tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27441932074183217092024-03-13T06:59:17.670+05:30mind meanderingsmind space for atanu and whoever else atanu incites or excitesatanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05686067096638441809noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2744193207418321709.post-32192217166949258912011-06-16T06:54:00.001+05:302011-06-16T06:56:35.037+05:30Shall We?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">shall we travel down a road<br />
<br />
long and winding<br />
<br />
and let the horizon follow us?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
the snow caped peaks beckon<br />
<br />
as do the meadows ,<br />
<br />
an invitation can we afford to ignore?<br />
<br />
<br />
maybe stop by the brook ?!<br />
<br />
which breaks the road<br />
for a quick swim with the loons?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Or shall we just call it a day<br />
<br />
and seek shelter underneath the Bodhi tree<br />
<br />
by the brook ?<br />
<br />
<br />
we will sing along with the gurgling stream<br />
<br />
and count the stars <br />
<br />
maybe even explore the next day ?</div>atanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05686067096638441809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2744193207418321709.post-41620853856808530862011-04-24T13:53:00.002+05:302011-04-24T14:06:20.787+05:30Sliver of RomanceThe shy radiance of the Parisian Sun <br />
on your lovely face I see<br />
<br />
the twinkle in your eyes, <br />
teases the Spring <br />
as you light up Paris <br />
with a thousand smiles <br />
and Lend it to Spring!<br />
<br />
As we sit by the Siene -<br />
separated only by an Ocean -<br />
I can feel the Spring<br />
<br />
But dare I hope !?!<br />
<br />
(c) Atanu Prasad Sarmaatanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05686067096638441809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2744193207418321709.post-46047564699753119882011-04-17T09:38:00.005+05:302011-04-24T12:07:18.118+05:30do I ever steal ?do I ever steal<br />
into your stolen thoughts?!<br />
<br />
as you often obsess <br />
my obsessions<br />
<br />
and chase my fantasies!<br />
which take flight -<br />
shamed by the raging passions-<br />
<br />
beyond emotion <br />
beyond sensibility<br />
beyond sensuality<br />
<br />
Over a cup of irani tea<br />
in a decrepit old parsi restaurant<br />
I sit and wonder<br />
<br />
<br />
(c)Atanu Prasad Sarmaatanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05686067096638441809noreply@blogger.com1Mumbai, Maharashtra, India19.0176147 72.85616440000001118.826811199999998 72.7533269 19.2084182 72.959001900000018tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2744193207418321709.post-36749852316460290322010-12-11T09:46:00.000+05:302010-12-11T09:46:51.707+05:30mind meanderings: Dying while Living<a href="http://atanusmindmeanderings.blogspot.com/2010/12/dying-while-living.html">mind meanderings: Dying while Living</a>atanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05686067096638441809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2744193207418321709.post-55934580394175081482010-12-11T09:41:00.001+05:302010-12-11T09:45:39.010+05:30Dying while LivingWhen I was born<br />
<i>I was complete.</i><br />
<br />
I could cry and <br />
<i>Yet be selflessly selfish!</i><br />
<br />
Today..<br />
<br />
the Quest<br />
overtakes me<br />
<br />
nor do worldly riches<br />
grace me<br />
<br />
My cravings<br />
has a mind<br />
<br />
<i>To</i> think, <i>To</i> feel and <i>To</i> cry<br />
I wouldn't shy<br />
<br />
No wonder..<br />
<br />
<i>Everyday I die</i> <br />
..bit by bit<br />
<br />
Yet,today,I am feeling<br />
very fulfilled!!<br />
<br />
Wonder why?<br />
<br />
@Atanu Prasad Sarmaatanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05686067096638441809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2744193207418321709.post-6497208848831095282010-06-29T01:48:00.003+05:302010-10-05T09:28:35.390+05:30Maya My Lovehow does it feel <br />
when you are <br />
about to walk <br />
into a dream - your dream? <br />
<br />
does tomorrow ever<br />
meet today - <br />
<br />
the day’s ashes <br />
Labour to deliver<br />
Xotini’s child <br />
every day - ?<br />
<br />
An illicit life I live<br />
forbidden pleasures I seek <br />
with Maya<br />
<br />
as Chayaa pursues Maya<br />
a virtual touch <br />
is all that it takes <br />
to step out...<br />
<br />
But do we?!<br />
<br />
(c)Atanu Prasad Sarma<br />
<br />
