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Excerpt for Broken Heart by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

Broken Heart


****


By Hiranya Borah






Copyright 2018 Hiranya Borah


Smashwords Edition






Smashwords Edition, License Notes



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Preface



This book contains few poems based on different topics including love, heart breaks, heart burns, jealousy, social and cultural evils leading to criminality. However, most of poems has an underlying tragic feeling of broken heart.

Hope some of you will like some of them.

Thanks to my esteemed readers for their constant support to write something usual and unusual. I love them all.

I am always thankful to all my friends and relatives for their encouraging words. But without constant support of my family members, I could not have written anything for which I shall remain grateful to them.

However, this book is dedicated to my mother, my wife, my daughters and other beautiful ladies who directly or indirectly inspire me to write something.

Thanks to Smashwords for publishing this compilation of poems along with my other books.


Author

A Night to be forgotten

Dancing long curvy hair might be of my lover;

The boy sat and said.

I saw, dew disturbed his eyes;

Twilight of a story or dawn of a new chapter;

I could not fathom.

Dead cannot say;

So the dancing hair could not say:

How beautiful the possessor of the dancing hair!

Hope this is not her;

He could only hope.

I never saw her;

But possessor of the dancing hair might be awesome!

I sighed.

Dusk has descended;

Nobody noticed.

Dancing hair is going to be invisible!

Tide may be coming;

In the eyes of the boy.

Tide, please do not come;

He might have told to himself.

I have a duty to wait;

I want to see the possessor’s swollen face.

The eyes of the boy want to see;

Beyond the curvy dancing hair.

Will she break her promise?

He has asked to himself.

She promised to show her face;

Hiding under the veil, on a specific day!

Coming from a place of teary eyes for rain;

To a place fearful of pouring of water from the sky;

Far off from a society;

Torn between class, caste and religion;

Is he going to lose his heart?

He thought and thought.

I am told;

Wait till dawn arrives.

I could not see the eyes of the boy;

Nor I could see the dancing hair any more.

Darkness engulfed my mind and my eyes.

Both of us are waiting for a new dawn,

With different purposes.

We do not know each other;

Neither have we wanted to know

Beautiful Moon


After a lonely evening,

I could see from corner of my eyes

Darkness is crawling to my small room.

I search for the switch board;

I forgot;

Where it is;

Over my head;

Or on the side wall.

I was about to hit the stool;

Someone carelessly placed on my way;

Or I was on the wrong path!

What science has done for us!

Light becomes available at night in abundance;

No need for moon light to touch;

Your skin and mind.

At the twilight,

You do not fear for darkness;

You will not fear for loneliness;

If you have resources to buy;

Light in abundance!

Far from civilization,

Far from science;

Far from artificial resources;

Even now child cries for light at dawn!

I have drifted away from my dark room;

Still searching for the switch board;

Somewhere on the wall or overhead!

Suddenly my room is illuminated;

Through the open door;

Sweet and soft light entered slowly.

My mind and spirit are enlightened,

With sweet smell of evening freshness!

I raise my head;

To see the source of light;

To know how far it is!

It is a full moon day;

Or it is a full moon night!

I do not know;

But my mind and spirit is full of evening freshness;

The freshness I used to love from my adulthood!

The moon is not far away;

It is at a touching distance.

I dare not to touch the moon;

Fearing for losing it.

Moon smiles at me like my mother;

Or like my sister,

Or like my daughter!

She kissed me on my forehead and told,

You can touch me;

You can love me;

I am yours.

Darkness loosened its grips;

From my room,

From my mind and from my heart!

A Mammal


I do not know;

From where I came from.

I am told, I was born,

As a child to a human couple;

Like any other mammal,

Through a natural process,

Starting from a simple mating of two adults.

I was inside the womb of a female body;

Later on I came to know;

She was my mother.

I also grew

After taking first sip of milk,

From my mother’s beast;

As my first food;

And I began my journey of life;

Like any other mammal on this earth.

