all,Scarcely we hear her cordial call.

There runs a sad streak all along as the lonelyman trudges back to the neglected paths torediscover himself, amidst colonnades of soaringtrees, rustling garlands of leaves and flowers andsunset glow of darkling horizons.

Let me go to the depth of sea

I

Where pearls and diamonds lie,Let me go to the meadows and lea,

Where farmers work and die.(Priest of Nature)

Reminiscent of the late eighteenth – centurycontemplative generation of twilight zone poets, thedominant mood in the present anthology is one ofself–introspection which gains depth with deeperexploration of nature. The larger frame of perceptionwhich emerges from these probing appears toconvey that the pristine relation between man andnature urgently needs to be restored. In a sense Hafiz,Rumi, Tagore and English Romantics had attainedthis vision long ago, by discovering nature’sboundless benediction and the divine blessings thatmake us realize that in nature and man there existand flourish all the piety and religiosity variousscripture preach so assiduously. Love for oneanother in the understanding of Sufi poets of Persia,is the gateway to realization of all we seek,

Love is the astrolabe of all we seek,Whether you feel divine or earthly love,

Ultimately we’re destined for above––– Rumi, The Masnavi, Book I

John Keats came closer to it when he summedup Ode on a Grecian Urn by declaiming, “Beautyis truth, truth beauty – that is all;Ye know on earth,and all ye need to know.”

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Dr. Amar Nath Prasad’s poems lead us into thatlit–up world of self–realization with his brilliantmetaphors and palpably expressive images. The poetin him once again becomes a child, so muchcelebrated by Wordsworth. While reading some ofhis mid–anthology verses one felt Mrs. SarojiniNaidu’s restive Soul’s Prayers have once again begunto agitate the poetic sensibility by muttering.

Both pain and joy I want to drinkWhich thou hast made for us

(Divine Life)

This is a world that prides itself upon theenormous range of achievements andaccomplishments that have banished from man’s lifeall other considerations save the one which driveshim further afield in search of more and ever more.What these poems highlight is the intrinsic contrastbetween his location in his own world and hisyearning for nature’s peace and contentment. Manyof the poems in the present anthology bring out thestark barrenness of a soul implied of sense ofdirection and noble percipience of life.

The worthy man is now a neglected dressWhich the young of today seldom wear

(The Thirsty Tree)

Lyrical affirmation of the poet’s submission tothe ultimate authority of God carries the overtonesof Rabindranath Tagore’s repeated lamentation

III

expressive of lost opportunity while the spring wasthere, and the hungering soul feels with frustrationthat its basket remains empty. ‘The Sinking Boat’,‘My Dark Cave’, ‘Withered Flower of Noon’, ‘LoveRemains Forever’, ‘Praise to God’ and many otherpoems reiterate man’s trust in his Maker and yearningfor self–negation as the only way to salvation. Veryrarely do we come across poems written in this vein.These effusions take us back on the characteristicallyIndian poetic grounding into the ways ofapprehending reality that rely on complete surrenderto the Supreme Ruler of the universe.

Many poets of the past sustained in Englishlanguage this solid base of Indian tradition from ManMohan Ghosh to Toru Dutt to Sarojini Naidu andSri Aurobindo.

The present poems naturally seem to constitutean extension of that tradition resonating with theeternal voice which expresses man’s inner calls andnature’s sublime response to him.

That Dr. Amar Nath Prasad has chosen metricalform for his poems is another striking aspect of thiscollection. In modern poetic attitude, metricalcompositions have somehow come to be treatedeither jocularly or with a degree of non–seriousdismissive gesture. To be writing in iambicpentameter and neatly sculpted stanzas of measuredlines is often seen to belong to an era that overflowed

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with emotions over rainbow–and–cuckoo scenario;a digital world of corporate culture finds it out ofcharacter. Finding a new significance in the use ofprosodic orderliness must, in my opinion, be takenin all seriousness as indicative of protest against thatdisorder and chaos which have been treated moreas a cult in our days rather than mere fashion. Thenihilistic tendencies of deifying violence of disjointedexpression can only be countered by a healthy returnto beauty of poetic expression.

Dr. Amar Nath Prasad achieves this admirably inhis lyrics. It is a difficult art to master. One needs topossess a degree of achieved mastery over variousmetrical forms, sound qualities of words, a sense ofrhyming expressions and diverse other poeticdevices in order to articulate the feelings in mellifluouslines. It is refreshing to see that Dr. Amar Nath Prasadhas shown a singular awareness of the musicalproperties of English language and an easy facilitywith the deft handling of prosody. That his subjectmatter finds an appropriate form, mutually “interanimating” one another, to use Mikhail Bakhtin’sfamous expression, cannot be an accident. Formarises here out of the compulsions of subject matter,as any collection of poems must truly demonstrate.

The present book holds deep relevance for us interms of highlighting both the contemporary society’smalaise and urgency to create in our lives a meaningfulspace for nature in a bid to re–discover the channels

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of vitality and vigour which remained dried up forcenturies.

