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Thakur Ramkrishna and Jessus Christ
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This story is based on “Parampurush Shree Ramkrishna” of Shree Achinta Kumar Sen Gupta.
In Jadu Mallick’s haven, one fleeting day,
Thakur Ramakrishna sat, stories held in sway,
Conversing with Jadu, his gaze then caught,
A picture framed, a scene that deeply wrought.
A mother’s tender arms, a child divine,
In her embrace, a sacred glow did shine,
The mother’s eyes held depths of boundless love,
While on the child’s face, innocence did rove.
“Who are they?” Thakur Ramakrishna inquired with grace,
“A lady and her son,” the answer in its place,
His eyes held steady, fixed on this display,
A luminous child in a serene array.
“Mary and Jesus,” the truth did unfold,
A vision ancient, a story untold,
Yashoda and Bal Gopal he remembered,
In the scene, a mystical essence found.
Later, in quest of more, Thakur Ramakrishna sought,
To Shambhu Mallik’s dwelling, his steps were brought,
Seeking tales of Jesus and his pure light,
The Bible’s verses, in his mind took flight.
Days moved on, and in an unexpected flow,
Thakur Ramakrishna’s path took an unfamiliar glow,
Within Jadu’s abode, an uncharted scheme,
Where Thakur Ramakrishna found an ethereal gleam.
“Mother, what are you showing?” His soul did cry,
The image alive, painting the sky,
A divine aura, a heavenly play,
Enveloped in grace, in that moment’s stay.
“Radiant child, your mother exudes grace,”
Words echoing divinity, in that sacred space,
Towards Shambhu Mallik, his yearning led,
The Bible’s wisdom, through his heart spread.
A mind now filled with revelations grand,
Thakur Ramakrishna journeyed to understand,
In a Christian home, for days he stayed,
Exploring the depths where faiths cascade.
One day, a revelation unfurled its might,
A figure appeared, radiant and bright,
Not a foreigner, but a presence pure,
A divine man, an essence to allure.
“Are you that supreme? Are you Christ divine?
Are you Krishna, in the tamal’s vine?”
In their embrace, they merged as one,
Dissolving into the cosmos, all was done.
“Everyone reads the Bible,” he spoke aloud,
But Jesus’s description, he found unbowed,
“No mention of his look,” the devotees claimed,
Yet visions through his mind had streamed.
His watch, they said, ticked in perfect line,
Yet, in divine’s time, a uniqueness did shine,
No match for the gaze, no sight aligned,
Only the truth in his heart enshrined.
A mingled tale of faiths, a blend so rare,
A pilgrimage through visions beyond compare,
Thakur Ramakrishna’s journey, a glimpse untamed,
In realms where souls and divinity merged.
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Joyous Echoes of Yuletide Delight
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In the hush of winter night, a tale unfolds,
Where stars alight, and mirth beholds,
A tale of wonder, of love’s sweet embrace,
As Christmas comes with its enchanting grace.
Amidst the frost, in a world adorned,
Whispers of joy, in every heart told,
From homes a glow with twinkling light,
To streets adorned in festive might.
The evergreens don their festive best,
With loughs, ribbons, and dreams abreast,
Their fragrant boughs, a haven’s sight,
Embracing all in the gentle night.
Children’s laughter, like jingle bells,
Echoes through lanes and secret wells,
Their eyes alight with sheer delight,
As anticipation takes its flight.
Fireside tales in a cozy nook,
Spin yarns of Santa and his book,
Of reindeer flights across the sky,
Where dreams take flight and spirits fly.
The kitchen hums with a joyful din,
As aromas weave and stories begin,
Of recipes passed through ages long,
Infusing each heart with a cherished song.
Families gather, hearts entwine,
In the glow of love, a bond divine,
Sharing moments, both old and new,
Crafting memories, pure and true.
Church bells chime, a melodious ring,
A chorus of hope, as angels sing,
Hymns of peace and goodwill to men,
Resound through valleys and glens.
Charity’s hand extends its reach,
To those in need, with love to teach,
Blankets of kindness, warmth untold,
Embracing souls in the bitter cold.
Amidst the gifts and merry cheer,
Lies the essence of this time of year,
A celebration of love’s purest form,
A beacon of hope, through calm and storm.
So, as the stars gleam in the night,
And the moon casts its silvery light,
Let’s raise our voices, hearts aglow,
In celebration of this festive show.
For Christmas, with its wondrous art,
Unfolds the love in every heart,
May its spirit linger, ever bright,
Guiding us through each wondrous night.
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Poush Mela- Shantiniketan’s Living Tale
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In Shantiniketan’s embrace, on Poush’s seventh dawn,
The shehnai’s melodious breath, the festive day’s spawn.
Poush Mela opens its eyes, the town rouses with cheer,
Vaitalik’s first footsteps, a song-filled atmosphere.
Around the entire place, their tunes softly unfurl,
Baul music’s essence, in each note, a swirl.
A canvas of Bengali folklore painted alive,
Dance, song, and sports, cultural tales thrive.
With each passing day, diverse activities unfold,
An ode to Shantiniketan, traditions untold.
From vibrant performances to prayers so devout,
The Mela’s grandeur, beyond any doubt.
Fifteen hundred souls, their stalls, their art displayed,
Ten thousand guests in awe, in the Mela’s cascade.
Government figures hint at numbers less grand,
Yet festivals swell, like waves on the land.
Rabindra Paksha, Basanta Utsav’s bloom,
An influx of thousands, not a silent room.
Eighty-five lodges stand, their doors flung wide,
A home for visitors, in Shantiniketan’s pride.
Poush Sankranti’s magic, a daily delight,
Naba Barsha’s charm, a wondrous sight.