After few years,

I am told I am a Hindu;

Few years later,

I came to know about my caste,

When I was abused by a classmate.

While I was in a metropolitan college.

I met a girl couple of years ago;

I did not know her caste or religion.

I fell in love with her.

My love was true for her;

Her love for me was as pure as mother’s milk.

We also wanted to reproduce;

Offspring like any other mammal;

You call them children;

I want to call them;

Only offspring to keep my lineage;

For reproduce another generation of mammals;

We call them Human;

Without caste and creed.

But her parent thought otherwise;

She was thrown out of her home;

My mother says;

She is not from my caste.

I took her to my place;

My father kicked both of us out of his home;

Both the family accused us;

We brought disrepute to our families.

Someone from her family killed her;

Someone call it, honour killing.

I want to join her,

I do not know where;

I do not know,

From where twenty five years ago I came;

Without clothes, religion and caste;

Not even with repute and dis-repute.

But I want to go to the same place;

Where probably still now,

There is no caste, no religion,

No honour and no honour killing either!

A Father, a Daughter and a Beast


He told me to remove my frock.

I recalled,

Two years ago;

My father used to remove my cloths;

For giving me a bath;

Or to change my dress.

I cherish those days of mine;

With my deceased father.

He kissed on my bare body.

That reminded me of my deceased father;

Who used to kiss on my bosom,

I used to giggle on his every kiss,

He used to place on my small body,

A body of three year old daughter.

He forced me to spread my legs.

That reminded me of my deceased father;

Who used to spread my legs;

To clean my private parts;

And to dry it by using the best of the powders.

Still I used to recall,

Powdering of my whole body;

By his tender hands.

But he left me alone;

With a selfish mother two years ago.

She loves only herself.

After taking control of

All property of my deceased father;

Kicking out from my father’s house,

The parent of my deceased father;

Married to her secret lover for years;

Within twelve months’ after death of my father.

She introduced her newly wed husband;

As my new father for the rest of my life.

Yes, he became my father for the rest of my life;

A short life of only one year.

Instead of drying or powdering;

He inserted his finger in it.

I cried aloud in a piercing pain.

He laughed aloud

Which sent a simmering fear in my heart.

I stopped crying,

In fear

Or as I lost all sensitivities in my tiny body.

I lost my sense when he abused me thoroughly,

Blood was oozing out;

To see me collapsed;

He became a worried monster.

He strangulated me;

Before he smothered my face

Beyond recognition;

With a hard object.

He dropped my lifeless body;

Inside the septic tank behind our house.

I could have thanked him;

For sending me;

To meet my deceased father;

At a place where tranquillity and peace;

Rule the minds and spirits.

But I could not thank him

With a second thought

Even the rampaging lion,

Who kills the offspring

Of the erstwhile leader of the pack,

Never abuses sexually the young females.

My father was waiting at the golden gate,

Of a small cottage;

By opening his arms to receive

His beloved small and tiny daughter.

Now, there is no stain of blood;

On my white cloths.

There is only fragrance of a perfume

Of pure love of a father;

On the white dress, my father had given,

Two years ago, on my third birth day.

With a smile in his face,

Hugging me in his chest,

Whispered,

This is the place,

Where a daughter can live

With her father forever,

With her head high and without any fear.

Last Wish of a Mother


I knew,

I was ugly, I was rustic,

I was blunt, I was powerless,

I was money-less, I was worthless,

I was less

Of good and appropriate words

With appropriate meaning,

I was hopeless in all aspects of a modern life.

Even then I was priceless

For my family and friends

A few Years ago when,

My husband and young children

Used to love me.

I was always positive

To face any eventuality in those days.

I always tried to use a positive sentence

Even after realizing,

I was in a hopeless position

Or at a hopeless situation.

At all times,

I used to laugh at myself more than others;

Because I was supported by my families;

Whenever I looked at them for their support;

Financial or mental.