Prof. Sharad RajimwaleFormer Head and retired Professor

Department of EnglishJai Narain Vyas University,

Jodhpur, INDIA

VI

PREFACE

Poetry, I think, is neither the spontaneousoutpourings or to quote T.S.Eliot ‘a turning looseof emotions’, nor a cerebral gymnastics ofassembling facts and figures, but it is in between thetwo. Simply emotions emanating from the solitarymusings and various other feelings and thoughtsscarcely make us get on the zenith of perfectionunless they are woven into the fabric of art andbeauty, images and symbols and other tools ofsublimity and creativity. So, a perfect blending offeeling and form, heart and mind, beauty and truth isthe real feature of good and great art, such art whichis neither obstructed by caste, class and creed noraffected by any conservative and disrupting visionsof the artist; rather it must be suffused with the variousingredients of pleasures and raptures making usforget the fret and fever, the tension and tussle oflife for a while and transport us to the realm ofsupreme bliss. A perfect poet has a special gift andpower to change the unspoken into spoken, theunheard into heard, the dreamy and fantastical visioninto reality.

The present book in your hand is the collectionof my various poems composed during my solitarymusings in the lap of natural surroundings which Ioften visit time and again to get rid of the pangs andpanics of life.

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I am very grateful to the editors of those booksand journals in which my poems have been earlierpublished. I express my thanks to the editors of thefollowing literary books and journals:

1. Metverse Muse (more than a dozen poemspublished)

2. The Indian Journal of English Studies.3. Sloka (A literary journal published by

A.K.Vishnu from Akola)

4. NewsLetter (published by Indian Associationfor English Studies)

5. The Expression (Edited by Dr. Ashok Kumar,Rai Bareli)

This collection of poems saw the light of theday after the co-operation of a number of my friendsand well wishers to whom I want to record mygratefulness. They are Swami Atidevanand Maharaj,the Secretary, Ram Krishna Ashram, Chapra, Dr.M.B.Gaijan, Bhavnagar, Gujarat, Prof. D.C.Chambial, Himachal Pradesh, Dr. AravindChaudhary, Assam, Dr. Harish Mangalam,Ahmedabad, Dr. A.K. Gupta, Betul, Dr. AravindKumar, Assam, Dr. Uddhav Jane, Prof. SatishBarbuddhe, Dr. Chaube, Dr. Nilesh Tare and Dr.Varsha Gawande from Maharashtra, Dr. S.John PeterJoseph, Palayamkottai, Tamil Nadu, Dr. D.N. Sinha,Patna, Dr. Jaya Srivastava, Lucknow, Dr. MeenuDubey, Faizabad, Dr. B.P.Sinha, Ranchi, Dr. S.K.

VIII

Paul, Muzaffarpur and Dr. Nagendra Kumar Singh,Chapra . I am also very thankful to Dr. S.M.R.Azam,Dr. Binod Kumar Singh, Dr. Vijay Kumar Sinha, Dr.Gajendra Kumar, Dr. Kumar Moti, Dr. U.S.Ojha, Dr.Ezaz Alam, Prof. A.K. Pandey, Dr. Sandip Kumar,Dr. Aiman Riyaz, Dr. M.H. Siddiqui, Dr. R.P. Singh,Dr. S.N. Jha and all other well-wishers for theirsupport and suggestion. I also extend my heartiestthanks to Dr. Lalan Pandey, Headmaster, RajapatttiHigh School-cum-Inter College, Rajapatti, Saran, Dr.Sunil Dutt Singh, Bhubaneshwar, Mr. Suman Singh,Vishunpura, Chapra and Sri Manoj Kumar Mishra,Barauli and Prof Hemant Kumar, Mubarakpur, Saran,Shri Ramesh Kumar Sahu, Katra, Chapra. Dr. SharadRajimwale, Jai Narayan Vyas University, Jodhpurdeserves my special thanks and gratitude for perusingmy poems and writing a very scholarly forewordfor this book.

My faithful students Dharmendra KumarPandey, Dr. Pramod Kumar Singh, Dr. K.K.Rai, Dr.Valmiki, Dr. Amit Kumar Labh, Dr. Chandan KumarRakesh, Santosh Kumar Manjhi, Dr. Madhu Kumari,Sri Deep Narayan Singh, Neha Singh, Mirnal Anand,Mani Ram, Abhay Kumar Sinha, Dr. Ishtyak Ahmad,Dr. Saiful Ahad, Dr. Viniti Kumari, Dr. Jai PrakashSingh and many more deserve my special thanksfor encouring my spirit of composing poems.

I also extend my heartiest thanks and affectionto my wife Mrs. Suman Prasad, my son Rahul

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Kumar, my daughter-in- law Amisha Kumari, mydaughter Rajani Kumari and my son-in-law Mr. BireshPrasad for their support and their cheerful companyduring the preparation of this poetic output.

Last but not the least, my thanks are also dueto Mr. Rajeev Kumar and the computer operator,Shakti Nagar, Chapra who composed the manuscriptand the publisher, Mr. Ajay Kumar Agrawal Prop.Aditi Publication, Raipur who brought out this bookso elegantly and promptly.

Amar Nath Prasad

X

CONTENTSS.N. Title P.N.01. The Priest of Nature 0102. Those Who Never Cheat 0303. Man and Nature 0404. Mother’s Lap 0605. Withered Flower of Noon 0806. The Dying Earth 1007. The King of Kings 1108. My Dark Cave 1209. The Thirsty Tree 1310. Pleasure and Pain 1411. The Path of Soul 1612. The Sinking Boat 1713. The Book of Nature 1914. Glory Be to God 2115. Childhood 2316. There is Love in Every Flower 2417. Childhood Memory 2518. In the Race of Life 2719. Love Remains for Ever 2920. Bounties of Nature 3021. A Tribute to Soldiers 3122. Divine Life 3323. A Bird without Nest 3524. The Music of Nature 3625. Love 3726. How He Won His Love 3927. Praise to God 4128. What Is Art 4329. The Lions of Cave 45

S.N. Title P.N.30. An Uprooted Plant 4731. Under the Veil She Grinds Wheat 4932. My Native Village 5133. Invincible Art 5334. The Gifts of Nature 5435. Thoughts on a Sea-shore 5536. The Treasure of Thoughts 5737. A Soldier without a Gun 59

The Priest of Nature

Let me go to the depth of seaWhere pearls and diamonds lie;Let me go to the meadows and leaWhere farmers work and die.

