Wet with repentant weeping and remorse, your sighs and sobs saddening, breaking me.
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Abraham Lincoln the man,
Talk I, sketch IThe portrait of that PresidentWho was more humanAnd republican.A karmayogiHe delivered and worked,Abolished slavery,Worked for the American unionBridging the North and the South.
Poetrywallah
But the Indian poet in EnglishThe ragged manRagpickingAnd taggingTo be a poet,A great poet of India,Poetaster the greatIn reality.
With
Namaste,Brahma, Vishnu, Maheshwara,FoldingThe handsAnd saying,NamasteWith the closed eyes.ClosingThe eyesAnd withNamasteTo Brahma, Vishnu, MaheshwaraWhoever be it,I showingMy respect toWith.
One day I saw the asthi-kalsha of my father hanging
His dhoti, lungi, bed-sheet and kurtaBeing swept away by the windsAnd they being drawn and dragged.I saw, just saw them speechlesslyMarking the things of life and the world,God and destiny,Just like the fragile playthingsMade of clay and dustAnd said it not.What to be done if such is our life,Such is our destiny,And if such goes…
With the same mansion
Sculptures and statues,Flight of stairsReplicating the same,An ancient universityAs for viewing it afresh?Nalanda ancient mahaviharaWith the statues and sculpturesOf Buddha and other deities,With the halls and divisionsJust for the bird’s eye-viewOf the ancient glory.
When I was a boy, I used to hear them,
Churi, churiAnd passing through the lanes of the housesWith the words, churi, churiFor mothers and sisters,The Muslim sellers in lungi and kurtaAnd sporting the beards,Churi, churi, kanch ki churi,Bangle, bangle, glass-banglesAnd the women in the villages and townshipsCalling, churi-churi, O Churiwallah,Come, come here,They calling with the hands raisdAnd they coming back,Coming back with the words,Churiwallah,…