Glossary : <br />
Xotini : Co-wife / Step Mother in Assamese<br />
Maya : An Illusion and by extension the elusive morrow<br />
Chayya : Shadow..the shadow of the day!!atanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05686067096638441809noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2744193207418321709.post-3715640705020556772010-01-09T22:18:00.000+05:302010-01-09T22:18:10.615+05:30Paphiopedilum DreamsPaphiopedilum Dreams <br />
I espy <br />
on the mosaic forest floors...<br />
<br />
Forbidden desires <br />
I spirit<br />
to the secret grotto<br />
<br />
softly i skid<br />
on the silken turf<br />
...tearful <br />
but i still fancy<br />
paphiopedilum dreams?<br />
<br />
(c)Atanu Prasad Sarmaatanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05686067096638441809noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2744193207418321709.post-53506691880846766502009-08-31T11:03:00.004+05:302009-09-01T09:51:14.548+05:30Silent Prayer<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgetXMp-zJpdubDgpMjRxPUiLhNbpK6mpAI2GFjpzL8AiKWxIgmPEU6WMwVgSgGCMo4C5O41oxmTRPZSJ0m956gI7BMB5dM0l2XIaxunsvQ6QS9UcLHqetNjRbVoR5A2UzVD5pmC4ZscRaX/s1600-h/The+Silent+Prayer.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgetXMp-zJpdubDgpMjRxPUiLhNbpK6mpAI2GFjpzL8AiKWxIgmPEU6WMwVgSgGCMo4C5O41oxmTRPZSJ0m956gI7BMB5dM0l2XIaxunsvQ6QS9UcLHqetNjRbVoR5A2UzVD5pmC4ZscRaX/s320/The+Silent+Prayer.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376000345573820386" /></a><br />
Amongst the ruins <br />
Of the past and present<br />
the reborn Lama had dared<br />
to Solicit the future<br />
Aided by silent prayers<br />
That flutters in the wind<br />
<br />
Amongst the dreams that<br />
Fade fast<br />
Away from the future<br />
That recede into the past<br />
<br />
abandoned by Idols and<br />
Deities that had bidden bye <br />
to the Orphaned Dreams...<br />
that, I thought, we together dreamt<br />
<br />
Dreams of bliss <br />
that I held Dear <br />
and you Discarded <br />
<br />
I await the monsoon still<br />
- Unaided by silent prayers<br />
that fluttered in the wind –<br />
Wetted by unmindful tears<br />
<br />
Atanu Prasad Sarma<br />
<br />
© Atanu Prasad Sarma<br />
30th Aug 2009atanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05686067096638441809noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2744193207418321709.post-84644318820567771792009-08-22T00:57:00.003+05:302009-08-22T01:08:07.238+05:30Mystic DreamsThe beautiful meadows lie yonder <br />…Yours to wander in <br />Loose your roots in the meanderings streams <br />…that flow in your mystic dreams <br />Fantasize over the Secrets <br />….that marmalade Bushes conceal <br />Chase the Secretaries & Loose the Predators!! <br />…Let your Thoughts skim <br />the Sparkling waters on a brooding evening <br />....When the rainbows fade and kaleidoscope dreams die<br /><br />Atanu Prasad Sarma<br /><br />(c)copyright Atanu Prasad Sarmaatanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05686067096638441809noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2744193207418321709.post-30182013834326595622008-11-25T10:25:00.003+05:302008-11-25T10:30:26.392+05:30And Yet....Dawn's lovely face<br />Shows the day.<br />And the morrow, I try to Read<br />on the wings of the sky.<br /><br /><br />The rustle of your mind<br />On the pitter patter of the rain<br />I listen to..<br /><br />And the secrets of your heart<br />On the petals of an orchid<br />I try to unravel.<br /><br />Your epistles<br />On the paperboats I look for –<br />Floating, flowing with<br />the steady, unending rivulets.<br /><br /><em>And yet,<br />My heart stills...</em><br /><br /><strong>Atanu Prasad Sarma</strong><br /><br /><strong><br />Copyright ©2005 Atanu Prasad Sarma </strong>atanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05686067096638441809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2744193207418321709.post-28677328045456530912007-10-01T12:43:00.000+05:302007-10-05T11:38:21.574+05:30The Truant ChildEre the denziens of the forest mourn<br />Ere the muzzein calls<br />Ere Darkness again steals in <br />Wherefrom Lachit Borphukan had vanquished it<br /><br />I would wring my hands <br />And cast my eyes down<br />A tussle inevitable <br />I would prepare for.....<br /><br />For the truant child,that I am,<br />cannot any longer ignore..<br /><br />the lure of the mysteries<br />the sheer face of the hills <br />a chance to throw a crooked stone<br />And chase phantasies that float in its trail<br /><br />Genuine frustration,<br />Concern and apprehension<br />A storm rages through you....