Free from every fever and fretHe enjoys the life of pleasure,Caught in ever financial netWhich we hardly measure.

Blithe and happy in the lap of natureA saintly priest indeed;Even in hardships he gets pleasureAnd seldom pines for meed.

He gets his bread from the fieldIn which he pours his bloodHe fights his life without any shieldTo face the drought and flood.

He pulls a tired and miserable lifeIn little clay-made houseHis life becomes a bundle of strifeAnd he a trapped mouse.

Pebbles on the Seashore 1

He smiles and sings to his cropIn gay and jolly moodHe sheds his sweat drop by dropTo earn his livelihood.

No poets write, no bards singHe unlamented dies-In funeral march, no bells ringNo one sobs and sighs.

2 Pebbles on the Seashore

Those Who Never Cheat

From dawn to dusk the peasant pours his sweatHe is brought up, dies in the lap of loanHe is caught ever in the net of Great FateIn the hour of grief he does groan and moan.

I saw him ever work in rain and heatWhat a great saint of nature he indeed!He roots out grasses to make the field neatSo as to open the eyes of the seed.

Before the sun rises he gets up soonFor fodder he goes to fetch green grassHe enjoys the soothing rays of full moonBut he takes birth and dies in debt, alas!

For peasants such I wish to bow and greetWho feed the whole nation and never cheat.


Man and Nature

Meadows green and mountain peakBudding flowers, tremendous teakPattering rain and murmuring beesAll things beautiful quite at ease.

Let me go to the realm of NatureFor perennial thoughts from every creatureLet me dive unfathomed watersFor gems and pearls where everything matters.

Nature ever ready to yield her allScarcely we hear her cordial callEvery particle is eager to giveBut it is nectar in the sieve

Modern society, oh! Full of corruptionDespotism, nepotism, desolation, destruction!Hatred and hypocrisy reign the worldMutilated multitude O, my God!

Our heart caught in the web of a spiderThough soul seeks to soar like a gliderToday mind and body stand apartFlower without fragrance, pilot without cart.


No cuckoos sing, no peacocks danceAnimals wild are seen by chanceClassical songs and dance and folkloreHeritage, custom, culture, no more,

I feel elated in the lap of natureBut badly enmeshed in domestic fetterMay God give me peace and pleasureThat I could suck in full measure.

Nature never did betray— William Wordsworth

One touch of Nature makes the wholeworld kin.

— William Shakespeare The poetry of earth is never dead.

— John Keats


Mother’s LapThose golden days are now no moreWhen I was a little childI played amidst the natural sightO how so charmed and mild!

Innocence was my best friendWho saved from so many evilsNow I always feel aloneAmong the dangerous devils.

Now I lead a deserted lifeOn this sapless selfish landHow can fruits be easily gotWhen trees are rooted in the sand?

Like a bird in the open skyI did always sing and flyNow I am a bird of cageAnd count my days to die.

Now I wish to return againThe world of love and peaceOnce again I want to tasteRaptures of love and kiss.


I got more than pearls and diamondsAlways in my mother’s lapBetween me and my First FriendThere was a little gap.

Mother is the name for God in the lipsand hearts of little children.

— Thackeray A mother is a mother still,

The holiest things alive.—S.T. Coleridge

All that I am or hope to be,I owe to my angel mother.

—Abraham Lincoln One good mother is worth hundred

teachers.— English Proverb


Withered Flower of Noon

Under the veil and inside houseHer life is fettered in the chainIn the midnight she does weepOver her life’s loss and gain.

She recalled her parents kindWho brought her up with careBut in this house she now feelsAs a lost child in a fair

Her husband drinks and gambles muchAnd beats her always day and nightNow she lives in a chamber darkAnd longs to see the soothing light.

She was red rose ever bloomingIn garden of her parent’s homeNow she leads a life of slaveNever allowed to move or roam.

Under the veil she grinds wheatAnd sighs and sobs on her fateShe cleans and brooms the ‘haveli’ wholeAnd bound to live within the gate.


Seldom he pays any heed to herBut threats her again and againShe is a withered flower of noonWhich longs for shower of rain.

Women, is this happinessThis lying buried beneath a man?

— Kamala Das Honour women! they entwine and weave

heavenly roses in our earthly life.— Schiller

Women are wiser than man because theyknow less and understand more.

— James Stephens


The Dying Earth

Like ‘Kamdhenu’ cow nature is full of boonEach and every thing hath something to sayThe modern man will know her late or soonHow, for man, she is working night and day.

It is she who brings us up in her lapLike a teacher she doth teach lessons greatBut we are busy in changing world’s mapShe is busy in improving man’s fate.

The morning flower in the summer rainThe blue and red sky at setting hourAll the things of nature are sound and saneBut, like dry leaves, she does wait for shower.

Like sharp knife nature is both boon and curseFor this dying earth, she is the only nurse.


