Two poems by Dr.Pratap Kumar Dash

The Mystic Minstrel

The flow of florally arched emotions,
Reflected the shadow on the horizons of the river valley;
In the hamlets and mid-noon village streets;
Echoes and re-echoes of the songs of spirit.
The flow of mythically lured languages
Pitched all along to allure from kids to cattle;
Of the theory of body and mind; of this world and that world;
Of the real and the virtual–
Series of reminders not to forget the relationship
Between God and we all.
The souls– the harp and the lyre tuned to the pastoral songs sung
As the mystic minstrel appears and disappears in the voice,
Harmonizing the unexpressed agony and anxiety of the augmented village folks.

The Pleasure of Milking

Do you think the daily chore was going to school and doing homework?
No, not at all.
Every morning and afternoon bring straw and grass from the stalk
To give it to our cow; to cut grass from our backyard as well as from the hillock nearby
To become happy looking at more of fresh grass around-
Only to give it to our cows.
To go to the rice mill, get the sacks of paddy turn into rice.
‘No, rice is not the only attraction— husks too.’
Collecting husks in another gunny sack
Only to give it to our cows.
Being happy to look at the fresh green leaves in the fence;
And seasoned with making friendship with the local Napoleon- the street bull.
Invite him to our yard at the right time to meet
Only my cow and then she gives birth to a cute patchy browny calf.
To play with it in order to be closer to my cow;
To pat it variously; and sit with her many times talking;
Something that we can only understand.
To look for both of them at times missing in the local forest,
While coming back with the herd in the evening—
All these only to get ‘drops of milk’, and nothing else.
Once she starts milking, it’s full of pleasure and only pleasure.