But time has changed.

I am reminded by my near and dears every day,

I am ugly, I am rustic,

I am blunt, I am powerless,

I am money-less, I am worthless,

I am less of

Good and appropriate words,

With appropriate meaning,

I am hopeless in all aspects, of a modern life.

Now I am useless for my family and friends.

Few Years ago,

My husband had left me

To face my changed children

Who used to love me once,

When they were young and vulnerable.

Time has changed,

People are changing,

Minds have been changing.

I have been also changed by time;

I am no more positive,

To face any eventuality now-a- days.

I no more try to use a positive sentence

Even after realizing it may invite trouble.

I forgot to laugh at myself any more.

My children think,

I am a burden

And I should make an early exit;

From their life and from this world.

As my death refuse to come at an early date,

They decided to abandon me to die,

Without any medical aid.

Even then my death refuse to come.

One of them suggested;

She can be sent to an old age home.

Who will pay?

There was a silence in the room.

Another suggestion came,

Can we keep her inside her room?

Without food and water,

Till she dies.

Finally, I called one of them and told,

Drop me in a river,

At least I shall not die,

Without water for days together!

I shall think;

That is the Ganga jaal,

You have forced on my mouth

Before my death!!

Birth Days

Birth Day Boy at 55


A cute baby becomes a murky old man;

Still he likes and waits;

To hear the three letter sentence;

Happy Birth Day.

Still he likes to hear from his near and dears;

Many Returns of the Day.

Still he enjoys;

When his elder says;

God Bless You.

He still returns every wish;

With a ‘Thanks’

Or with a ‘Thank you’

Or with a ‘Thanks a lot.’

Still he recounts how his mother;

Kissed on his cheek

Remembering her pain of ecstasy on his birth.

Still he recounts how his siblings;

Fought for little more milk-rice prepared by his mother.

Still he recalls,

How his father gave his stoic blessings.

Now he gets birth day wishes;

From few youngsters;

Whom he considers at par with,

His son, daughters, brother and sister;

He enjoys their wishes with same enthusiasm;

What he enjoyed as a kid fifty years ago.

A small kid still lives inside his old body;

Who loves all the importance;

Bestowed upon him by his well-wishers;

On his D day.

Some of them are elders;

Most of them are youngsters;

Some are as young as

His own grandsons or granddaughters;

He enjoys their best wishes;

Like a small kid of ten;

Even after crossing fifty-five springs of his life.

He loves all of them,

Thanks all of them from his heart.

He hopes to get another;

Happy Birth Day wish and some Blessings;

Just only after 365 days!!!!

Happy Birth Day to My Wife


Few decades ago,

On this day,

A rich man of a big city;

Was blessed with a baby girl.

Everyone one was happy

In welcoming the new 'laxmi' of the family.

But they never thought,

This baby girl was destined to face,

Lot of hardship in her married life.

She was brought up in a family,

Where the main lady was dependent

On few domestic helps

For her daily chores.

To move around,

There was a car standing along with a driver for her.

Though there was no dearth of good matches for her,

She opted for a young officer

With rural modest background.

After her marriage,

She had to leave her studies mid-way;

She had to bring up three children of her own;

Practically without any help from anyone on the earth.

Her husband bought his first car,

After long 16 years' of their marriage.

She had to move around the country with her husband,

Who could afford only one room set in most of his life.

With all the difficulties,

She stood by her husband

In his struggle to afloat in this world.

Happy birth day

To that brave and beautiful lady of my life.

She is my friend, philosopher and guide;

She is my lovely wife.

On My Son’s Birth Day


My wife yelled;

How long you are going to be awake?

You have office tomorrow;

With few meetings on the cards.

He won’t mind;

If you do not say;

Happy Birth Day at 12 midnight.

How I can tell my wife;

I am yet to forget;

The crying face of her;

At the middle of the night,

Before his birth.