The King of Kings

Of wealth and beauty man does brag and boastHe never knows things are bound to dacayHe seldom hates these things at any costIn the affairs of Time man hath a little say.

Like a cruel lion Time kills every oneIt makes no difference between high and lowLike the cloud it covers the rising sunAnd makes even the powerful kings to bow.

But never it can kill my Love profoundDespite Time’s dangerous blows my love shinesCan in the dark paws of Time love be bound?No, it’s a pearl that shines even in mines.

Love is that gift of God which ever glowsIn front of king of kings it never bows.


My Dark Cave

I live in such a world where men despiseTo one another for petty reasonsHere in the clouds the sun does seldom riseWinter seems to cover the whole seasons.

All my friends who promise not to departIn the vortex now they left me aloneThey have done their research in cheating artAnd always speaks in an insulting tone.

O my God! Give me shelter in Thy breastThe withered plant now seeks Thy sweet showerI am helpless like a bird without a nestBless me a place in your soothing bower.

Now I do feel Thy patience which Thou gaveWould give me the light in my dark cave.


The Thirsty Tree

My innocence is depleting fastLike a trapped bird she flutters for flightTo go back again in the realm of pastSo as to fetch the Promethean Light.

The voice of soul is duped by the dull brainSeldom we dive deep into our rich pastAll things scattered like a derailed trainThough, on the track, it was running fast.

Worthy man is now a neglected dressWhich the young of today seldom wearNow only the worst get the awards freshNo reverence is paid to the great and seer.

A day or two the sun will rise againThe thirsty tree will dance in the sweet rain.


Pleasure and Pain

God has made this beautiful earthAnd bestow both pleasure and painEven in the land of parching sandHe ever showers balming rain

Both gay and grief are gift of GodBy which our life is runNever shed your costly tearsEvery thing will be done

God has made our road smoothBut placed some bumps aheadMan does suffer in this worldBecause of his love for greed.

I wish to enjoy both peace and painWithout any laugh or cryGod will give a loving touchThe tree which is robbed and dry.

The only thing the man should doTo believe in God’s graceOnly with his eternal helpWe win the dangerous race.


I am happy with what I haveTo get both pleasure and sorrowI only act in the living presentMay God help my tomorrow.

Nature never did betray— William Wordsworth

Pleasure is flower that fades;rememberance is the lasting perfume.

— J.V.Richer Rich the treasure,

Sweet the pleasure,Sweet is pleasure after pain.

— John Dryden He whose heart is not attached to the

objects of sense finds pleasure withinhimself.

— Lord Shri Krishna Pleasure is frail like a dewdrop, while it

laughs it dies.— Rabindranath Tagore


The Path of Soul

Diamonds are hidden in the layers of coalIn the forest dark sandal woods are foundSo is always hidden the shining soulWho sings the songs of life in silent sound

Great saints do listen to the silent callBut mind, like spider, does weave the threadIt tries to turn the soul’s nectar into gallCan Great Soul not shine even in dark shade?

In the sweet sound of soul I sing a songEven in the hours of grief and sorrowThe path of soul is smooth, wide and longIt goes to God today or tomorrow

Let not mind erect bumps in its fresh wayOnly then mind be quite blithe and gay.


The Sinking Boat

No one cares the loss of cultureNo one dares to water and nurture.Faith and belief are loosing groundFolklore, dance are seldom found.Culture is now a withered flowerUrgently needs irrigation or shower.

A man of worth always yellsA notorious man never fails.He is praised every whereHe is leader and a mayor.What he does is always goodCorruption is his favourite food.

Classical songs depleting fastSeldom we value the things of past.The boat of innocence sinking deepThe pilot drives a radarless ship.Cold philosophy dominating allScience is master, man is doll.


I want to save the sinking boatThough I am now a tattered coat.I want to dive the depth of timeThe world is now a bundle of crime.I want to breathe a life in artThis way I should play my part.

Faith is the bird that sings when thedawn is still dark.

—Rabindranath Tagore Faith is the root of all blessings.

— Jeremy Taylor I feel no need for any other faith than

my faith in human beings.—Pearl S. Buck

Faith without works is dead.—Bible

Faith must trample under foot all reason,sense and understanding.

— Martin Luther


The Book of Nature

Drops of rain in rainy seasonMake the peasants glad and gayThe thirsty leaves begin to bloomLike lily in the month of May

What a lovely scene it is!When plants and trees dance in rainI jumped with joy and went out homeSuddenly become a child again.

Raindrops on the lotus leavesGleaming more than shinning gemPattering rain and sweeping soundMade me merry more than fame.

Bubbles float but die so soonAs human being on mortal earthAfter summer rain does comeLike grief and mirth, life and birth.

Fish in pond and ditch are happyGetting rain drops more and moreCroaking frogs and thundering cloudsAll are singing melodious lore.


In the thunder of the cloudThe peasants plant the paddy seedEven in rain they plough the fieldThe book of nature will they read.

One thing is certain and rest is lies;The flower that once blown forever dies.

— Omar Khayyam Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.

— Andrew Marvell God grows weary of great kingdoms

but never of little flowers.—Rabindranath Tagore

God made the flowers to beautify theearth and cheer man’s careful mood.

— William Wordsworth


Glory Be to God

The rising sun in mountain lapLooks like gleaming golden ballSlow it rises inch by inchAmid the icy mountains tall

The rays of sun in different shadesFall on meadows green and darkThe shephard with his grazing sheepJumps with joy like singing lark.

