[ultimate_heading main_heading=”Poems by Sujoy Bhattacharya – Issue.XXIX : June 2017 ” main_heading_color=”#1e73be” sub_heading_color=”#8224e3″ spacer=”line_with_icon” spacer_position=”bottom” line_style=”dotted” line_height=”1″ line_color=”#1e73be” icon_type=”custom” icon_img=”id^48|url^http://ashvamegh.net/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/Ashvamegh-ICO.jpg|caption^null|alt^Ashvamegh Journal Icon|title^Ashvamegh ICO|description^null” img_width=”48″ main_heading_style=”font-weight:bold;” main_heading_font_size=”desktop:34px;” line_width=”3″ margin_design_tab_text=””]nature calling…[/ultimate_heading]

Sujoy Bhattacharya is a nature poet. He loves to write on the strangeness of human psychology. He worships humanity and adores poetry as a living deity. He writes to record his sudden outburst of emotions in words Some of his works have been supported by the magazines of global repute. He leads a simple but happy poetic life.





Packers and movers worldwide

Package – tour, package – funerals  too

Are very covetable ones to sophisticated souls.

I am packing tips to ensure well-being of the Earth.

The butterflies and honey bees fostered me to do that.

Panting trees encouraged me to carry on my packing job.

The palsied wind fanned my gusto to patronize my effort.

The fleeing cloudlet sent me a message –Bravo! Keep it up!

The moon cast a beam to rejuvenate my enthusiasm afresh !

A listless sparrow sat on my bald head and with his pointed

beak wrote something in a strange script I  could not decipher.

A frog came hopping to ask me what I was doing so seriously.

An impala came and circled around me thrice jubilantly.

A small kid lifted my hand up and kissed on my fist frivolously.




I was trapped in a forlorn fort, ancient-

Sans window, sans door, sans ventilation.

To my horror, I discovered I was a captive,

I screamed a shrill cry, echoes mocked at me.

It was murkier than the womb of a mother.

I was dying for a remnant of a ray of lively light.

I was under the grip of severe claustrophobia.

Invisible hands of suffocation was about to smother

me to devilish death – I abhor the mist of death, a life worshipper.

A bovine bat kicked me on my bare, baleful head.

Draped in darkness my soul was about to drown in abysmal depth

of death – my life’ s wick was going to be puffed off by the destiny.

Standing on the mound of corpses, I was invoking life to cajole me

with her wheedling hands to save me from the clutch of demise.

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