The Last Sunset

The engine blared again
As it tore through the silence of the fields,
Kicking up the dust
Quiet enough to call noise,
Loud enough to slip up for music,
Even the metal seemed to soften,
As the golden rays of the last sunset,
Set the paddy fields on fire.
As the bells from the bullock-cart
Struck up sweet music,
As its silhouette strolled along
Across the crimson disc and orange skies,
Along with the prayer that slipped my lips,
There were
My tears, and my hope
For your warmth.


When the breeze caught up a pace,
When the paddy stalks broke into a dance
When their pranks brought alive many memories,
From many moons back,
When the wind blew the sooty smoke, my way,
It wasn't just divine,
There was so much to a soul's delight!
As the blanket of mist set me up for warm tea,
As the first shades of dark blossomed on the fields,
As a shy moon perched on lamp-laced huts,
They welled up in my heart and my eyes -
My tears, and my hope
For your warmth!



© Sashikant Mohanty

A Wintry Evening

She didn't pause to wave at me,
Or, so I thought, that misty winter evening,
I snuggled over the thought, all night,
Was she put off my not heeding her?

The smile had deserted her,
Maybe, it was there, yet I couldn't see
The sparkles were missing,
Maybe, they were around, but I was too busy to notice,
The breeze wasn't in a hurry, that evening,
Nor was there a quiver in the leaves,
Maybe, they also missed her,
Before dream gathered,
Without eyes winking even for a moment!

She didn't turn to wave at me,
Or so it seemed, that December evening.
I couldn't be sure if she felt ignored,
Or, didn't want me spoilt.
Would she not cover her face, and blush again
If she runs through these verses,
I had scribbled that wintry evening,
Stretching under the open sky
Enjoying the chill in the breeze,
Missing the warmth of her hands,
As my face turned numb, even freeze,
As a drop of life trickled down
From the corner of my eye.

I can't tell if it was awe,
Of fondness, of pain, or, of loss
As she sailed across the sky,
And the night shone with a billion lamps!



© Sashikant Mohanty

One Life, Many Dreams

Isn't life a roll of countless dreams,
And a night, not long enough,
Or, is it about one long beautiful dream,
And not enough nights to see the end?

How beautiful, those short dreams,
They arrive without a murmur,
Much like your unannounced arrival,
When I had madly waited,
But least expected!!

Come, life can wait,
Let's step out, bask in the chill,
Live this dream together,
Isn’t it a distant past,
When in the dead of the night,
The only sound you'd hear
Was the ticking of our hearts!

All my life’s a dream,
To live your tender touch,
And the unconditional warmth,
To feel your locks all over my face,
And hear the pacing of hearts,
To see the moon through your pallu,
And savour the exuberant smile.
Yes, the dream is just an excuse,
But who knows
When the night might just run out!


© Sashikant Mohanty

Between Dreams And Memories

We're all lone travelers,
Call it a journey what's behind,
And hope - the path untraversed,
Making friends sometimes with
Dreams and memories!

The road ahead forked into two branches,
One led up to your house,
The other housed your memories,
One loaded with uncertainties
The other - smiles, tears and unspoken words!

I stood there for hours
Bracing a war within,
Unsure who to turn to,
Between
Dreams and memories!

As I lay on the grass,
Following the shooting star,
Blaze through the skies, that starry night,
It left a weary thought -
Is life the moment
Between
Dreams and memories! 

© Sashikant Mohanty

A Fleeting Embrace

A dim lamp's glow,
Is quiet and divine,
With its flickering flame,
Barely visible,
On a moonless night,
But it's only through absence,
That it is missed,
Much like you!

The layers of mist,
Kept growing every day,
Not letting me feel the tenderness grow,
Until fall's colors faded into winter's greens,
The same way,
That it hadn't hit me,
When feelings were nurtured and nursed,
Through our chance meetings
Until the day, you didn't make it!

As the wave roared and surfed back,
To return mightier,
And a bit closer to the beach, each time,
Hopes welled up,
That she'd keep her word,
Maybe draw into a weary embrace,
But, they drew nearer,
Only to drift apart further,
To make their bond stronger
Almost to etch a thought -
If life's about setting her free,
Love's all about
A whispering dream,
A warm fleeting embrace,
To let go,
To fade away,
To come back, 
And, to leave yet again!


© Sashikant Mohanty

My Eternal Friend

Sometimes you're ahead, 

Sometimes you follow,

But there isn't a moment you're not around,

Through happiness,

Or, in its absence!

Sometimes, I find you in solitude,

Sometimes, in the crowds,

As the journey takes

Twists and turns,

Through falls and springs, 

Not once have you deserted,

Not once did you let me feel alone!

