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Kumar Chandra
Author & Poet
From Home To Home : Through The Eyes Of An Immigrant
Or Scroll below to view a sample of 10 poems out of a total of 54 poems in the book.
Click the menu on the top right of this page to see the Table of Contents and Introduction
Bio :
From Home To Home represents my life's journey from having been raised in India as a child to then experiencing life in London.
It is a collection of poems which have taken me over 20 years to write.
I have always been interested in poetry from a young age and this book has given me the opportunity to express my life experiences in the form of poetry.
I have spent most of my working life as a Science and Maths teacher. During this time, I didn't write any poems. It was only after my retirement that I had time to practice poetry-writing once again.
I look back over the last twenty years of retirement, and I am so happy that I have had the opportunity to express my experiences.
Poems :
My England, My Home
England is my heart’s garden,
Making happiness grow and widen;
Wherein the prettiest blooms grow
And a soothing wind does blow–
Which have the charm and sweetest scent
To cure the mind of any torment.
My Garden’s blooms are its people,
Working for a just principle:
Valuing fairness, and full justice
In every design and practice;
Such are the folks who make the story
Of my land of hope and glory.
My Garden has a charming clime,
Four clear seasons minding time:
Spring’s song-birds, and blossoms fair,
Summer’s warm, romantic air,
Autumn’s changing, leafy glow,
And winter’s white and flaky snow.
The land is always emerald green,
The seas around have sapphire sheen;
Its rolling plains are a poet’s gem,
And coastal sands are pearls in a hem;
Its rivers make the finest scenes:
The river Wye and its woodland greens.
And if I venture overseas,
My mind is never set at ease
To think I’m far, from my Garden,
Making my own resolve harden:
Never to leave my Garden and roam,
Never to journey away from home.
I couldn’t exchange my dear England
For any prize or any fund,
As this would take my only gem
And put my mind in full mayhem.
My England, I’m forever thine,
Be it rain, or be it shine.
My London
My London shows its glory
From the monuments on the Thames,
Where the buildings tell the story
In a host of cultural gems:
The Parliament building in stone,
The Tower Bridge in iron cast,
And Saint Paul’s in no less tone
Remind us of the glorious past.
London has a temperate clime:
Neither hot, nor too cold;
Four clear seasons blend the time
Into a charming, soothing mould.
The city has a natural beauty,
For its paths were never planned;
They arose from need and duty,
Not designed by office hand.
London’s suburbs are efficient,
Self-contained in themselves,
Where things of need are sufficient,
And food enough for kitchen shelves.
The city excels in flowers,–
Regent’s Park with cosy bowers:
Roses casting magical powers
On the mind in blissful showers.
Its diners serve the best gravy,
Museums top the world of art;
Its Jewels are the world’s envy
And theatres are a class apart.
Being so diverse and mighty–
A whole world within a city–
London puts boredom to the knife:
Bored of London, is bored of life!
But my London’s greatest asset
Lies in sheltering every culture;
And in this way, it has met
All demands, of Scripture:
Treating all in equal light,
Regardless of their race or creed,
It ascends in moral height,
A beacon for the world to heed.
London By Night
As I strolled from the Strand
On to Waterloo Bridge at night,
I saw a view most truly grand–
A city decked in colour and light.
Lights have always gripped my mind:
Fireworks, Christmas, floating lanterns;
But this show, was one of a kind,
Making up a million patterns.
To my left, the lights just rolled
From Saint Paul’s to the Wharf–
Buildings lit up, both new and old–
The Shard labelling them a dwarf.
To my right, was Festival Hall
Flashing lights and colours in bold,
The London Eye was pink and tall,
The Big Ben capped in green and gold.
And beneath me, I could see
Lights from boats, in a dancing drill,
The Thames reflecting this spree
Holding the mind, and vision still.
The moon above, was shining bright
And stars around, were joining in,
To outshine London by night
Despite the odds against their win.
So, from my left and from my right,
From below, and from the sky,
I was soaked in dazzling light.–
Whose spell, I couldn’t deny.
Surprise and joy at the sight
Made me think of all things nice:
Could this be an Arabian Night
Or Fairyland in Paradise?
A Visit to Windsor Castle
London to Windsor Riverside:
A most delightful train ride,
With scenes across the window panes
Of country greens and leafy lanes.
