Author Archives: Aswinidash

I am a tiger

A tiger is behind the tree of thrones,
He tries to sit down in front of the desert.
There is no forest of greenness,
He is thirsty of flesh meats,
Has already seen a view of a reef of sand
How interpenetrate in to the jungle,
He has also seen his appetite
Going towards the sea.

Neither has he cried
Nor he has laughed in the way.

He crunches the parts of his body
On the sands of the desert,
Neither he dies or lives,
swims only in the river of own blood.

Who has stolen his eyes of wildness ,
Boldness of strength,
He is watching the sky of ancillary hunger.
The scenery of Depredation of his fates.

There is a jungle of cement, dust, and steel
The boast of humanity,
Who can see,
There is a tiger of perpetuity.

A tiger can write in blow of wind,
In water, in the way of life,
On the tree, in the darkness of night,
In the day,
“I am a tiger.”

At the intersection

At the intersections 

The path is to catch us,

Its name is life.

Live the Moment

Only on this mood,

How much interest backwards

Towards the new floor.

Some flowers will be puffed up, some forks are laid,

Still don’t mind,

It shattered the mind,

Still Walking Tan

Endure every pain

They would have floated over a river of blood.

Memories bloomed,

Dreams were shattered,

The Moment goes on.

A door

Who knows where life is standing,
We then fall to the stand,
You can’t go in,
Humming some silent things
Smiles are kicks,
feels a bit scared on
Who stands at the door!

Who doesn’t believe,
The windows are not opened,
Ask who we go,
Which people live inside!

That’s the difficult time of Jeban,
Would have had a lock out,
We stood up, the neat of that heaven,
Even if death comes, you will remain silent.

It would not have been a good door,
What is the use of the living of the dead,
Sometimes death would have been yours.

My path

I walk my way,
I stop taking care of my life.

There are many paths back and forth
Yet I prepare myself,
I enjoy walking on,
The ray of ummy also awakens,
I sleep and I will sometimes move on again.

Let me recognize the path now,
Be smiled
So there is no pain in the legs,
In an attempt to walk, it fills the ointment,

No one came after me or came after me
I walk on that.


I wish everyone ran to the light,
Do not hide in the dark
There are some difficulties in life,
To cope, measure and move.

would have wanted something new,
trying to live in every pain,
Identified from the clouds, from the sky,
How would the lightning rain?

denoting wish or desire!!!
I don’t have anything in my mind,
In response, in the live-won moves,
there is no difficulty,
I don’t even lose anything.


How chairs are made,
Whoever makes it never sits.

I don’t know
Why are empty chairs exposed?

Sometimes we used to sit there,
By chatting with friends,
Some girls played
wandering around,
Memories were waking up ever,
Many dreams bloomed,
Now people don’t go there,
They are angry with their own eyes,
at home
The sofa is planted.

Empty chairs are now missing
Waiting, in the sabre.

Chairs are never anybody’s,
Time plays out.

Towards The Sea

Each river comes from the society,
In the middle of the way towards the sea
A lonely traveler calls silently to both of them.

A path of society is very long,
Everyone is mad, running as machines
Towards the uncertainty,
The dreams are lost; the memories are there in lazy eyes.

The wondering hand is very short,
The ability of touching the sky in heartbeats,
The fingers can’t draw the university.

What are there in every face!
There are only mirrors
And the dry lights of bones, muscles and skin.
Are there any speeches of feelings in blood!!
Who searches for what!!!
Each thing is hidden in the game of the brain,
Perhaps,we may be defeated to find the brightness of broken glasses,
And will sleep in pains.

No! A traveler can’t take rest,
The duties are going on in each moment,
Searching is the life, we may find or not,
Even the restless nights will passed away
Once again and once again.

Come on! We should sustain every pain,
There should be happiness in touching of sea,
May be the cold wind touches our heart?
May be the sounds of broken glasses not listened.

The traveler has slept now.
The warming morning is dancing in the bed,
But there is a red evening in the empty paper,
We have to walk towards the sea silently.

copyright Aswini Dash