Sometimes, you hide behind me,

Away from the glare,

Sometimes you offer to be ahead,

Letting me bask in the soft moonlight,

Always lockstepping mine,

Never leaving me alone,

When the breeze kissed me 

Or, when the mist cast a blanket on my eyelids.

You are always around, 

Always about me, 

Even while I don't realize

But will you be around when 

No one else will?

Sometimes, I feel possessed,

The inseparable bond,

The unconditional love,

The unrelenting belief,

But when the light goes out, 

A reluctant thought forces itself through,

My shadow, 

Would you stay by me, 

When I plunge into darkness!

© Sashikant Mohanty

Eyes Don't Lie

The sparkle in the eyes,

The nervous steps,

The shallow heavy breath,

The lump in the throat, 

The silky tresses, 

The turquoise dupatta,

The quick sidelong glances,

Straight out of dreams,

The bubbly voice,

The soothing hum,

The firm grasp 

The looks that stopped the winds,

And me,

Can never lie! 

The unsaid words,

The unpenned letters,

The silent walks,

The serene dusks,

The patient waits,

The painful parting,

The hands that never clasped,

The paths that didn't cross,

Had so much between them,

The pain and the moistness,

Shrouded in the eyes,

Just won't die, 

Because eyes never lie! 

The breeze was different today,

With a slight nip, 

And a fond sooty smell,

Loaded with strong longing.

It swept in thoughts 

From many falls ago, 

Some familiar,

Many strange, yet friendly.

I struggled through the layers

Of sweeping thoughts,

But one refused to pass -

The scars may heal,

The smiles may feign,

But the pain just refused to die.

As the breeze turned wild,

So did my thoughts, 

I snuggled into my pillow

And hugged on to a thought -

Would you ever be hurt

Had it not been for love! 

© Sashikant Mohanty 

Gently

It's fine you don't feel the way, I do

The crimson skies don't light up your spirits, 

The aroma from the fall's flowers

Doesn't ring in a smell from your memories, 

The  chirping of the mynas doesn't echo a murmur,

In your heart.

But when you laugh it off, at those thoughts, 

They tear my heart apart.

Please do it gently! 

It's fine, the sight of the panoramic mountains

Don't light up your eyes, 

The slant rays of sun, the chill in the air

Don't draw you to me,  

Even Kashmir's beauty wouldn't capture your imagination, 

The untouched, the unrivalled, the unbridled 

The unviolated, and the unspoiled 

The stream and the stanzas, 

The moonlight that shone on the stones, 

And the music in the springs,
Were all so alien to you. 

When you sit next to me, under a starry sky

The silence pierced through my heart, 

The space seemed like miles, and ages,
They crush my thoughts, the little crazy ones.

Please do it gently! 

Where's the playful shyness of your chunni,

The way it would, earlier

As the wind blew it over my face, 

Why don't the golden strands smell the same, 

Like they would earlier, 

Why don't the winter afternoons, 

And the summer evenings

Bring the bounce to your feet,

The same way as they did. 

As I struggle to bide time,

As my heart craves for a hug

When you're too busy for memories, 

My heart bleeds from a deep cut.

Please do it gently! 

© Sashikant Mohanty 

Of Drizzles And Dreams

With every step, 

The drizzle felt so much dearer,

The breeze and the soot smelled so welcome, 

The orange sky at its resplendent best, 

When the orchestra was cranking up, 

The train's horn couldn't be far behind.

From a dimly lit window, flowed in a song

Don't insist on leaving today! 

My sight was getting blurred

Couldn't tell if it was the droplets on my glass,

Or moistness elsewhere,

The steps, the sight, the touch, the smell, and the song 

Begged a thought -

Why live for dreams

When you can live them! 

There's a music in the train,
A storm was building up in the rain,
Like the storm that was raking up within,

That tempted a train of thoughts, 

Of the wind playing pranks on you,

And you hugging on to your chunni,

Of the breeze that left your golden locks awry, 

The smile that escaped your lips, as you gave up trying,

And the breeze fell for it, 

So did I,

Watching you from the afar,

As the flurry of colours swept gently in,

I couldn't resist a thought,

Why crave for dreams, 

When you can live them! 

The sight of the pristine nature,

Deep, calm and melodious,

The manicured landscapes,

The lush green everything,

The raw smell of coffee from the estates,

The stream that lazed along over the sparkling stones,
That tempt you to slow down and notice,

And there as you stood, 

With silence that spoke a thousand words,

And looks that brewed a million thoughts, 

I couldn't help the thought,

Of us crossing the street,

When you suddenly clasped my hands,
And almost held me firm, and tugged close to you,

And your eyes wouldn't tell

If it was the concern, or the need for a hug.