At Windsor, the air is light,
Blooms abound, people polite:
Lively tourists fill the place,
Soaking history at their pace.
The first sight, that’s on display,
Is Windsor Bridge, of ancient day,
Across a shimmering, shining sheet,
Reflecting the sun’s dancing feet.
The famous swans are just below,
Snow-white, in a picture show,
Near to where the boats leave
For the scenic drive they weave:
The boats glide on through flowered reed,
Ducks of different colour and creed
And anglers flaunting fishing feat–
The view from Thames, a real treat!
A charming bus-ride shows landmarks,
The Long Mile and the famous parks–
Then across to Datchet village,
Eaton and its wide spillage.
And there is a bright funfair
Scattering mirth everywhere;
A giant wheel is also there,
Lending views across the air.
Then there are antiques to shop
And places where diners could drop,
With ancient houses all around
Giving Windsor’s royal background.
The Castle has imposing form,
An awesome build by any norm,
Looking down from higher ground,
Dwarfing houses all around.
The entrance hall has weapons of old,
Linking history, set in bold:
Swords in floral design,
Guns on walls, looking benign.
The interior is a piece of art–
Crafts surrounding every part:
Chandeliers, china, paintings of old,
Furniture, tapestry, mirrors in gold.
However, what stands out most
Is silence, which the walls do host:
How I wish the walls could speak
And fill the gap historians seek:
On royal romance, and heartbreak,
On the shape, envy could take,
On the plots, that kings do make,
And the fears, which make them shake.
On me, the trip has left a spell,
Calling the mind to turn and dwell
On the harmony of the place–
Nature and pomp in full embrace:
The natural beauty that surrounds,
Takes in the Castle and its bounds,
Making Windsor quite unique–
A perfect gem which poets seek!
A Woodland Sunrise in Spring in England
The first colours of dawn are out,
A new day is about to sprout;
The stars decide it’s time to go,
Giving way to a changing glow;
A streak of pink sits high on cloud,
Nestlings become vocal and loud;
The night’s chorus hides in heathers,
The woodland sings of songs from feathers.
The sky then turns a golden mellow,
Painting the earth in lightest yellow;
The hiding sun struggles to tear
Through the mist of morning air;
Strings of ducks, fly past on high,
In a line, across the sky;
The woodland rings of flutter and hum,
Activity reigns, where things seemed numb.
The trees reveal a lightest green
With new-born leaves in brightest sheen;
And fragrant bluebells come to light
With tiny daisies dressed in white;
Dandelions raise their head
As yellow stars on a purple bed;
And tangled creepers make it clear:
Their creamy flowers are most dear.
The Sun breaks out behind the trees!
And rays fan out in scented breeze;
The beams of gold come through a mist
And give the place a sudden twist:
The dew on trees and leafy heaps
Become diamonds, as magic sweeps;
Sparkling gems light up the wood,
Defying belief as nothing could.
The woodland-freshness of Spring,
The song-birds in full swing,
New-born life in celebration,
The air of warmth and jubilation,
Coupled with the charm all around–
Leave the senses hushed and spellbound;
A poet placed in such a land
Is firmly cast in fairyland.
Nature is ever so proud to tell,
None can quell the woodland spell:
“My woodland-sunrise in Spring
Will put you on a mighty sling
And fling you into realms unseen
Where only poetry has been;
And then, it will steal your sleep,
Making you wait, for dawn to creep.”
Spring in England
Spring arrives to give out joy
To every creature bold or coy,
When Nature sings in open voice:
“Spring is here, and so rejoice.”
Winter’s mist is almost gone
And grass is greener in the lawn;
It is a cheering, warming sight,
And the cold– it does not bite!
Nature is princely reborn,
Lambs fun-play, and trees adorn
A gentle green of lightest hue,
Inspiring all, for journeys new.
Barest trees, blossom to colour,
Surprising all, in their valour–
Filling every part of tree
With countless flowers set in glee
The cherry and the magnolia,
Azaleas and the camellia–
Are among those, that re-light
To make Spring special and bright.
The young birds sing from morn to eve
And bees are not prepared to leave;
The cubs of fox just gaze at tree
In a daze what they could be!
Notes ring out from tuneful thrush,
Squirrels take on the tree-top rush–
And all these bounties leave imprint
Of great solace and joyful hint:
For when I am in a mood quite dark,
My mind recalls the singing lark
And all the song-birds of Spring,
Which take my heart upon their wing.