<br /><br />the playground is yonder<br />and the hills right there<br />A gentle reprimand...<br />"what if you stumble...?" <br /><br />a child I will be<br />in front of you...<br /><br />With earnest eyes <br />and a silent prayer<br />A promise so solemn<br />only a child can make....<br /><br />"I will return soon to you<br />bruised maybe but stronger and wiser"<br /><br />(c)Atanu Prasad Sarmaatanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05686067096638441809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2744193207418321709.post-87683165692504754022007-07-29T23:37:00.000+05:302007-10-03T01:22:51.142+05:30RememberanceI sit alone in my room<br />the moon steals in<br />through the window<br />makings patterns <br />on a patterned floor<br /><br />A whiff of breeze<br />spirits in a whisper <br />Of a thought <br />laced with passion...<br />Unspoken yet shared<br /><br />Amidst a jugalbandi,<br />of esoteric music,<br />conducted by a turbulent & fickle old man<br />I seek a distant drummer <br />who can awaken...<br /> <br />Primordial memories of<br />dreamy moments...<br />and fantasies ...<br />snatched from a patterned & predictable existence<br /><br />(c)Atanu Prasad Sarmaatanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05686067096638441809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2744193207418321709.post-3671901828826378992007-07-23T01:06:00.000+05:302007-10-03T01:21:19.540+05:30Coming back to an empty homeI want to ring the doorbell<br />-being in a hurry to see you?<br /><br />Perhaps even a soft knock would do<br />-Lest I disturb you?<br /><br />No!I wont!!!<br /><br />Softly I turn the key<br />-incase you are far away on a dreamy trip?<br /><br />Softly I close the door<br />-perhaps i can Surpise thee?<br /><br />I can hear the wind flow<br />-through the open window<br /><br />The curtains billow<br />-perhaps to caress you?<br /><br />The rains cry<br />-bringing freshness and rejuvenation<br /><br />And I wonder<br />If you would enjoy <br />Your stay here<br />At an empty home<br />As much as I do?<br /><br />(c)Atanu Prasad Sarmaatanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05686067096638441809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2744193207418321709.post-8640903001510124552007-07-23T01:01:00.000+05:302007-10-03T01:20:55.454+05:30TWILIGHT There is the left and there is the right. There is the day and there is the night.<br /><br />And he had always wondered why it was and what it was. That is whenever he could take time off for wondering. Strange isn’t it? In the days gone by there was time enough and subjects no less to wonder and wander in and out of. An issue, an idea taken out, flirted with, tossed up into the air and poked into. Ultimately, it floats down for what it is –germs for further ideas. That was in the days gone by.<br />But, today it is different. He would muse in moments snatched from the day and the night; while walking on the road and off it. Yet somehow, he couldn’t place or categorize things. And while the day would merge into the night he would not exactly be thinking about it but it would still be there in the back of his mind. Somewhere there in the back of his mind. <br /><br />One day his friend called him in to offer a few words of advice. You have lost your fire. Your mind, body and heart is here but not your soul he said. He stared into his eyes and through them .Let me not react. Please God, I want to respond. <br /><br />If he has lost his fire, why did his heart burn-with acidity- every morning? Consequence of the junk that the city fed him with? If he has lost fire, why did his eyes sting every evening? Consequence of the smoke exhaled by the city in the name of progress. If he has lost his fire, why did his body burn, every night, as if in the grip of a vicious malarial fever? Consequence of all the things that he wanted to do during the day but couldn’t? Consequence of all the things that he didnot want to do but ended up doing anyways?