Like Vedic chant in religious shrineBirds are singing rhythmic soundOn roses red and lilies whiteBees are buzzing all around.

Among the birds and blooming rosesThere is peace and there is pleasureIn her only motherly lapMan can bloom in perfect measure.

The selfish man now cuts down treesMakes many holes in ozone layerHe knows not how to live with herAnd dance and play in happy pair.


Man is led by mind not heartTo nature he seldom pays any heedHow can fruits and flowers be got?If there is dry and rotten seed.

Every man is a poet when he is in love.—Plato

Poets were the first teachers ofmankind.

— Horace Poets have a license to lie.

—Pliny Never durst poet touch a pen to write,

Until his ink were tempered with love’ssighs.

—Shakespeare Poets are the unacknowledged

legistators of mankind.— P.B.Shelley


Childhood

Childhood period pure and chasteLittle tension, always restLike a lamp a child is simpleNo concern with any principleFlying on the wings of joyI always played with little toyI often took enjoyments pureNature was ever there to cure.I gazed and gazed the golden sightThrough the eyes of love and lightLike mountain water I was freshAs bright as the morning face.With great delight I saw the moonHow my life was full of boon!Like a singing bird in the skyI did sing and seldom cry.But now I lead a life of griefOn dirty dust like faded leafEntangled with numerous sinsI fell like fish without fins.


There Is Love in Every Flower

Natural scene is full of gleeHere our life is sweet and freeThe shining sun on mountain whiteHow beautiful this charming sight!Nearby mount there is a lakeWhere a lotus stands under neckThe drop of water on its petalLook like pearls on costly metal.The blades of grass are full of dewJust like pearls quite fresh and newHere flowers bloom, they never fadeIn cheerful mood they toss their head.There is love in every flowerThere is peace in every bowerBut man does seldom pay any heedBadly bound by class and creed.


Childhood Memory

Childhood memory pure and sweetFills my heart with merry and joyI bear in mind the golden days-When I was little boy.

I jumped with joy to see the moonPeeping through the clouded sky;I was blesssed with heavenly boonWhich man can never buy.

I played with friends in happy moodUnder the big bunyan tree,My heart and soul had only goodKnew the art of flying free.

The sun-set rays on mountain topsA rainbow leaned over them-I enjoy much in reaping cropsEven better than a game.

Thoughts I found in little flowerWhich danced in the vernal woodChirping birds in homely bowerFeed their young nourishing food.


I long to go back childhood pastWhere king of innocence reigned,I feel alone in this universe vastWhere thoughts are always feigned.

The childhood shows the man asmorning shows the day.

—John Milton Children are like wet cement; whatever

fall on them makes an impression.— Hain Ginott

The child is father of the man— William Wordsworth

Love is a boy, by poet’s styled,Then spare the rod, and spoil the child.

—Samuel Butler Of all the animals, the boy is the most

unmanageable.—Plato


In the Race of Life

Like rise and fall of a sea-shoreDespair and delight come and goThey are blessed with a blended loreGiven both to friend and foe.

People hate a poisonous thingBut life is sometimes saved by itA man stung by scorpion stingIs cured by it and becomes fit.

Both joy and pain I want to getWhich God has given to allGlee and gloom come soon or lateTo rich and poor, big and small.

Plants that bloom are bound to fadeIn scorching heat of sun-Both life and death, light and shadeIn the race of life they run.

But life succeeds in the long raceIn a deft and daring man;Success comes to those who faceAnd move tirelessly like a fan.


O God! make me sad and gayEqually I wish to tasteOn flute of life I want to playThe song of sorrow and of jest.

Life is but an endless series ofexperiments.

— M.K.Gandhi Life is a tragedy when seen in a close

up but a comedy in a long shot.— Charlie Chaplin

A life spent worthily should bemeasured by deeds, not by years.

— R.B.Sheridan A useless life is an early death.

— Goethe Life is a flower of which love is the

honey.— Victor Hugo


Love Remains for Ever

Things on earth are bound to dieHowever fine they areOnly love remains for everNever be caught in chains and bar

Love can neither be paid by wealthNor by precious gold or powerIt is an eternal plant of heavenThat ever blooms with fruit and flower

The mother shows her love to childNot by dint of selfish reasonHer love is like a blooming plantFull of scent in spring season

A man of love sings like larkEven in the hour of sorrowIt is such a precious giftWhich no one lend or borrow.


Bounties of Nature

Tiny birds in the leafy bowerMerry and joy in the vernal showerSinging songs in happy moodHow their lives are always good!Vegetable fresh, mango sweetLily and rose ever to greetThe orange tree in moonlit nightHow beautiful this natural sight!In nature there is mirth and joyPeacocks dance as the playful boyCuckoos sing on the branch of treeHow their lives are sweet and free!The man who lives in natural lapVery rarely he feels a gapHe eats his bread which he growsHis face does glow like morning rose.Plants and green trees give him airAll are there to nurse and careHe pours his sweat in field and leaHow his life is full of glee!


Tribute to Soldiers

A soldier works all day and nightOn the mountains tough and chillyWithout any rest he guards and fightSeldom he talks of rose and lily.

Both man of mind and of soulHe wants to be blithe and gayTo do the duty is his goalEver alert on mountain, bay.

Like a sailor he bravely sailsThe boat on turbulent riverOn icy lands he seldom yellsIn the hour of fret and fever.

