The hills, cultures and dialects
Of it,
I could not
Nagalad,
The land of the Nagas
Closer to Myanmar
Just on the fringe,
Edge of
To slip into passes
To transgress
The borders.
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A huge dark statue
Before,O, youGo notWithoutSeeing HerA huge dark black statueOf Kali,You come and goAfter seeingHer,The Mother,The Mother of the worldInto whose HandsIs life and death.
An Antarctica
Sliding around.ManlessBut with the penguinsInhabiting the lands.
People’s Liberation Army generally liberate
As they have.Think about the life of soldiers tooBefore sending them to borders,O patriots, nationalists!This should also be on your mindAs the borders are volatile, incorrigible.
Why is Radha fair and why am I somewhat dark? ,
But what Mother Yasoda to say?What it to say about he colours of love?How one gets coloured in?Who says,You are dark,You my son,How can it be? ,They just saying to tease you,Mother Yasoda said it to child Krishna.
In the image of Rimi, the poet sees
Affectionate and loving,Approaching and gliding awayBefore she is interrogated.A girl busy, fast and activeAt the every turn of life,she keeps serving, suffering and strugglingWithout caring to ask for herself,A modern an dbusy girl,A countryside toiling lady too.Wherever depute and post you,She will keep doing,Arranging and managing the affairsUnmidfully,Bearing all thatWhich comes the ways of hersAnd…
Ghar-wapasi, Homewards
Flapping their wingsTo return to their nestsAs for the storm gatheringAnd the clouds darkened,The rains to come at eve.Migrant WorkersOn the return journeyGoing as pedestriansOn a padayatraTo cover a long distanceStaggered during the lockdown,How to reach homeEnduring the travel soreBereft of money and foodAnd also without the conveyance?The AliensWhere do theyCome from,The aliensFrom MarsOr elsewhere,The…
The hills, cultures and dialects
Of it,
I could not
Nagalad,
The land of the Nagas
Closer to Myanmar
Just on the fringe,
Edge of
To slip into passes
To transgress
The borders.
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None but I myself
DigitallyFrom a digital camera,A smartphoneTo make a self portrait of mine.
They say that the spring will fall silent and its footfall,
The wisps and whiffs of the spray of scent and fragranceBrought on by the wind.The silent spring, spring turned silent, how can it be,We know it not,Why will it fall silent, why are they saying so,Will it come again really?The woods lying barren and bereft of all greenery,The hills turned empty,Without the rocks, stones and…
An India of villages and the countryside,
Scattered over,Littered withOver a far flung spaceWithout any connect wayAnd the houses made of mud and straw-thatched roofDescribe I,An India obscure and ruralOf the farmlands and agricultural landsDepict IWith the shed in the other side of the houseOr with the cowshed,The cows, buffaloes, goats and sheep,Dogs and cats,Barking at night,Marking the footsteps approaching,Maybe of dacoitsOr…
We are fed up with this
This looters brigade,The rowdy and unruly elementsAnd anti-socialsAlways in hunt for something,To make out from thisVandalism,The chaos and crisis,The pandemonium and hullabaloo,The rogues and thieves.To protest is not to politicize it,Improvise the situationTo be benefitted from,To give it a political colour,To protest is not to break,Loot and to be thugs,Destroy business,Now say you,When will this…
A reader of
A therapist,A social activist,Polish-PolishNear the German borders,A writer German not,But a Polish writerOf exotic flora and faunaTelling the tales,Fables,Taking to the PolandOf oracles and soothsaying,Of a herbalist, a naturalist,A primitivist.
As a poet I used to do the field work hidingly
While in the absence of the servant,The buffaloes used to lowAnd it seemed to break the pegs,So, taking that,I used to take to the fields and fallowsAs for grazing,Sometimes sitting on the back ofAnd the buffalo grazing.I writing poetry and reading under the shadesOf the trees of the bowers,The highlands of the forested area,Marking heat…
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How to take to?
Naga sect and society,
Art and tradition,
Life and culture?
People feared to
Venture into
In the past.
Only aghora sadhakas en route to Kamakhya
Dared to visit
The exotic land.
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What is poetry?
Poetry is song, music, dance, painting, art and architecture, sculpture, theatre and literature,Poetry is poetry,Poetry is philosophy,The philosophy of life and the world,Poetry Brahminical, non-Brahminical,One who Brahma is a Brahmin,Poetry a discussion of Prakriti and Purusha,The lingam-yoni motif,Poetry a discussion of the self,The Soul and the Supreme Soul,The Mind and the Over Mind,Poetry cosmic, supra-mental,…
What is it in my fate or destiny,
What is it in my unseen fate?
I saw Azerbaijan
The eyesOf the Azeri womenWakingDownThe streetsOf Baku,Post-Soviet eraThe modern Azeri womenLooking Western,SometimesTraditionalThe Azeri womenWalkingDownThe streetsOf post-Soviet BakuA journey fromIranian,TurkicTo CaucasianTo RussianTo WesternTo globalized consumer culture
Under the moonlit nights,
The poems of love.
Will you divorce me? ,
With tears into the eyes of hers.So innocently,So weepinglyWiping out the tears with her hands.My God,Where to go,My God, how will she bear this heartbreak?
The persona,
Of my thesisOn gender studies,The heroineOf my work on gender studies,A girl living under taboos,Unable to talk and mix withAnd smile herself,The girl of a restrictedPatriarchal societyConservative and conventional,Orthodox and oldThe burkhawalli,Burqua-clad girl,The purdahwalliLiving under the covering,The veil,The ghumtawalliWith the covering over,The shy and coy mistress,The beauty queen,The dark beautyThe persona,Spokesperson ofMy thesisOn gender studies.
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The Naga villages,
Naga life and culture,
Natural habitats and scenery,
Hilly, rocky, forested,
Full of highlands and downs.
Nagaland which I could not know it,
Could not feel it ever before,
Nagaland,
The land of the Nagas,
Naga villages and tribes
With their native aboriginal culture and tradition
With which vibrated and throbbed it,
Going by the vibes of it
Taking to far and beyond.
The hills, the greens,
The exotic flora and fauna,
The highlands and the downs,
Calling us, calling for a visit,
Nagaland and its Naga villages,
Naga huts and habitations,
Naga landscape and scenery
So pristine and primitive.
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Pink-necked green parrots
From the peepul treeThe parrotsGreen-greenAnd pink-ring necked.
Ballet
Which none but ballet-dancersKnow it,How hard is itIn steppingHigh and low,Right and left,Stretching,Lengthening,Lifting over.
Goethe,
A German beautyWhich but I know it not?
Dilip Chitre as a Marathi poet
An English teacherIn Marathi,A Marathi journal editor,A translator,A short film man,A globe trotter,A fellow of writing programs,A writer on visits and tours,A modernist,A Baroda man,A Bombayan,A poet regional,Cosmopolitan,Global,A modernistDevotional.
Jayanta Mahapatra is a poet of the Konark Sun-temple,
At entrances,The erotic sculptures in love,Flirting, hugging and embracing.
The world is a waste land bereft and barren
Spritually devoid of, morally unmindful of,Metaphysically blank.