In the drizzle, enjoying the smell of soot,

As I walked along, 

When the wind pushed me back,
And from somewhere the song played in loops,  

Don't insist on leaving tonight,

I had just one thought

Why die for dreams

When you can simply live them! 

© Sashikant Mohanty 

Would You, The Way I Would

Every moment is just about you
Each thought crafted so delicately around you
Many even took Hope for your name!
On endless nights, I'd indulge in dreams
Your bangles breaking the silence of the dark,
As smile laced your face, and sleep your eyes,
And your head secured on my shoulders.
As you wind up long busy days,
Do you still stand before the mirror,
Wipe the sweat off your brow,
Do you do your hair, the way you used to then,
Do you still hum your favorite number,
The way you would, then?
In your dreams,
Does the pallu still get stuck in my necklace,
The way it would, then?

When I stood by the gate,
Waving at you,
Forcing that smile,
And battling the surge of feelings,
Until the car vanished around the corner,
And the plume of dust refused to settle down,
You sat calmly by the window, still smiling,
As you drew the stole over your shoulders
Hands reaching for the vanity kit,
Making up the eye-lashes,
Feigning an air of indifference,
I struggled to get a glimpse of your eyes,
And a determined you sealed them from mine.
As I kept staring at the emptiness,
Tell me, my heart
When sleep eludes you at the thought of parting,
Do your eyes still turn moist,
Do you also struggle to recall my face,
The way I would?

When my heart craves to be with you,
A few moments longer,
But my flesh too tired to move,
Tell me, my Hope,
Will you come over, again
Secure your head on my shoulder,
Let the bangles break the silence of the dark,
The way you would, then!


© Sashikant Mohanty

Some Day

Some day, 

I hope I'd break free 

To be a child again, 

No holds barred 

No longer having to feign smiles,

No need to set alarms,

No jotting down to-do notes, 

No need to hurry through the tea-cup unfinished

No creaseless shirts and creased foreheads, 

No running back-to-back calls,

No wasting time at airports, 

No stays at lifeless five-starred hotels

Yet not a single star to blink at.

Some day, 

I hope to break free 

To run, riot, and live like a child! 

Some day,

I hope to see the child come to life, in me, 

To get a spark of a smile,

A hug for a hug,

Get to kick into the fields, and shake up the dust,

Or play with the gravels as we walk,

Back from school, 

Stop by the hawkers to pick a ball of churan,

Or the frail frame of the sharbat-ra chacha,

For a stick of handmade kala-khatta,

Or the long hours to spend with my own,

Not a wrinkle of worry about time, 

Gossip away about so many things

And branch into silly nothings,

Not getting shy,

To let my hair down

Even if that meant being silly! 

Some day

I hope to be a child again,
Relive the fun, happiness, and life

To get around on my cycle,

To rush to my favourite hunt, 

As my heart pounded hard, 

As hope matched the pace of my breath,

To get to meet my moon,

That November evening,

As the fields courted the dew,

And bathed in the golden moonlight, 

As I stocked up my reserves of smiles

Until the next full moon, 

Or the journey by the Mahanadi banks,

Cherishing the moments, 

Of the silence of that evening,

To be broken only by the beats of hearts,

And the nervous locking of glances,

That continues to dance across my eyes

Many winters after. 

How I long 

To be a child again, 

To be back with the precious gems of life, 

To the unhindered passions,
And the restive thoughts

To the fleeting frames of smiles

On the long passionate evenings

And the longer endless nights, 

With a nip in the air,

And a bit of warmth that blew along from memory, 

As I lie in wait to be a child, again, 

Some day! 

© Sashikant Mohanty

What If

As I stretch on the charpoy

And reflect upon the day that was,

Look back at the battered roads,

And the choices I made, 

The turns I took and the bends I didn't,

To get where I stood, 

That full moon night, 

Along with the cool breeze,

Swung in a silly thought -

What if!

As my tired head sank into the warmth

Of my pillow,

As I tossed and turned,

And sleep played one more game

Of hide and seek,

Many faces lapped up into a dance,

Those that came in many colours,

Those that changed many, 

And many that were hidden from eyes 

Tucked away neatly behind several layers, 

Many words slipped up my ears,

Those that were said, but many that weren't

As my failing ears  joined the tired eyes, 

My mind had turned too weary,

To find an answer

To a wavering thought -

What if! 

When I lay on the green velvet,

Under the moonlit sky,

When the patches of cloud

Came and went,

When marigolds sparkled up a shine at night, 

And the moon tossed on the lake,

And my face turned moist that dewy night,

A gust of breeze blew in an eerie thought, 

From many winters back

When evenings were chill,

And cravings strong, deep and warm, 

When thoughts learnt to take wings,

And the air reminded of smells and sounds,

That's when a shooting star crossed the sky

And left me with a thought -

What if!

