My English Poems


Kamal Bordoloi

(written in between 01.07.2007 to 13.09.2010)




Books and Booking


Tales of those man

The victims of holy-flame

While fuelling the cause of


In the nights of shackles

Are not now found

In the Book of Castle.


In the din

Like the howling dogs

Of garbage bin.


But the golden leaches

Can creep

Into the new version

Of the Book

Doning the garb of

Famed patriots

Only to suck blood

Rights at the pump!


However, a book is there

Its pages are chests

Of tiny creatures

Knitted together.


Like the raft of banana tree

On a flooded river

And songs reverberate


Off and on

For the sacrifices

Of known unknown

With pride and tears

In fairs and festivals.



                             Duliajan 16.07.2007




Thechildhood was behind

A year or two

And I sailed my youth

Between the bastions

Of reasons

Of reason and emotion.

A strange dream

Then, pervaded me


My life-security

And, a nod it got from me

To shape it

To reality.


The mission was on

With sage's devotion

Sun and sail

Facts and facets

True and false

Were stacked ready

To boost my creativity.


But, bitten by time

At my prime

I am now invalid

Life is too horrifie

Living on pity

And my destiny

The mission

In a coffin


Besides me !


Now, I enjoy the luxury

Of pondering

About the dream

Its length


And beauty

While waiting for

My own doom

In the silent gloom.



                                            Duliajan  26.07.2007




In my childhood

I begged my grand-maa

For a glittering golden ladder

To pluck from sky

The sparkling stars

For few games of 'Ghila'.


But, the indulging eyes are frozen

Stars become dim-dots of heaven

As plaintain-rafts are afloat

On our playing court !


The ghilas are vanishing

Vision is a tall tower

And on my zero-base

Foundation laid for greatness.


Going is awesome

Balance-sheet jeers at new moon

Stars are ticketless travellers

And the terrible passes

Sleepless nights.


In the short recess

Sometimes I meet dreams

Face to face.

They are in perfect health

A solace indeed.



                                     Duliajan  24.08.2007



On the First Day

Of New Year


On the first day of New Year

With happiness everywhere

And look back

At the antique

- Caves !


Our search

For happiness so far

With guns of

Possesion and power

Is fruitless.


Let wisdom be the leader

And the culture .......

Sharing ourselves

With others

In the search

For happiness

In the New Year !



                                     Duliajan  03.09.2007




The man took leave



The grieving ones



On the scaffold


With a tonal voice

"God, let me cross !"

Courage, was it ?


He bestowed love

Generated forgiveness

For them

Who nailed him

Hung him

From a Cross


They were sinners

Not sins.

The man

A perfect being


The cruelest punishment

For his innocence

And died

With unbent faith.

Courage, was it ?


An eccentric

Met a lonely lady

On a village road

One day.

She was  poor

And pregnant.

The shameless one

Asked her

"How do you dare

To be a mother?"

She replied with anger

"Ask instead Sarat,

My brother

Who knows

All the tricks

His mother played with

Courage,  You know

Is the need of hour

To live and

To let live others"


The future

Is chained to the peg

Sentries are ruthless.

Still they search

For a transition

In a dark-patch

For that

They can nestle

The flying deaths

In the chests.


In their hearts

Is a river in spate


And finding ways.



                                     Duliajan  03.03.2006

                              Note : Sarat - Sarat Ch Singha,

                                        past Chief Minister of Assam


When the mist falls


Dear Grand father,

How are you ?

We are fine.




In full glory.

Nights are chilly

Mornings misty

Days are scented

With treaded paddy,

Evening is the time

For telling stories.

Children gather

'Round the fire

Burning at corner

To listen from

Their grand-father.


I tell them

The same stories

With the same fervour

As might also be told

By your grand-father !


The God was in

Deep slumber

On the body

Of a living snake

Floating delicately

On a foaming sea ?


After that ?


God had awakened.

The bad time

Was over,

The hopes in peril

Had bloomed again

Creations had commenced

Over the platform

Of lotus-petals !


My grand-children

Are amazed.

They think that

I am an old river

Very long,

On its two banks,

Stories creep up

Endlessly always.


The saplings

planted by you

Are now old.

They can not bear fruits !


Also now

The petals of flowers

Are stained

Dew-drops are heavier

Stars are poler !

Dirts, dirts everywhere.

No cleaner

No water !

Panics fill the air.



Will the same God

Shall come same way

Drifting again

To wash everything


Drowning in sea !


We might be then be

Buried under sea.

Our civilization

Might be vanished

Without leaving traces

Even for history !


Terrible, is not it !


I shall wait for you,


Beneath the banyan tree.

Please do come

We shall talk.


O', the harvest is good.

Boys are good fighters

Fought with elephants !

Namdang bridge,

Is still strong,

Oil-tankers pass over it.


No more for today.

Reply soon.

With regards,

Yours grand-child




                                     Guwahati  14.09.2010




I told my son

"Live if need be"

He went out

To die for a need.

I said

To his mother

While serving me

The morning tea

"We live for love"

She radiated a smile :

"We live

Through others

On the count of

Our sacrifice".

We started immediately

The march for victory

Our death

On the path of love.

No regret

If we die





                           Guwahati  28.01.2010




Troubled vow


I submit to an agony


Of holding an arm up

Till I could hammer

A shape of success

Out of pieces

Of failures !


With the resolve austere,

I sharpen my senses

With the power

Of diligence

To cut the barriers

For reaching

The goal of desire.