They kill terrorists like the cropAnd drag them from the hiding placeAnd shed their blood drop by dropOnly to free us from the mess.


I bow my head to soldiers boldWho lost their joy and mirthWith great respect my hands are foldTo salute their priceless birth.

When you know the truth, the truth makesyou a soldier.

— M.K. Gandhi If a man has not discovered something that he

will die for, he is not fit to live.— Martin Luther King

Fighting is a coward’s art of attackingmercilessly when we are strong, and keepingout of harm’s way, when we are weak.

— G.B. Shaw The true soldier fights not because he hates

what is in front of him, but because he loveswhat is behind him.

— G.K. Chesterton Cowards die many times before their death;

the valiant never taste death but once.— William Shakespeare (Julius Caesar)


Divine Life

I want to lead a life divineWhere grief does seldom comeI want to drink Thy sweet wineTo go where I come from

Both pain and joy I want to drinkWhich Thou hath made for usMy leaking boat is about to sinkIt wants an anchor thus.

The friend who promised to give his handHis help is now no moreAll sorts of grief have come in bandFor knocking at my door.

Men now always loose their faithIn Thy eternal GraceThou hath made both life and deathWhich all should ever face.

Thou are the only source of lightThe light that never dies-Give it to my inner sightWhich always sobs and sighs


My soul is afraid not of painShe wants it more and moreI am lost in the dark denMy boat now wants a shore

May God fill my empty jarWhich nobody wants to careYou may either make or marDo whatever foul or fair.

I have sound faith in youThat Thou could never deceiveWhatever given I’ll chewWould you warmly receive?


A Bird Without NestEagerly I wish to suck Thy sweet breastI am alone like a bird without nest.Quench my dead leaves with Thy rainNever I am afraid of Thy sweet painKnowest I well Thy sweet pain comes to testWhether in sorrow I am fake or bestTherefore more and more give me pain to drinkSave my leaking boat that is near to sinkStrong faith I have in Thy nectarine graceEven in pain; leisure is no lessKnowest I very well no pain, no gainThy pleasure and pain are cycle’s chain.Lost I am in this world of short lived fairNo kiths and kins are here to love and careThe only help is my strong faith in youAlthough my eyes are flashed with golden dewNo one is there beside my ailing bedThe world gave me nothing but tears to shed.


The Music of Nature

From mountains twins the sun is taking birthThe little birds are chirping in full mirthNew-born rays are showering like golden rainHere life has only freedom-never chain.Between these mountains the half sun well looksIt gives delight even better than books.In the pond the lotus is deflowering lipsAll things are peaceful here like anchored shipsThe winds and streams are singing songs so sweetEverything in nature is clean and neat.The bees are buzzing on the roses newThe vale is surrounded with the golden dewBeside the pond lilies white and rose danceFor this beauty man has seldom chanceLike a caught bird man flutters wings to flyHe wishes to sing in the open skyMan has to go for peace a day or twoIn the lap of nature where cuckoos coo.


Love

Earthly things are bound to dieHowsoever fine and brightThe powerful Death devours all thingsEqually reaps the meek and might.

Like a dangerous lion of woodDeath is the king of allAll alive on the mortal earthCan never neglect His call.

Love can not be killed by lionNeither by Death nor Time.It is a flower that never fadesAlways lives in its prime.

Love is found not in the crownBut in affectionate mother’s lapIt makes our life merry and joyFills with joy the thirsty gap.

For sinking boat of Man’s lifePeaceful moorings Love impartsConsoles a man of tortured heartEmbalms a soul pierced by darts


The darts of Fate may pierce my fleshBut never pinch my heartThe shield of love my soul containsWhich keeps the soul unhurt.

But love is blind, and lovers can’t see,the pretty follies that themselvescommit.

—William Shakespeare Love gives itself, it is not bought

— Longfellow Love conquers all things; let us too give

in to love—Virgil

Take away love and our earth is a tomb—Robert Browning

Love is blind—Chaucer


How He Won His Love

The sun-set scene on mountain topMade his heart so calmThere a maiden reaping cropsSinging slowly a rural psalm.

With downcast eyes she gazed at himInnocence shone on her faceHis heart felt a sense of griefTo see the girl in dirty dress

As the moon in a clouded skyShe looked so shy and niceAs a pearl in oyester’s wombShe was beyond any price.

She came near with bended eyesTo tell her piteous tale-With pearl-like tears she began to sighWhich made his heart yell.

He took her in his meek embraceAnd wiped her tearful eyesAglow with love she shone like moonAnd stopped her wails and cries.


The golden sun began to dropIn bosom of the vale;The drooping lotus in the lakeSlept after a mild gale.

Like shower of rain to a withered plantShe blossomed into a flowerHer trembling lips and beating heartDrenched dry leaves with shower.

He took that orphan to his homeAnd made his heart’s queenAglow with love she slowly shoneLike gloden rays of morning scene.


Praise to God

Praise to God who made our lifeAnd grant us great delightHe gave us ears to hear His praiseEyes to see this natural sight.

He gave us hands to help the poorMouth to cheer and chant His deedHe taught to live a life divineAbove to race and class and creed

Lord God gave us deep distressTo purge the dirt of desireThe chastened soul begins to shineLike pure gold in the fire.

As the sun wakes in the eastAnd sets in the western skySo those who take the birth on earthAre bound to suffer and die.


O God bless me the ray of hopeSo as to face the fret and feverTurn my stangnant water of pondAs running water of the river

All that lives or moves on earthtransient or permanent exist inthe glory of God.