© Sashikant Mohanty 

A Stubborn Question

As the sunflower waits for the Sun to rise,

And follows it all through its journey,

All the way until it sinks back into the horizon,

The child in me joins the ones with me,

Gazing in awe

What a lovely creation,

The glowing yellow with spray of black Bindi,

As it comes to life, soft and sublime,
Submitting to the regal sun,

As I close my eyes to  seal the moment,

A queer thought also gets sealed in my heart,

Is sunflower the reason the Sun's so adorable? 

As odes are composed,
Tributes paid,
On Teachers' Day,
And their role celebrated,
Faces flash by from memories,
Those that sowed the seeds,
And chiseled, polished, to get the shine in you,
As you flipped the pages
It didn't matter where memory ended and stories came alive.
As frames kept tossing on in my mind,
A stubborn question wouldn't let me sleep -
Would Drona still have  made it to the lofty heights,
Had it not been for Ekalavya's sacrifice?

As the Gods are worshipped
And Hymns and Bhajans chanted,
Praising the Lord,
His blessings, and the miracles,
God, you must be great
To have created the creation,
Day, night, smile and tears,
Love, hate, greed, and man,
But God, you must answer me -
Were you as grand,
Before your devotees commanded 'hail the Lord!'

Tell me God,

Who came first - you or the creation!

© Sashikant Mohanty

Sometimes, If Not Everyday

So what if it isn't a perfect knot,

It's such a special one, nevertheless,

The smell of your hair,

Your necklace getting stuck in my buttons,

As you tried to reach around my neck, 

The gingerly attempts when you got it mixed up

And the smile when you finally got it right, 

Would rub off on me long after.

Sometimes, do it again to me, again,

Pamper me sometimes, if not always!

So what if your fingers aren't strong,

So what if their touch may not wipe off the pain,

But their warm touch, 

Running through my head

Naughtily teasing my salt-and-pepper hair,

Returns the smile to the weary eyes,

And to my tired mind,

How it rings in fond memories 
Of lazy evenings, 

When I'd rest my head on your lap,
Can't you walk up to my bed, sometimes

Let your fingers do the magic again, 

Sometimes, if not every day!

So what if the moon and the stars,

Don't get your heart to miss a beat, 

So what if the soft breeze sweeping the clouds 

Mean little to you,

But the magic of your steaming ginger tea

Is no less intoxicating.

Why don't you just drag me to the balcony,

When the moon's flaunting its charm,

And the soft breeze, soothing for effect,

Why don't you try your charm,

Sometimes, if not every Friday!

The packing of my bags,

The reminding of my medicines,

The shoving of biscuit packets,

The buttoning up of my shirt,

The uncomfortable silence when it's time to part
Yet your eyes would give it away 

And you still thought you're not good at it.

Why don't you do it all the same,

So it makes me feel a little more wanted,

So that I take a bit of you along,

So that you stay close to me,

Even while you're not

Sometimes, 

If not every day!

© Sashikant Mohanty

Is It A Cuttack Thing?

Come, let's go back,

To the wintry mornings,

When even the sun was too lazy to come out,

When we loved blowing into the air,

To giggle at the 'smoke', that wasn't

When the marigolds, hibiscus, and the champa

Turned the garden into a floral collage,

The tiny dew drops on the leaves to raise the effect,

Why do I miss them so much,

Why aren't winters the same anymore? 

Was it also a childhood thing, for them, 

Or is it a Cuttack thing? 

How beautiful it was

The smell, the touch of paper, 

When you'd scribble even on the sides

After running out of space on inland letters!

How exciting it was to sprint down the stairs

When the postman's bell would come calling 
By the gate,

His rusting bicycle refusing to slow down, 

Like his own wrinkled face

That refused to age, 

And his smile telling the happiness 

Sealed in the envelopes. 

There wasn't an expectation as you tore it open, delicately,

Just happiness, innocent lines, and silly nothings.

How easy life was,

When life revolved around letters, 

And Christmas holidays were all about 

Sending handwritten greetings,

And popping up at post offices, 

Looking for the ones our way!

Can't we go back to writing letters,

And exchanging sweet everythings!

Do you still come by postmen whose heart beats for you,

Or, is it only a Cuttack thing?

The thought of the first journey by train 

Had fancy thoughts racing,

To keep me awake late the previous night,

The excitement turning wilder

As the heartbeats echoed the train's chugs,

So soaked were we with the journey

The greenery, the shuddering over bridges, 

The rivers deep below,

The clanking as the train changed tracks

The mudhi-mixture and steaming cutlets.