I cherish the moment of his birth;

In the stormy night of a hill station.

I know he will not mind;

If I do not call him at the middle of the night;

To say Happy Birth Day.

But my heart will mind;

If I do not say my son,

‘Happy Birth Day to you my son;

God Bless You’.

Daughter’s Birth Day


She kisses me;

She hugs me;

On my birth day;

Or on her own birth day;

Or otherwise.

If she is near to me,

She is like my own body part.

When she is away on a birth day;

I feel something missing;

From my wardrobe of love.

She forces me to go out for a dinner;

On her birth day;

Or on my own.

Every morning,

After leaving my bed,

I get her lovely fragrance

Which gives me the feeling of a birth day

Of my darling daughter.

On every morning,

I feel;

Every morning is a happy birth day of my daughter!



On My Sibling’s Birth Day


Now I forget the birth days of my siblings;

Probably, no relevance for me today.

Few decades ago;

Great significance was attached to it;

After all, my mother used to prepare;

Milk rice for all of us on their birth days.

Other than the birth day boy;

Or other than the birth day girl;

All used to fight for the sweets;

Or for the milk rice;

Mother used to cook on my sibling’s birth day.

As we grew;

Relevance of birth days of my siblings;

Reduced like water in the winter in a pond!

On My in Laws’ Birth Days


It is the most torturous thing in the world;

To keep the track of birth days of;

Someone from the other side.

You want to keep the track,

Still you fail at the last.

Then you will feel the heat of Vietnam War;

You do not know,

When an arrow will pierce your heart!

On My Friends’ Birth Days


How much you like;

The birth day of a friend;

Only depends;

How conveniently drinks were flowed;

To your stomach;

Through your tongue;

Not able to speak coherently.

Quality matters for the first few pegs;

Rest were nothing but only few numbers;

But always remember how you drove home,

Till the next birth day of your friend.

Look forward to the next birth days;

Of those friends who invite you alone to the parties.

Always try to forget the birth days;

Of those friends;

Who invite you along with your family,

And serves vegetarian food;

With cold drinks and a cup of coffee!

Who can forget the birth day of a female friend;

In a secluded hut

Some thousand miles away from your wife,

Or vice versa?

On the Birth Day of My Boss


I always remember;

To tell him;

Happy Birth Day;

Till he retires.

I always agree with all of them;

Who think religiously,

It is a sin;

If you call your boss to say,

Happy Birth Day

After his retirement!!



Finally, On Your Birth Day


Looking at your FB profile;

On your birth day;

I just posted,

Happy Birth Day to you.

Could not muster the courage;

To write the last word, ‘Darling’.

But believe me dear;

My heart says;

‘Tell the truth;

You love her till today;

As much as you loved her;

Three hundred full moons ago.’

I restrained myself;

From saying the truth;

Few decades ago.

Should I tell the truth today,

What I could not say;

Three hundred full moons ago.

I was alone on that day;

When you said a final good bye to me;

After the final day of our college mingling.

I kept mum on that day;

Why should I tell the truth today?

My son will say;

The old man has gone crazy;

At the age of 55.

Daughters will say;

Papa has gone mad.

My wife will say;

Wow, he is still in his teens;

Who will mind to have a husband in his teens?

My heart whispers;

‘Tell the truth;

I do not want to die;

With a person,

Who cannot muster the courage;

To tell the truth in thirty odd years.’

In memory of Brave-heart


Clad with a pyajama,

Sitting on the floor,

Reading a letter from his pregnant wife;

Lakhan yelled to his friend;

I have to go home;

Gita is expecting next month!

I too want to go home;

My mom is still not well;

Irfan also echoed Lakhan.

Why you are silent Subedarjee?

Any information from home?

Nothing special, son passed 12th,

Going to college regularly.

They were just gossiping;

In the early morning;

Taking a sip of coffee.

Some were yet to discard;

Lovely morning sleep!