Summer in England
Summer comes to give us cheer,
When days are long, no chill to fear;
Then it’s time for lakeside walks
And visiting woods, where Nature talks.
The fields adorn vibrant attire,
And buttercups are a golden fire;
Daisies brighten weedy herbs
And roses deck the garden kerbs.
Butterflies spread their wings,
Humming bees go round in rings;
Chirping crickets liven the night,
Croaking frogs add ballads bright.
On country lanes, the branches meet,
With birds on high in a dancing feat;
The thrush’s call, the blackbird’s cry
Spread romance across the sky:
In sheltered nooks, young lovers meet
And pairing doves each other greet
While Nature has its daintiest show
To fill the lovers’ heart with glow.
Anglers pass the day with hooks
Along the silvery bubbling brooks,
And dreaming cattle often miss
Returning home from Summer’s bliss!
To me all these and many more
Give the features I adore,
But my pen is lost for flair
In describing Summer’s air:
It sheds a charm to drift around
And fly and float above the ground–
To mount a cloud, up in the sky,
And watch at ease the world go by!
Paradise on Earth
Within our grasp, there is a land
Where love and kindness are at hand–
Where everyone does understand
That separateness cannot stand:
A sense of unity ties the land,
Which runs across every strand.
The sunshine is of purest gold,
Embracing all, in a loving hold;
The sky is true to pledges old,
Sheltering all, without being told;
The air is gentle, never cold,
Blowing sweetness from its fold.
The moon gives out a song at night–
The song of love, beaming delight,
Covering all, in silvery light:
Cool, relaxing, dashing fright,
Proving to all, that love is right,
For it can bring joy in sight.
This is the land, waiting to be found
Where peace and happiness just abound,
Where humility holds the ground
And compassion tunes the sound:
The land is well within our bound
If we could simply turn around.
The Position of Women
Women are the Soul of the Earth,
To whom humanity owes its birth;
They have the caring, motherly make–
To give up their needs, for others’ sake.
Yet, some communities value them less
And place them under a man’s prowess,
Assuming they can’t cope beyond home
Or beyond a simple shopping roam.
But any test could prove their excellence,
Creative powers and intelligence;
Numerous women have made their mark
With their natural, inner spark:
Versed in the language of the heart,
Women excel in music, poetry and art–
They have patience and resilience,
Attributes for innovative brilliance.
Women make up half the nation–
Ignoring them, removes a huge portion:
A loss of half the nation’s potential,
A heavy price for being partial.
Give the respect women deserve,
Treating them in equal nerve;
Then the world would happier be,
And each nation– a prosperous tree.
Poetry
Poetry is neither taught nor learned,
It’s neither a habit nor addiction,
But just a heart outward turned,
Giving the poet’s inner conviction.
Poems can have lots of ceilings–
Rhymes, rhythm and such notions;
But the essence lies in feelings
From the poet’s own emotions:
Poems are a cry of passion–
Instinctive calls of grief and delight,
Reflecting the poet’s deep commotion,
Drawing attention to its plight.
A poem is wholly subjective–
An outburst from a heated vein;
Such outpourings can’t be objective,
Often painting the poet insane.
Poets are never in the present–
Seeing things in visionary light,
Often lifting the poem’s content
To an abstract figurative height:
They see sparks in mundane things,
Give its reader a pair of wings
To fly to worlds where arts unfold
And move the present to realms untold.
Testimonials
Very inspiring. I didn't know you were a poet!
Your poems are beautiful and easily understood. You've inspired the poet in me and also inspired me of your journey!
K Taylor
A lovely collection of heartfelt poems that seem to arise from a deep space within. Full of beautiful insights that reflect a deep appreciation for both the authors origins and “new” home that he was welcomed into and embraced. It blends Eastern and Western wisdom and philosophy so elegantly infusing it’s reader with a picture of what it feels like to seamlessly blend two very different worlds into one through deep appreciation and attention to all things good. Highly recommended
V Ravi
A heartfelt collection of some of life experiences and emotions around them. Heart touching and yet simple and easy enough to understand. Just simply beautiful!
A Smith
“The author’s gratitude and praise for England is underlined in his poems on England. Such remarks also stand as testimony for the integration and tolerance that exists between the communities in London, making the city so pleasant to live in.”
P Patel