A tapestry of heritage, woven with grace,
Each soul, a part, in this cultural embrace.
Rooms for rent, a haven for a few days’ stay,
Immersion in traditions, along Poush’s way.
The Poush Mela tale, a vibrant, living story,
Shantiniketan’s heart, in all its glory.
Underneath the azure sky, melodies take flight,
Echoes of history, weaving day into night.
The Mela’s bustling heart, a rhythmic blend,
Of laughter, colors, and tales that never end.
In every stall, a story whispers its song,
Crafts, arts, and flavors, a jubilant throng.
A celebration of roots, of heritage profound,
Where echoes of tradition joyously resound.
From dawn’s first light till the stars align,
Shantiniketan’s soul in every design.
In Poush’s embrace, a cultural spree,
The Mela’s essence, forever free.
So let the shehnai play, let Baul songs soar,
In Shantiniketan’s heart, forevermore.
The Poush Mela’s legacy, an eternal art,
A celebration of culture that never shall depart.
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The Journey Towards Society-Centric Grace
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In life’s vast stage, two souls do dwell,
One to themselves, the other, all hearts swell.
One cloaked in solitude, a self-centric view,
The other in the world, with hearts anew.
A tale unfolds of extremes profound,
A frozen heart, in isolation bound,
A soul who tends to their solitary kin,
A world away from where life begins.
Yet on the other end, a noble sight,
Sri Ramakrishna, in selfless light,
His deeds, a beacon, for all to see,
A life devoted to humanity’s plea.
Between these poles, most mortals tread,
With self and society, they’re wed.
Some more inclined to their own embrace,
Others in service, finding grace.
To journey forth, from self to society’s call,
A transformation that encompasses all.
For in this shift, the human soul finds gold,
In giving, sharing, stories yet untold.
From self-centric bounds, to a broader view,
Where empathy blooms, and kindness ensues.
A heart that beats for more than its own,
Finds richness in seeds of compassion sown.
Good, better, and best, in a ceaseless climb,
Towards a purpose grand, a life sublime.
To embrace the world, in its joy and strife,
To weave a tapestry of shared life.
Let’s aspire to better, with each passing day,
Towards a society-centric array.
For in this journey, our essence is found,
In service to others, love knows no bound.
So, let’s tread the path of selfless art,
Where kindness reigns and heals the heart.
In this grand dance of life’s fleeting glance,
Let’s embrace the world in a society-centric stance.
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Spinning Yarns of Cricket’s Grace
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In the cricket’s realm, a story unfurls,
South Africa and India, two cricketing pearls.
T20s done, victory graced India’s way,
Now ODI’s canvas, a fresh display.
Yet players absent, practice calls their name,
Spin’s sly dance, they must tame.
Test series looms, their focus locked in,
ODIs at stake, a challenging spin.
With bat and ball, on fields they tread,
In pursuit of triumph, where legends are bred.
India’s hope, another win to claim,
Despite the challenge, the spin’s cunning game.
Amidst this saga, a tale takes flight,
Of battles waged, in cricket’s light.
A graceful dance, on the pitch’s stage,
As India vies for victory’s page.
The T20s witnessed India’s stellar might,
Now, ODIs beckon, a new thrilling height.
Yet, amidst this clash, a void prevails,
As some talents rest, their training trails.
The spin, a challenge, they seek to master,
For Tests await, a graver, grander chapter.
But in the ODI’s fervor, hope’s beacon shines,
India’s dreams, etched in cricketing lines.
On fields where passions rise and fall,
Where every stroke holds destiny’s call,
Bats meet balls in a rhythmic dance,
Crafting moments of fate and chance.
Captains strategize, players aspire,
To ignite victory’s fervent fire.
The chase for glory, a relentless quest,
Where each contest is a spirited test.
For cricket’s beauty lies in its grace,
In battles fought at a thrilling pace.
In this cricketing odyssey’s grand parade,
India marches on, undeterred, unafraid.
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Around the world on a Bicycle in 19 years
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In the heart of Basanti, where Sundarbans breathe,
Somenath Devnath, his spirit boundless, believed.
Pedaling the world on his trusty old cycle’s stride,
A globetrotter’s tale, a relentless odyssey did reside.
Through 191 cities, his wheels kissed the ground,
Nourishing his wanderlust, a journey profound.
Nineteen years, a tapestry of stories woven true,
Each town, each encounter, a chapter to pursue.
In Afghanistan’s embrace, fate’s hand took a twist,
Caught amid the chaos, a cook’s role in the midst.
Yet undeterred, his spirit forged from iron’s core,
Somenath’s saga persisted, a traveler craving more.
China’s land, where Corona’s touch did assail,
A battle fought, a resilient spirit wouldn’t derail.
Stuck at borders closed, New Zealand’s riverside tent,
A temporary abode where his wanderings were lent.
News of father’s and grandfather’s final goodbye,
Yet Somenath, undeterred, gazed at the sky.
A true globetrotter, his passion a guiding flame,
Through sorrow’s tempest, his resolve remained the same.
In verses whispered by winds in far-off lands,
Echoes of his travels, where destiny’s strands.
A cycle, a companion, through trials and delight,
Witness to tales etched in the day and the night.
His tireless spirit, an anthem to wanderlust’s creed,
A true globetrotter, fueled by a fervent need.
With a heart adorned by the world’s myriad hues,
Somenath Devnath, a traveler, never to refuse.
The elegant dance of his tire on foreign terrain,
A testament to courage, amid loss and gain.
Each city, a chapter, a story in his trail,
A testament to resilience, a traveler’s tale.
In the symphony of his journey, hardships blend,
A tale of bravery, a saga without end.
A poem, a homage to a wanderer’s grace,
Somenath Devnath, a traveler of every place.