They were not aware,

A group of cowards;

Approaching their tents;

With lethal weapons.

Lakhan, Irfan or Subedar;

Never worried for death;

Nor feared for a battle;

But they were talking;

About pregnant wife or ailing mother!

The cowards blasted a grenade;

Near to their tent!

All of them were ready to fight back;

Picking up their arms;

But fire engulfed the tent;

Closing their exit!

They could have fired back;

But they preferred to die,

Thinking their bullet might hit;

Their own men fighting with the cowards.

They died, but they did not use their weapons;

Thinking they may hit another Brave-heart;

They preferred to die!

Why Can’t Criticise


That scoundrel has died;

The young girl commented about her former boss!

Do not criticise the dead man;

Her mother advised!

Why I can’t?

She asked with an irritation in her voice!

Dead man becomes dear to God;

Mother explained!

Then why every year Mahisasur is slayed?

Why Duryodhan is still condemned?

Why Ravan is burnt on every Dussera?

Why Hitler is criticised for his deed?

Why we criticise the colonial rulers;

All who died long back?

Why we call General Dyer as Monster?

Even Mahatma is not spared for some of his decisions!

Even God is not spared,

Apparently when he does not hear to us!

Then why I cannot criticise;

The person who molested me?

Only because he is a dead man now?

Should we go like politicians;

Who fight tooth and nail when alive;

To place a wreath on the dead body;

And pay their last respect?

Then give an articulated speech;

In the deceased honour?

Mom, I am an ordinary person;

Made of flesh and blood;

Having a small heart;

Which bleeds when it is hurt.

Let me criticise the dead man;

Who gave me so much pain when he was alive;

When he was in power!

Those who were not victims,

Can give a long lecture on,

Forget and Forgive!

The victims, whose hearts bleed;

Will never forgive and forget!

Even death will never cleanse;

The blood that flowed from the hearts of the victims!

Mom, do not show your greatness;

By advising me not to criticise a dead monster!!!!!

An Orinary Man and a Hero


Nobody is an expert

On saying, I love you,

More than I;

He claims before me.

He is not surrounded by beautiful babes;

As I expected, as per his claim;

When I met my friend!

You are joking;

You Bl—y B—d;

I said with a laugh.

He took me to an orphanage;

He embraced all the kids,

One by one and said;

I love you my dear sweetheart!

Then he took me to an old age home;

He said every lady;

Hi Sweety, looking very beautiful today;

I love you darling!

He told the old man,

Looking to the sky with a dejected face;

Hey, old f—g boy,

Why you are so upset today?

I love you, old bl—y hack.

His presence in the orphanage,

In the old age home,

Illuminated hundreds of faces!

All look forward to his next visit;

Then my friend took me to a Gosala;

He talked to the cows;

Everyone with a different name;

Saying ‘I love you, black beauty’ to one.

I love you, red monkey,

To another one and so on!

He took me to a garden,

Introduced his friends in their best attire!

In the forest,

He talked to the trees;

He uttered the same sentence,

I love you, my friend,

Darling, Sweety and Sweet heart or Honey!

Everywhere he was acknowledged;

With an open heart,

With open mind and arms!

He goes always empty hands;

But with a smiling face,

With a sympathetic heart,

To all these places.

At the end of the day;

I agreed to him,

He is the best master in saying;

I love you!!!!

I asked him,

What is the secret?

He tells none;

Half of his income;

Earns from different resources;

Goes to different Orphanage,

Different Old age homes;

Different Gosalas;

For maintaining,

Parks, forests and gardens;

For maintenance of

Roads and reservoirs;

For the defence of the country and so on.

How much he earns?

He does not know;

But he never cheats the country

While paying taxes;

He is an ordinary man;

Like you and me.

I understood,

To be a hero,

You need not have to be an extraordinary man.

Do your duties properly;

You are a hero;

On your own right!

Tell all of them,

I love you,

Whom my friend tells!

My Ego


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