Can't we go back again

To the steaming tea, the endless banter, 

The smoke and the gusts of wind, and gushes of smiles,

Can't we live them again, 

The memories, 

The train journeys, the sheer pleasure

Unspoiled, with no filters.

How exciting, the excitement

The journeys that gave new friends, 

New roads, beyond the bends,

And created newer memories.

Do you also feel the same, as I do, 

Or, is it just a Cuttack thing!

© Sashikant Mohanty

A Beautiful Dream

The gust of wind
Swept the pages of the book
That's weathered its journey with me,
All these years,
The sepia shades telling its story,
But the pages hadn't given up -
Much like me!

The whiff of breeze by the window,
Brought along a freshness
with a slight nip in the air,
That lit up a warm feeling,
You could tell the happiness,
it rang in from the glimmer,
But tough it was to tell
if it was imagination,
Or, memories that never were.

The wafts of breeze,
By the speechless stream,
Had a special tenderness,
As it kissed a serene touch, of silk,
Of an ephemeral bliss,
A momentary smell of earth,
and a crimson dusk,
That stirred up waves of emotions,
And you could feel
the gush of blood up my face,
As a hand tightly clasped mine,
And glances
that sometimes locked with mine,
And feet that were never in a hurry,
Just slow enough, to lockstep mine
On one of the long walks,
I never did!

The sooty smell that slapped my face,
Were so welcome,
As they ring in memories,
Of the train journeys,
the smell of earth
And the sun
setting across dancing paddy fields,
Or call them sparks of wild imagination,
Of strands that dreams are made of,
They made me smile,
Smile about little nothings,
That I indulged in so much,
Until a bead escaped my eyes,
To pave way for a line of warmth,
That left a sense of calm on my cheeks,
As my eyes refused to return
from the world of
A beautiful dream!

© Sashikant Mohanty

Why Now, Why Not Then!

The waves surging towards the shores
Were calm like never before,
Made it look like the magical melting of colors
Where you couldn't tell,
Where the copper sulfate ended and golden beach began!
When the wing banked a turn over the seas,
The ships and the sailboats froze
Time took a pause as if to allow the moment to seep into me,
It made an artist's muse,
And left me wondering, if it was a dream,
Or, was that a living portrait.
The road laced with sodium lamps
Was nothing short of handcrafted jewelry,
Everything looks so full of life,
So romantic,
When you see them from the distance,
Far from them, far in the sky
Why couldn't you, when you stood close to them
Why now, why not then!

The view of the manicured plants
Woven delicately with the fresh bloom
Against the polished rocks perched on the  landscape
Was so intoxicating
So inviting,
You'd pull up on the side
And run to the lilies, the tagara, and the champa.
Or, just lie on the misty velvet below
And let the beams of December moon
Bathe you with the soothing gold.
Why did you leave them behind
Several years and thousands of miles behind
When you could go back to them everyday,
And night,
The clear blue skies, a starry canopy,
With the golden saucer playing hide and seek
Behind the dancing clouds!
Were they any less spirited
The endless fields of cropped grass, the tiny mound
And acres of swaying gold and wild,
That winked a smile,
As the airs were filled with the song
From the bells of the bullock-cart,
Why, why did you leave them behind?
Why now, Why not then?

The view of the blinking blue lamps
Appeared so inviting,
As if waiting
To give a tight hug,
And as I grow impatient to get there,
The landing strip
Sparkled into dazzling Diwali lights,
And then plunged into a complete dark,
As I struggled to keep my eyes open
And my heart tried remembering
Its favourite beats!
But, why wait until then, why not now?


© Sashikant Mohanty

Train Ride

Every train ride has a story,
The ones you've longed for,
The holidays, you planned and saved for,
When each passing day adds on to the excitement,
And piling up of expectations,
To be back with your own, your home, and friends
And of course, lazing in your cozy bed!
It's not just about the destination,
But so much about the journeys.
When finally you pack up from work,
Your feet unable to hold back the joy,
Almost gravity-defying,
Add a bounce to the walk,
Why not, having waited for ages,
How often had you not leaped out from sleep,
Run to the calendar,
To check if you had counted it wrong!