<br /><br />He wanted to react. Deep inside him a voice screamed: My soul is mine not yours. Not the goddamned company’s. Not anybody’s. Be happy. You got my mind .So why ask for more. Anyway, balls I care. <br /><br />The last plaintive wail of a dying demon!! But, all that he did was smile. And all that he said was I will think about it. But all that he knew was there will be no time for it. <br /><br />So, when she asked him what do you think and feel about what there is between us, he replied “I will think about it.” And think he did: while crossing the streets: while the kid beside him emptied his bag in the bus; while he got sandwiched in the local trains etc etc. <br /><br />Then he remembered the days when there was time to think. And as his mind clouded with thoughts, he found himself walking in the middle of the road. And the sun, it was busy ringing down the curtains. Vehicles whizzed by in a maddening rush to get wherever they were going. Some had their lights on. For a moment he was afraid of being runover by someone whose sole objective might be to make it. But, then the richness of the moment overtook him. <br /><br /><em><strong>It was that glorious time when the daylight had ended but night had not descended. The sun had set but the moon had not arisen. Some people called it twilight, but he would prefer the grey zone. Between day & night. Between black & white. Between left & right. Between passion & passivity. <br /><br />I wish I knew. </strong></em><br /><br />(c)Atanu Prasad Sarmaatanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05686067096638441809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2744193207418321709.post-3034000198922368042007-07-23T00:54:00.000+05:302007-10-03T01:20:23.495+05:30ApprehensionI hurt my foot at the bottom of the stairs.<br />Now I am scared.<br />How will I climb up through the layers?!<br /><br /><em>"Minor sprain,"</em> the voice <br />from the aseptic shroud says.<br />Caricature of a comforting statement.<br /><br />The ladder is long,<br />And shadows gather behind me.<br />Shadows, they instill in me<br />Things I would rather not have.<br /><br />I remember my Grandma:<br />Picture of quiet & snow hair,<br />Telling animated stories of goodness and honesty,<br />Surrendered to the deep belief<br />Of her sons' dedication to duties.<br /><br />I was angry then,<br />And I am angry now.<br />But an amateurish picture of Grandma<br />Is all that I paint.<br /><br />(c)Atanu Prasad Sarmaatanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05686067096638441809noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2744193207418321709.post-85566916365794790622007-07-11T22:07:00.000+05:302007-10-03T01:19:54.947+05:30After 14 years<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><em>Amidst those flickering lights<br />Amongst those moving flashes<br />Somewhere…<br /><br />Amidst those darkened buildings<br />Hunched over a computer<br />Stooping over a phone<br />Perhaps she sits….<br /><br />14 years…<br />Fourteen years……<br />Fourteeeen years……!!<br /><br />14 years I wait<br />12 months to a year<br />365 days to each<br /><br />And yet she says<br />Can we meet tomorrow?<br /><br />14 years since she lived<br />in the vales of my mind….<br />grown from a duckling to a swan<br />from a girl to a lady<br /><br />and back to a girl perhaps?<br /><br />14 years have I dreamt of this day<br />And today she says<br />Can we meet tomorrow?<br /><br />Have I broken a wing<br />That I cannot fly away?<br />Or am I afraid of the dark?</em></span><br /><br />(c)Atanu Prasad Sarmaatanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05686067096638441809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2744193207418321709.post-1510635104823834782007-06-30T23:42:00.000+05:302007-10-03T01:19:25.644+05:30Do I make sense?Do I make sense<br />Or does sense make me..?<br />I often wonder<br />And probably I will be left wondering!<br /><br />Incase you have an answer<br />please ping me<br /><br />(c)Atanu Prasad Sarmaatanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05686067096638441809noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2744193207418321709.post-41249184729459357382007-06-30T22:44:00.000+05:302007-10-03T01:18:53.137+05:30In a forlorn bus shelterStanding in a forlorn bus shelter<br />kissed incessantly….<br />by the rain<br />that flies in the wings of the wind<br /><br />Warm inside<br />as I stand Alone<br />in a motley crowd<br />of passerbys<br /><br />the wind screams<br />as a thousand drums<br />the rain beat.<br />Flashes light up the sky<br />as the clouds roar<br /><br />a primeval ritual or perhaps an instinct at play<br /><br />I tug my raincoat closer<br />And wipe my brows<br /><br />I seek your warm hand<br />and soft cheeks….<br /><br />your sweet voice haunts me<br />as does the ghost of the sweeter half a night<br />Meander in my mind..….<br /><br />(c)Atanu Prasad Sarmaatanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05686067096638441809noreply@blogger.com1