—Rig Veda To me God is truth and love.

—M.K. Gandhi God is a circle whose centre is

everywhere and whosecircumference is nowhere.

—Empedocles The world is charged with the

grandeur of God.— G.M. Hopkins

He is the first and the last, themanifest and the hidden: and Heknoweth all things.

—Koran If God didn’t exist, it would be

necessary to invent him.—Voltaire


What Is Art

Art is a golden bird that singsThe song of truth in charming toneIt sings of present and of futureThings eternal of days by gone.

True art comes from the core of heartAnd gives us the inner delightIt soothes our soul in deep distressLike shower of rays in moonlit night.

Poetry is the branch of artWhich fills the reader’s heart with mirthIt gives the poet the labour painAnd only then it takes its birth.

True art arouses a sense of joyEven in the heart of the rudeIt appeals to both the rich and poorThe high and low, the clean and crude.


Art is never a box of sweetsBut as organic as a treeArt does never lies in prisonIt is a river flowing free.

Art is a jealous mistress—R.W. Emerson

All art is but imitation of nature— Seneca

Art is the Tree of Life. Science isthe Tree of Death. God is Jesus.

—William Blake Art lies in concealing art.

— Ovid Art is long and time is fleeting.

— Longfellow Fine art is that in which the hand,

the head and the heart of man gotogether.

— John Ruskin A picture is a poem without words

—Horace


The Lions of Cave

Praise to thee O, soldier braveOne of your legs is in the graveYou fight for nation full of dutyYou are fond of art and beauty.

You guard the boarder night and dayVigilant, vigorous, happy and gay.You are the flower full of fragrancePeople give you love and reverence.

You cross the river, jump the fireAs busy as vehicle’s tyre.Never afraid of wind and rainDares to catch the wolves in den.

You serve the country heart and soulEmbracing victory is your goal.Who is today true to nation?Only soldier, farmer, mason.

A young priest of Nature indeedEver impartial to class and creedYou always drill to make your healthIt is really your rarest wealth.


On sands you burn, in winter shiverYou face bodly fret and fever.In the open sky you fly jet—You are the master of your fate.

Soldiers of India brave and boldClimbing mountains chill and cold.Reaping terrorists like the cropShedding the blood drop by drop.

I bow my head to soldiers braveI join my hands to lions of caveThe nation is proud of their birthFor country’s sake who lose their mirth.


An Uprooted Plant

I am like an uprooted plantIn the lonely room of city,No one ready to sing and chantThe psalm of love and pity.

In every hotel they dance and gambleTo get the crude pleasure,In every club they drink and tumbleAnd enjoy a life of leisure.

Men are guided not by heartBut by brain and wit,Mind and soul are poles apartRarely they come to meet.

Loaded with tension, grief and hateA sapless life they lead-They seldom believe in God and fateIn etiquette, manner, culture, creed

Fed up with the clamour of townMy heart desires solitude,I want no fame nor wealth nor crownBut quiet thought and attitude.


I want sympathy, love, not moneyMy life, an unwatered flower-I want a hive full of honeyNever destroyed by cruel power.

Science without conscience is but thedeath of the soul.

— Montaigne Science commits suicide when it adopts

a creed.— Huxley

Science is nothing but perception—Plato

Science is always simple and profound.It is only the half truths that aredangerous.

—G.B. Shaw


Under the Veil She Grinds Wheat

A village woman pure and chasteCover her face with a veil,Devoid of ever joy and jestLike a prisoner of a jail.

She leads a lonely virtuous lifeIn her husband’s housePlays the role of devoted wifeBut like a trapped mouse.

She loves her husband, children mostAnd serves them like a servantShe does never brag or boastIs ever agile and fervent.

Under the veil she grinds wheatAnd reaps the crops in field-She never soils another sheetHer character is a shield.

In silent way she faces griefIn clay-made homes and huts,She is like the dumb and deafFull of ifs and buts.


She cooks on traditional hearthCovered with ashes, dustEven in youth she loses mirthHappiness, pleasure, luxury, lust.

She loves her daughter and her sonNurses them night and day,Adores her husband like an iconEver ready to serve and pray.

The drunkard husband beats her muchWithout any rhyme or reasonShe sighs and sobs in the lurchIn every month and season.


My Native Village

I hate the life of city I liveWhere love does die so soonHere nectar is placed in the sieveOh! What a sordid boon!

Here men lead a monotonous lifeIn mansion large and highDisloyal husband, divorced wifeAll indulged in fraud and lie.

I went to my village homeAfter a long timeIn paddy fields did I roamLike a lark in open sky.

I saw peacocks sing and danceIn meadows, field and farmThe natural beauty made me tranceLike a lover in beloved’s arm.

My mother lived there like a nunIn the lap of golden solitudeShe shone like a celestial sunIn her saintly attitude.


She consoled with her lovely handsAnd sorrow died so soonI felt a shower of love in sandsThat made my grief swoon.

The soul of India lives in its villages— M.K.Gandhi

The strength of my country lies in thehuts of the poor; in thevillages; in thefarmers

— Narendra Modi Our village life would stagnate if it were

not for the unexplored forests andmeadows which surround it

—Henery David Thoreau


Invincible Art

No one alters the course of FateAll are caught in His terrible net.No one escapes His cruel clutchOnly Love is beyond His touch.He kills the good, gentle, badMakes a happy family sad.He makes the Kings fall to dustWhether a man of love or lust.Like a farmer he equally reapsA dangerous dart he always keeps.He flings His dart on poor and richNever spares who preach and teach.He reaps the people low and highNever moved by sob or sigh.Has He power to kill my artStrongly rooted in my heart?Art is great it never diesIt is a bird that always flies.