Every train ride has a story,
The strangers, the bubbly and the excited,
That joined you by the door,
Waving to strangers at the level-crossings
And the lanky children in the barren fields,
And enjoyed the swaying of paddy fields,
Under the golden moonlight.
Or, the one who bought a cup of tea
Not because she wanted one,
But to bring a smile to the tired boy,
Whose fragile frame almost gave up,
Under the weight of the shoulders!
Few hours, few stations, and a few glances
And, she seemed to like the smell of the train,
The drizzle that soaked her face,
And the sip of hot tea from the earthen cups,
Breaking free of the layers,
Letting her hair down.
What a rocker of a journey it was!
The banter, the smiles and the uncomfortable silences,
The stretching of hands through the window rails,
To feel the stream's warm water,
As the train raced through the tunnels,
And scarily close to the rocky walls,
How they yelled
Matching the blare of the horns,
As the coach rattled and roared into darkness,
Didn't it seem like a house on fire!
As the time came for parting
It was tough to tell if it was fun, or, if it was tough
Assuring to be in touch,
When they exchanged addresses,
And the glances,
The looks gave it away,
You could tell the hope, the fear, the lump in throat,
Or was it yet another journey!

Every train ride is a story,
How tough it gets when you get ready
To head back, leaving the warmth and the smiles,
On another long journey,
When you struggle to keep the smile on
And take care not to meet her eyes,
Lest the emotions burst from them.
When you finally board the train,
Feet grudgingly accepting their fate,
And then you realize the train's pace, and your fate
From her moving away,
She picks a small flight to hold on to your hand,
One last time,
When you see the kajal turn moist in her eyes,
You couldn't hold back the warmth behind yours,
Any longer,
Words slip your wary thoughts,
You could see her lips move quickly to match yours
She said something,
Only to be drowned by the whistle
That had signaled start of another journey,
Of fear, of hope and of guessing her words,
Until another story is written,
Of another train ride!


© Sashikant Mohanty

Quiet Of The Night

In the quiet of the night
As a light veil drew around me
And my wandering thoughts,
My heart gathered pace,
And, pounded heavy and fast,
At the thought of someone up and close,
As I kept enjoying the very moment,
As the moonlight pierced through the curtains
And left a mild warmth
The silence only to be broken
By the wheezing sound that came from close,
Very close to where I lay.
As the soft burst of breeze pushed the curtain aside,
And left my eyes lit, wide open,
Me burying my face in a soft pillow
Until it choked the music -
The wheezing music that came from very close
Very close to where I lay,
From my breath!

The soothing breeze drew up distant thoughts
Of tall pines that formed the skyline for miles,
The endless lush green velvet
And the layers of hills tempting a chase,
As the perfume from her silk unkempt tresses
Filled my soul with overflowing aroma,
My life with boundless hope.
As the cloud faded from the horizons,
As the Sun sank low among the hills,
And the star-spangled sky played out a dazzling procession
As the ride neared its end,
The warmth escaped the corner of my eyes,
As if in a sweeping act,
They were wiped as fast,
Before they caught anyone's notice,
By her dupatta
When she blew it around her to wrap into a shawl,
As if it had waited until that moment,
And longed to return its due,
In the quiet of that night!


© Sashikant Mohanty

Life Isn't A Race

Take a breath,
A pause,
Watch the nature as it casts its magic
As the layers of cloud drew up into a shamiana,
As the gales of wind blew the trees into a dance,
Or dropped its speed to let the leaves
Spring into a rustle,
And strew the petals into a mosaic,
On the deck of the velvety lawns.
Take it easy,
Life isn't a race to be won
But a journey, to be lived, felt and loved!

It's not about getting ahead, always
But about experiencing small pleasures,
Unraveling the treasures that were missed too long
The smell of the earth,
As the first drops of rain kiss the parched soil,
Or, the sight of the pigeon
As it gathered pine and acacia twigs,
And built a warm nest
For its mate,
Twig by twig!
Life isn't about jostling past each other,
It's not about finishing first, either
But about relishing the journey,
Of weaving shared dreams,
Walking together,
Matching step for a step
Gripping each other's hands,
Fingers tightly locked in the other.

Life is not a roster of papers and scores,
But a beautiful handwritten book,
Each  penning their own,
Yet, there isn't a prize for the best one,
For everyone's is a winner,
Each book, so exclusive
So different, and unique.
Life isn't a sprint,
And leaving your own behind,
But taking a stroll,
Where you rejoice
The prick of the dewy grass,
Or, the feeling of beach sand
And leave a trail behind,
That stays intact, unshaken, cherished
Until times long after!