But the formless feeler

Inside me

Aspires to be

Windy free,

Forsaking the armour

Of my resolve so dear

And brings in

The thorny distraction

Of rosy glee

To the cobbled path

Of my endeavour.


The hold up arm


To move motion of


To the love-torn


How long could I

Subdue them

With reason

And restraint ?

Tired I am,

Give me strength !







The mid-day break of harsh labour

Was meagre for food and leisure

A sparrow sought then to disturb

By flying over my shoulder

To and fro

From door to window.


In the dreamland of night

Facts and fiction never fight

And the sparrow like a girl in love

Broke my shell of slumber there too

With whishper and sigh.


I forced her out of my shack

For little peace of sleep

But valiant she was, came back

With more rounds over my head !


The sky is now all blue

Gone are the lighting slashes

On the bleeding clouds without clue

The glamour of night, the flowers

Shower love for us to share.


Her flights was of love for me

During the days of my pennury

Now, I propose the sparrow

For flying together

In space, broad and broader

With mother earth below !



                                     Duliajan  01.08.2007




At the bridge end, I stop a while

To watch the grand

Arrival of darkness

Like a cavalry

On black horses.


There is a trace of brightness

At a far-flung distance

A jungle fire

A sky-lamp

Or, may be

A lighted up marsh.


The sky above, dressed up

Like a bride

With ornaments of stars

Sheds tears

Of dew-drops

For the impending depart.


Trees here and there

Veiled with gloom

Lament the failures

Of giving everything

Fresh and green

For the traps setup

By the self-destructing beings.



                                     Duliajan  28.08.2007



The citizen


Dates are new then

And a mercy-petitioner

He was

For the evil deeds

He had not done.

Fire of protest

Never lit-up

Only pity for pet

Was in offering

For this man

The citizen !


He found that -

The earth revolves

Round the sun

And dared to walk

The halls of

Hell and fame

With pause and pain

But failed to garner


For he was selfish

And the sufferings

Never ceased

For the man

The citizen !


He is now a


Mystery  for him

A veil

That disappears like fog

With sunrays.

The desert of hunger

Cannot desist him

To give life

To his dream

Of making the planet


A living paradise

For the toiling man

The citizen.



                                     Guwahati  17.02.2009




Misfortune !

You love me

Like the mountain-avalanche

That rushes and shears itself

To meet the valley

I love you too

Life is incomplete

Without you !


You are queen-beauty

Of dream-land

Having no boundary

O' Imagination

My sweet-heart

You are the nectar

Of date-palm

That dots the desert.


O serenity !

You are solemn

Like full moon

Radiate glory

Like lotus at noon

And for love everywhere

You are my partner

We proceed together.



                                     Duliajan  04.04.2009


Story of a



Our childhood memories

Are decked with

Kings and queens

Of uncle Jali's stories.

He was a garden-worker

And our darling story-teller.

But, working and telling


Might not concur

However, with our father

And his aunning eyes

Looked at our despair

We never gave up

Made a way to compromise

A story for a betel nut.

Then, narration flowed freely

"..... The queen suddenly,

Grief stricken King

Renounced everything

Went to forest

As a hermit."

He also went home

Sweet home with a leaky roof

Daily rupees two

Could not make rain-proof.

Another day saw

Slight change of venue.

The king was however Santanu

".... He felt very lonely

In the silence of night

Desired for a company

At his bed side

But his son Bhisma ......"


His son's name

A would be tailor

And me ?

A scholar

I would be

A ganji at Bihu-time

All he needed then

Stories would follow

Of course, for my children !

Next time, a tragedy

"The good king was Hari

But, luck played foul

Shattered his dreams

Made him a pauper

Dead-body washer !"

Uncle Jali

Stopped telling stories

At the age of fifty.



                                     Duliajan  14.05.2009

                              Note : Uncle Jali died at the age of 64.



The House


The house

is of three rooms


Like a school.


I stay alone.


Some sparrows

Chatter overhead



My protests.


The dog

Loves the house

Too much

And barks

At  everybody

But, favours me

For being

Its inmate !



Five year Gauri

Opts for

Second storey

And promises

Me some space.


At ground

If my conduct

Remains satisfactory !


The house

Shelters dreams

For then and me.

Its roof

begs sky

To lend some stars

For its inmates

To work with.



                                     Guwahati  13.09.2010



The father and the son


I am after him !

For this,

Trimmed the dream

Of the friend shuffling

Under his wing

In the night of interrogations

Dose and doses of venom.


Still no information ..........


"Where is he ?"

I grabbed her hair,

Not a word --- her answer

And I peeled off

The petals

Of a blooming flower !

Was it me ?

So giant a killer .


Yet I must hold on

For duty and obligation

To find him clear

Within the range

of my SLR.


But I am the father.


The proud father, I am


He tears

The shackle of fear

Unlike me

To move on

For a cause of other.


My respect, my son,

And my wish

Be stronger

That I am.


                                     Duliajan  April, 1991



Conquerer of death


I told my son,

"Live for a need"

And he died

To bleed

For a need.


She was sad

And silent


The death of her son.

I tried

To console her :

"We live for others".

She also went away

To die for them

For the sake of love

And to live

For ever.


Now, the time has arrived


I am fully coiled.

The final offensive begins

Against all the enemies.

I fight

For the last breath

To die only

To conquer death.



                                     Duliajan  24.02.1991



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