The Gifts of NatureI saw a ploughman in the fieldReaping crops and singing songBeside a lovely sleeping lakeClustered with the green trees long.

I gazed and gazed a lovely lotusIn that somnolent lakeFully enamoured by its huesWhich man can never make.

Daffodils bloom and peacocks singIn and around the paddy cropsA rainbow looks like a newly brideAcross the lake over mountain tops.

Man can do a lot of thingsWith the help fo scientific meansBut can he be able to create natureHer bearutiful sights and scenes?

The shrouded moon in black cloudsMoves in merry majestic waysThe water lotus golden glowsFloats like cup in moon-lit rays.

My heart begins to leap with joyTo see this God-made sightEach and every atom of natureIs full of joy and light.


Thoughts on Sea-shore

Morning sun in the womb of seaGrazing lambs in the golden leaBlooming flowers in breezy airIn nature all things fine and fairIt is a place for peace and pleasureIts bounteous beauty we hardly measureI went one morn to a sea-shoreWhere golden sun was heaven’s door.The colourful rays fall on the shipOn whales and sharks that happilly leapBasking on the sea sand bedAll of a sudden my heart said“O what a beartiful scene it is!Where no one knows to taunt and tease.Turtoise, crab, conch and snailAre caught in nets for buy and saleThe sailing boats with canvas whiteLeaping sharks in showering light


The deep down sea where pearls aboundDiamonds gems are also foundOnly the brave know how to diveAnd seek honey from ocean’s hive.

A man is but the product of his thoughts;what he thinks; that he becomes.

— Mahatma Gandhi Let noble thoughts come to us from all

sides.— Rig Veda

Learning without thought is labour lost.—Confusius

Thinking is easy, acting is difficult andto put one’s thoughts into action is themost difficult thing in the world.

—Goethe Action without thought is abortion and

thought without action is folly.— J.L.Nehru


The Treasure of Thoughts

Nature harbours in her bosomAll the teachings of the earthShe is ready to give her giftsAll those things containing mirth.

Every thing whether sweet and sourThe Gracious God has madeEarthly things must have a fallThe thing that shines is bound to fade

The regular rise and fall of seaTeaches to do the works in timeIt also shows how all things fallLike rising waves in its prime.

The bamboo tree gives us lessonHow to make our life politeIt bends before a great cycloneSometimes left and sometimes right

The purple rose that blooms today.Is fated to fade away very soon.The morning sun in the skyIs bound to be dim after noon.


When tree is loaded with the fruitIt bends to kiss the lowly earthWhen the earth is dug and sowedWinged seeds then take their birth.

When the sky is full of cloudsIt bathes both flower and the thornWhen seed is sowed and put in darkOnly then we reap rich corn.

When I fall in deep distressAll these lessons act like balmMy sorrows then flies like birdAnd out of joy it sings a psalm.


A Soldier without a GunPraise to thee O peasants boldFacing weather rough and coldWorking hard to bring forth grainWaiting eagerly the shower of rain

A peasant lives a life of joyAs agile as playful boyA young saint of Nature indeedHe is above the class and creed

Free from the cries of cityHe leads a life of peace and pityA bosom friend of natural sightsHe is a man of custom, rites

He gets up early before the sunA true soldier without a gunHe works in fields in showering rainFreely born but lives in chain.

Work is worship is his goalHe is a man of heart and soulEnjoying the bliss in heart withinSurrounded by the natural scene.

He earns his bread by pouring sweatHe seldom knows the art to cheat.


My Authored Books

Dr. Amar Nath Prasad heads the Department of English at Jagdam College, J.P.University, Chapra (Bihar). Born at the village Aruwan, near Bhagwanpur Hat, District Siwan, Dr. Prasad is the Gold Medallist in M.A., English from B.R.A. Bihar University, Muzaffarpur. He also served in Indian Army as Religious Teacher for a very brief period. He has to his credit more than a dozen research papers and a number of poems published in different books and journals, magazines and newspapers. He has presented research papers and delivered lecturers as Chairperson in several National and International seminars and conferences. He edits biannually Unheard Melody, the Sarup & Sons Journal of English Literature. Dr. Prasad has authored, edited and co-edited more than 30 books of English literature. Most of his published books are on Google and Amazon. Some of his well-known books are:1. Arundhati Roy's The God of Small Things: A Critical Study2. Critical Response to R.K.Narayan3. Indian Writing in English: Past and Present4. Studies in Indian Drama in English5. New Lights on Indian Women Novelists in English (in four volumes)6. The Plays of Vijay Tendulkar. A Critical Exploration 7. Recritiquing S.T. Coleridge (There are five other books in Recritiquing

series)8. Feminism in Indian Writing in English 9. Four Indian Playwrights: A Critical Assessment10. A New Approach to English Grammar

Dr. Prasad also writes in Hindi and Bhojpuri. At present he is translating the immortal Bhojpuri verses of Sant Kavi Lakshmi Sakhi of Saran district into English language.

ADITI PUBLICATION Near Ice Factory, Opp. Shakti Sound,

Service Gali, Kushalpur, Raipur (C.G.)

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