 © Sashikant Mohanty

Father's Day

standing before the mirror,
when I used to brush my hair, 

the way you would,
or, try to follow your footsteps, Bapa
be it the sure steps of walk,
or the calmness of your talk,
the charming smile that preceded you

or, the grace as you took on tough questions,
you're always the ideal I want to be,
you are my first Hero, 

you'd be the last too!

yes, we've argued, Bapa
sometimes bitter, 
each too stubborn to let go.
i wanted to hug you tight,
to tell you I didn't mean to be rude
i'm sure you also felt the same,
right after,
but held back.
you'd cheer my courage and reason,
and why not
after all, aren't they your genes!

yes, I've cried
felt sorry for hurting you,
but I enjoyed each instance -
the love, the squabble 

and the way you let me make up.
i miss our banter,
i haven't come by another, 

who would argue back, as hard,
and yet full of warmth,
we've had our differences, 

and yes, the hurting silences too,
but every time I reflect,
they're measly short of 

the ways we'd think alike!

when I catch my son,
play the 'papa',
before my cabinet's smoked mirror,
a smile leaps out my thoughts and lips,
as memories swept by,
and the moistness wells up
to escape from the corner of my eyes.

you are my strength, Bapa
when life frets and freaks
and leaves me weak,
you are my guiding light, 

always paving my way,
when the sky turns dark, 

and the day turns gray,
you bring on the dreams, father
when life's bends wear me out.
you are my Hero, you'll always be
every pulse, every moment, 

along every way
every second, my father, 

is a father's day!

 © sashikant mohanty

The Stories They Lived

You couldn't miss the excitement
That leaped out of his eyes
And the beaming smile
As he sat on the bicycle
The bicycle of his favorite story - The Cycle Theft,
That he's heard a hundred times,
And has built a frame in his mind.
He had a new question, everyday
Why did they tamper the pedal? 
What did they do to the green rubber seat?
And here he stood - the little me,
The emotions identical -
The excitement, the curiosity, the anger
Writ large on his face
Only twenty five years, and a few feet apart.
The cycle's lived to tell a tale,
And the memory still too young!

When she chewed the chunks of sugarcane
One she'd fancy, while listening to the stories
Of the journey by the sugarcane farms
In my village, well ours -
How she soaked in joy!
How they waited for freshly plucked guava,
The munchings of peanuts with Bou,
Or, the lip smacking mudhi-mixture 
with mustard oil and chopped onions
- the fixtures of Cuttack evenings,
I was lost in one thought -
How did they find the roots?

When they sprinted to the terrace,
To be embraced by a calm evening breeze
Many stories came alive in their minds,
The Super Storm - easily the most eerie, and treasured
The winds that shook the buildings, and our hearts
And razed many homes,
Uprooted trees and electric poles
Plunged the city into complete darkness,
As the rains lashed at the windows
And hammered the roofs,
Without a speck of mercy.
They'd insist on listening to this story,
Over and over again
And had gone to sleep over it, countless nights.
Here they stood,
On the same terrace,
They paused to take a close look
Maybe connect the dots in the stories
Peeping into the ruins of the skylight,
Bending over the flower pots, to water them
Gazing at the red beacon atop the TV Tower
Its light still blinking.
As I stood watching them live their stories,
The soft breeze rang in many memories,
When the terrace would turn grand with diyas,
Every Diwali,
Where many dreams took wings
Under the starlit skies,
Where we lazed on, many winter days
And joined the blankets
As they absorbed the sunlight
As they gathered the warmth for the chill nights ahead,
The terrace where we'd lie star-watching,
And followed many as they traveled across the skies.

As we lied on a mat, gazing into the clear skies
And I followed the stars,
Trying to recognize the old friends,
My daughter and son
Were busy sorting their new friends -
The cycle, the terrace, the skylight
The flower-pot, the rose and the tuberose
The chunks of sugarcane
The endless river,
And an ageless sky above!
As a thin veil of sleep gathered
Amid the soothing breeze,
I couldn't tell if it was my thoughts,
Or a fleeting dream,
If it's not memories, 
Was it stories they were drawn to?


© Sashikant Mohanty

My Roots

I call them roots
The roots that struck long before
I even realised
The roots that can smell the soil
And the water
And find their way
Even when there was none in sight.

I call them roots.
And today I came looking
For mine
The herds of deer were no different today
They came sprinting to the fence
To the smell,
Can't tell if they sniffed our presence
Or the smell of bread
But the calves that came running as well
To meet their ilk - across the fence
Rang in a smile on my face
As though they had come looking
For their roots!

I call them roots.
The river seemed full,
And kissing the other bank too
Seemed too full for Cuttack April,
It's not in a hurry today
And in the low light
At a distance a lone raft waded through
in a matching pace
The pious man's dip in warm waters
And the ringing of bells in the temple behind
Seemed to remind of years gone by
And the roots that've stayed in tact.

I call them roots.
A freshly laid red coated pavement
Seemed to suggest a red carpet welcome
For one of their own
We couldn't miss the trees by the banks,
Half lit by the street lamps
Among the lot stood a lone ranger
A familiar face
With solid trunk and the stocky branches
Spread wide and tall
Without a shade of a leaf
And still it stood firm, and sorted.
As I walked away I had a fading thought
Was it because of its roots?

As the dark gathered,
And the kids giggled and enjoyed,
Stepping on to our footsteps' shadows
Under the sodium street lamps,
By Cuttack's river banks
I remembered the walks many moons back -
Connecting to my roots,
And watching the new crop
Strike theirs!


© Sashikant Mohanty

Tiny Hands Of God!

A hand reached for my face 

from within the crowd 

The soft little fingers

Ran slowly along my rough skin.

The tender touch

The disarming smile

Seemed to settle for mine 

Among the bustle of faces - 

Made me wonder

Is this how 

It feels when God's around?

She seemed to like the smile,

The joy in mine,

My hand on hers, the tiny fingers

As my fingers rolled on her face,

Among the bustle of people

That jostled, rubbed and nudged,

With hope and a smile

Few suppressed, and 

Few unsure, still.

My little muse

Was not wary of the chaos,

Her tiny grip pulled out my glasses

And it sparked a beam of smile on me

To match naughty smile on hers.

The innocence, playful hands

Made me wonder

Is this how 

It feel when God's around?

I walked along a few steps

Still smiling,

Still lost in thoughts

When I turned around 

And sought my little God

Among the bustle of faces,

She still had her eyes trained on me,

Wearing the innocent smile,

And the little eyelids batted a wink

You could see the soft fingers

That longed to play with mine,

The more I thought of her,

The more I wonder

Is this how

It feels when God's around?

© Sashikant Mohanty

Of February and Fairytales

The night, the moon, and the dark evening skies
There's something about them,
Can't tell if it's their charm, or the surreal link to my life
That draws me to them, every single day.
Had some guests join me yesterday during my walk
The stars that came out in hundreds
And lent an unusual sparkle to the February skies!

The breeze, the smile and the hum of a folk Kannada song
That played on the speakers by a makeshift stage,
Brought to life memories of yesteryears
A sketch from a fairy tale,
Of puppet shows, shiny costumes and a dim lit castle.
Here, I was lost in my fairy tale
Welcoming the spring, flowers and life
As they swept aside the gloom of the dry leaves,
Under beams of golden moonlight!

The train chuffed in without a haste
It didn't bark at the cattle and the men that lazed on the tracks,
Seemed like even she enjoyed Bangalore skies, yesterday
The whistle was soothing music, that melted away smoothly
Into the breeze, the night, the moon, the starry skies
And the dim lit fields across the lake!

© Sashikant Mohanty

Every Evening Has A Story!

Most of the call you kept silent, 

Even as I waited to hear something.

You listened to everything, including the unsaid words,

Even the pauses in between,

And cleared your throat, trying in vain to hide

The voice that was getting choked.

Why didn't you just let me hear your tears

If words were too precious!

Every evening has a story,

Memories of that evening still get my voice choked

Even today!

"Good night" - is all you uttered,

At the end of the last call, that evening.

So what if I had to settle for just those two words

They were enough to keep me up, rest of that evening

Maybe a few hours, weaving dreams with you

When your voice came through from the distance

"Are you still awake?"

Why didn't you just stay on the call then,

Even if that meant my settling for your silence!

Every evening has a story,

Hearing your voice long after I thought you're asleep

Painted the story of that evening!

That evening was too special, 

I get goosebumps thinking of it, even now

We spent the evening in your balcony

Steaming ginger tea from our cups 

And the short quiet gazes keeping us warm.

You didn't utter a single word

As I kept chirping, to your eyes delight

Though you kept turning them away from mine!

A strong gust of breeze forced the curtain into the room

And the stack of paper went flying all over. 

As I gathered them from the floor

Your handwritten verses popped out of one sheet,

They still give me goosebumps, 

As I reflect - your eyes hadn't lied that evening.

Every evening has a story,

The blush in your face as you stepped back into the room

And the tears that yelled "Take me along with you"

Didn't belong to just that evening, it's the story of my lifetime!

The memory of the day is still fresh in my mind, 

The soft soothing breeze was so welcome

Didn't make it feel summer had arrived

And you wondered

How we had cycled up the same streets and gallis

Had gupchup from the same hawker,

Spent hours at the same library, 

And even prayed at the same temple.  

Your eyes lit up at the thought 

How our paths had drifted so close, yet not crossed

Lost in the thoughts and words, you blurted

"Why didn't you come into my life earlier?"

Every evening has a story,

Mine was etched for life, that evening

Why didn't you come into my life earlier!

© Sashikant Mohanty